You go from being very sure about the thing you’re writing to being very unsure about it & thence to being unsure about everything. Some days later you’re so sure again that even you can see you’re in the manic phase. The internal wind is blowing from the Exhibitionist Quarter. You want opinions from everyone. You want them to see. You want them to witness. You’re convinced–as so often–that this is probably the best thing you’ve ever written. This is the exact point at which you know you should keep it to yourself, because where there is mania can depression be far behind? & anyway your judgement, never dependable, is at least now dependably shot: you can go to the bank on that. Whatever decisions you make are going to be wrong decisions but mania sticks you with making them anyway. All is florid, writhing with invention. At the same time confusion reigns. It is like some false dawn phase of the traditional alchemical process. In a week or a month, all will become clear & (probably) disappointing.