“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(The mail from Prentice-Hall is increasing considerably, whether or not this is in line with Seth’s recent statement that an increase in sales of the books is under way. Batches of fan mail have arrived the last three days. Already I’m way behind, and feel that I’ll never get it answered. In fact, today was the first day in 330 that I didn’t answer at least a few letters from readers. It gave me a strange feeling of freedom; the afternoon seemed stretched out, or longer. I believe I’m on the point of renouncing the fan mail, or most of it. Perhaps I’ll take the time from Dreams to work out a final fan letter — including Seth’s — to send folks who write. One I can sign, and that’s it.

(Much of this we’ve gone over before, at various times. Jane began by talking about how her mother, Marie, told her at puberty that she had bad blood in her from her father [Delmer], that he had syphilis. Jane was frightened at having her periods and talked to a nun about all of it — and the nun would have her own hangups, probably; Jane didn’t say, or perhaps remember.

(She also recounted how she didn’t have to take gym in school because of her periods, and how Marie said Del had bad eyes because of the syphilis and couldn’t read. Jane remembers all of those feelings, yet doesn’t feel them, she said. She was very afraid to get pregnant, and never fooled around. After our marriage she was afraid of being pregnant, thinking it would wreck our careers. I reminded her that when she did get pregnant, I hadn’t been terribly upset, and accepted it. She felt the men didn’t pay her serious attention at the science-fiction conference 27 years ago because she was a woman. The same with the psychic stuff: a hysterical woman. She felt that men were superior to women.

(She identified with writing poetry very early in life. “I believed what I wrote, but people said I’d grow out of it and have kids, and I was determined not to.” Had trouble sharing poetry with most boyfriends; smarter to play dumb, she discovered. Marie had always encouraged her poetry, and the two women shared it for a number of years. Jane used to write poems to get back in Marie’s good grace: “At the same time I felt like I was betraying myself for doing it. I remember that quite well.” I didn’t remember Jane telling me this before, though she might have.

(Jane was frightened when her mother read cards or tea leaves. She remembers her mother making predictions that came true — but how many did she make, I asked, that didn’t pan out? Probably hundreds.

(4:32 p.m. It was getting windy outside, and cooler, and was clouding over. “To tell you the truth, I was so uncomfortable I didn’t think I could have a session,” Jane said. She had a cigarette before I turned her. We thought of games involving the French book, or even crossword puzzles. In the ash tree just starting to get leaves beside the windows of 330, I saw a tiny yellow bird flitting about among the branches. I pointed it out to Jane, but she couldn’t quite see it, except for a flash of color. I’d seen the same bird, I think, yesterday afternoon also.