July 26th, 1979

Susan met me downtown for lunch today. We went to the Blue Mirror and drink draft beer and ate steak and cheese sandwiches; and talked with the kind of animation old friends have when they know their time together is short. Susan is brilliant. Her perceptions are so immediate and precise. And she is a fine, good writer.

I felt so excited with the chance to talk to someone. Both of us love words and graphics– and both of us approach our work with a frenzy that leaves us physically and emotionally wrought. For both of us, the process of creative expression is not a necessarily joyous process. It is often painful and brooding. She knew at once the difficulty I was trying to describe in having a relationship and also pay attention to that dark center that is our true life. Writers are like vampires: they may confront the world with the realism of a normal personality pursuing a normal life; but, somewhere deep and earnest is a tortured personality wrestling with snakes. Writers are the hand-wringers of the world. We wring out hands at life’s beauty and how it perishes. Love is mankind’s only weakness.