Chapter 35
I can’t begin to describe my excitement when, one day in 1974, I received a letter from Anais Nin. I had written her a fan letter and really didn’t expect to hear from her. I think I actually trembled as I read her words in that graceful, flowing penmanship of hers. It was the start of a short correspondence over the next two years. I asked her to inscribe the diaries that I had and she did. She even sent me two volumes that I didn’t have. For that generosity, I will always be grateful. She was in her 70s at that time. She was at the peak of her fame. She didn’t have to take the time to write to a 22-year-old kid managing a tobacco shop in a mall in an upstate New York town. But she did. I was so fascinated by her writing and her lifestyle that I read every word she wrote, and everything that was written about her. I subscribed to a journal devoted to her published by Richard Centing at Ohio State University . I wrote and published articles about her. Then, she died. I knew she had cancer and wasn’t surprised by her death. I kept reading her works until I came upon something that made me set her works down. I never picked them up again.
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