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A Writer’s Diary Entries From Mid-July, 1985

It seems to me that the healthiest response to the question of a writer’s eventual renown came today from Pete Cherches over lunch at Dubrow’s Cafeteria: “I don’t care if I’m famous after I’m dead. I’d rather be famous now and forgotten when I’m dead.”

A Writer’s Diary Entries From Early July, 1985

A sad sight on this July 4th were the beggars on every corner of Broadway. It kills me that some people have so little. . . I keep hoping for the end of this era of mindless consumerism, monstrous greed, unthinking “patriotism” (Rambo and shouting “U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”), and callousness toward the poor and unfortunate.

A Writer’s Diary Entries From Late June, 1985

The parade got off to a rousing start with the Gay Apple Corps marching band, though the banner that expressed the theme – “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet” – could be read in two ways. As the AIDS patients marched behind a banner, “Fighting For Our Lives,” the woman next to me said, “That gives me a lump in my throat.”

A Writer’s Diary Entries From Mid-June, 1985

A guy and his girlfriend were standing in front of me arguing. All of a sudden he erupted in rage. “There’s two broken windows on this train!” he shouted, then put his fist through the window in front of me. “Now there’s three!” A fat man with an Irish brogue pointed across the platform, saying there was a dead man there. Four cops were standing over a white-sheeted body.

A Writer’s Diary Entries From Early June, 1985

I value Justin’s friendship, and he was so sweet when he took me out to dinner. I just wish he weren’t so crazy about me that – oh, well. Several times he hugged me or started making moves, like talking about giving me a back rub, and I froze up. It’s my own fault for answering the door without putting on a shirt first. . . I purposely walked him to the station so that we wouldn’t have to say goodbye in private.

A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Late May, 1985

I’m feeling more and more that he’s falling in love with me. I hope I’m wrong, but there are vibrations. He’s never called me so often before. Unfortunately, I can’t reciprocate if he does love me. I’ve never found myself in this position before, and I hope I can handle it okay. Probably he’s stable enough and cool enough not to let it get out of hand.

A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Mid-May, 1985

I feel so lucky to be able to be doing what I’m doing. My reading last night at Darinka went well. Justin was the only one of my friends to show up, but that was fine with me. I have to start paying more attention to Justin; he’s been a good, loyal friend, and maybe we could be more than friends now that it’s over with Ronna.

A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Early May, 1985

I was surprised when Ronna said she always felt a strong sexual attraction to me, “even when I was madly in love with Jordan.” Just as I once hoped Ronna would marry Jordan so she’d be “safe,” she told me she had hoped Sean and I would move in together. I told her I thought we could adjust to being just friends.

A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Late April, 1985

She said, “I’ve got to talk to you about sex. . . I’ve been thinking a lot about it.” At first, I figured she was going to talk about birth control, but no, she told me she didn’t want to go to bed with me anymore. Or she wanted to, but she didn’t think it was good for her. Two weeks ago she turned 32, and she wants to get married and have kids, and the biological clock is ticking away.

A Young Writer’s Diary Entries From Mid-April, 1985

I drove Mom to the flea market at Dinner Key Auditorium in the Grove – the place Jim Morrison got arrested for exposing himself at a Doors concert – where she’s been doing more business than most vendors. It’s surprising and gratifying to see how my mother operates in the business world.

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