I’ll keep this brief, as I have an awful lot of story writing to do tonight. I’m at seven pages, which has seemed like a huge accomplishment these past few weeks, but not anymore; I’ve just done my math and realized that seven pages is not even halfway to fifteen pages. And fifteen pages is what I need. I also need them quickly so that I can edit and make more drafts before actually turning the thing in.
My day, although only briefly mentioned here, was wonderful. Mom and I took our show on the road at 11:30, and returned at 5. Here’s what we did (in and around St. Paul):
1. Ate at The Nook, a bar/burger joint that has been featured on everyone’s favorite show, Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. We both ordered the Juicy Lucy with sweet potato fries. Deliciously messy, let me tell you; I had to dive under the table a few times to hide the fact that there were gobs of hot cheese clinging to my chin.
2. Hunted down Garrison Keillor’s bookstore Common Good Books. The first thing I appreciated was that the poetry section was front and center. The second thing I appreciated was the framed photo of F. Scott and family. The third thing I appreciated was that the place looked like this:
The fourth thing I appreciated was finding a copy of Mr. Keillor’s “Good Poems, American Places,” signed by the man himself (which I bought, obviously).
3. Got ice cream at Grand Old Creamery. Half a scoop of chocolate peanut butter, half a scoop of raspberry lemon sorbet, and I was a happy camper.
4. Hiked from Grand Avenue to Summit Avenue. Summit Avenue is the street I want to live on some day, when I’m a grown-up lady English professor with enough books to fill a proper library. Summit is lined with old, frosted Victorian mansions. It used to be (and still is, I suspect) the classiest address you can have in the Twin Cities. James J. Hill’s house-turned-museum (which I drag my family to once every few years) is there, and the Catholic Cathedral, and the Governor’s Mansion. F. Scott Fitzgerald lived in a few different houses on Summit. Having learned this, I may or may not have jumped out of a moving van in order to take a few pictures of his former residence. I may or may not have followed up with a James Bond roll into the bushes.
I’m not a stalker. I’m just a fan. Really.