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every day is all there is.
“Memory fades, memory adjusts, memory conforms to what we think we remember.”
Joan Didion, Blue Nights
A young Joan Didion in an undated photo. This photo is part of a vast collection of 337 boxes with her and her husband’s papers, recently opened to the public in March 2025 at the New York Public Library.
source
"Feelings of inferiority in another sense, as well: Didion was what Dunne only pretended to be. “I was staying with Joan and John,” said Wakefield. “This was a couple of years before I moved to L.A.—in 1967, I think. They were both writing for The Saturday Evening Post. Things were going well, and they bought a new car, a Corvette Stingray. They’d just drove it home, right off the lot, and then they heard that The Saturday Evening Post was canceling their column, or maybe that the whole magazine was folding—I forget which—and John said, ‘Oh, God, maybe we should take back the car.’ Joan looked at him and said, ‘Don’t think poor.’” So, it was soft-spoken, bird-boned Didion, not hotheaded, chest-thumping Dunne, who was the real pro and little toughie."
Lili Anolik, True Confessions?