The Writer wrote a novel called Seeing Sky-Blue Pink in which Maddie, the main character, had Perfect Days with her mother. They would go the library and when they crossed the park, Maddie would rub the left hoof of the horse statue for luck. They topped off The Perfect Day with a maple walnut sundae at Rudy's diner.
That's a Perfect Day? Those people didn't aim their sights very high.
In a magazine, The Writer read about a woman who described her perfect day: she would go to Venice, photograph the beautiful furniture in hotel lobbies, and relax with wine, pasta, and cappuccinos. When The Writer read this, she thought about her own Perfect Day.
She would go to Beatrix Potter's home, Hill Top, in the Lake District and would not have a timed entry ticket. She'd sail right in with the whole place to herself and nobody hovering to get her to buy things in the gift shop. Then a freckle-faced little girl in a white pinafore would hand her a picnic basket with tea sandwiches, little iced cakes, and a carafe of Earl Grey tea. In the meadow with only sheep for company, The Writer would take out her Windsor and Newton paint box and journal and would magically be able to capture her day in elegant prose and watercolor sketches.
I hope she's downwind of the sheep.
The point is that creating an imaginary Perfect Day can be a jumping off point to start the Perfect Writing Day. What would your Perfect Day be?
I'd tour the Friskie's Cat Food factory. A man in a white jacket would hand me a golden spoon and let me sample all the different kinds of cat food. To cleanse my palate between tastings, I'd swirl Devonshire cream in a balloon goblet--
I thought so.
What would your Perfect Day be?