Willa Cather is excoriating me. Paired with Eliot, Cather is absolutely stripping me naked and I feel so insecure about everything I’ve ever known and thought about: chastity, spirits, sexual desire, commercialization, industry, capitalism, pastoral life, labor in love, the mausoleums of mankind, and clean romance. Dirty romance. I haven’t even placed my quotes in the essay yet, but this is the closest that I’ve ever felt to texts: “The Professor’s House” and “The Waste Land” is burning the hell out of me and I’m on fire, I’m excited, I’m aching to fish out the right vowels and set the tone straight. My heart is exposed and I am hungry to write more.