“So I became Mr. Blue”

From “Love Me,” a short story by Garrison Keillor, in the current issue of The Atlantic Monthly:

First decent thing I write in a whole year and I leave it in the pissoir.

“Something wrong?” the bartender said. “You look down.” So I told him.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he said, as if I’d lost an embroidered hanky or the sports section of the paper instead of a literary creation. A woman with red hair was sitting at the bar. She said, “Just sit down and write the story again. That’s what Fitzgerald did when Zelda left the manuscript of The Great Gatsby on a train in Zurich. He sat down in a hotel room and wrote it again—and it turned out even better!”

I hate people who give you inspirational advice like that. I loathe them….


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