Skip to main content

#0673: Willa Cather to Dorothy Canfield Fisher, [February 11, 1923]

More about this letter…
Plain view:

Guide to Reading Letter Transcriptions

Some of these features are only visible when "plain text" is off.

Textual Feature Appearance
passage deleted with a strikethrough mark deleted passage
passage deleted by overwritten added letters overwritten passage
passage added above the line passage with added text above
passage added on the line passage with added text inline
passage added in the margin passage with text added in margin
handwritten addition to a typewritten letter typed passage with added handwritten text
missing or unreadable text missing text noted with "[illegible]"
uncertain transcriptions word[?]
notes written by someone other than Willa Cather Note in another's hand
printed letterhead text printed text
text printed on postcards, envelopes, etc. printed text
text of date and place stamps stamped text
passage written by Cather on separate enclosure. written text
Dear Dorothy1;

It was heartbreaking to miss you, when if I'd known the day before, or Thursday morning, I could have arranged it so easily. Josephine3 was ill4, so I sent her home and told her to go to bed, and I decided to devote the day to dismal chores. I left the house at ten, and had lunch and dinner up town, and didn't come home until nine at night. At that hour I was too beat out to go over to the pay station to telephone your mother5's apartment,- and by that time you were probably gone, or just getting ready for the train. It was an utterly wasted day, and the afternoon of it might have been so nice! Well, things have been going rather that way lately; the mechanics of life have been grinding hard since I got back from my wonderful time in the West6. However, it's silly to get discouraged; my cold is gradually departing, I've been hearing some glorious music, and behind the music a few comfortable ideas are stirring to make me feel that there is something worth--to me-- carrying one the routine for. The funny thing is that one can never make publishers and editors and friends see that with a story just forming you have to be alone like a thief hiding from the police,- alone with just the precious, cursed stuff you have stolen and are hiding from everybody. How much I owe to the non-success of those early books! I dropped them into the void and there was no come-back, no fuss, nothing to get in the way of the next one.

No lectures for me till I come back7 from France8, my dear! I've had to take on a secretary9 to take the people who want lectures off my back. She told me last week that she'd written nearly a hundred letters declining lectures for me in the last four months. People don't in the least want one to write--- perhaps what they really want is a vacation from having to bother about one's books at all. Well, Dorothy, they are not going to spoil things for me, so there! Be witness to my bold boast. I don't really mind not being read, (not a whoop, really--- some times a little fussed, but nothing deep.) But if they devil me so I can't write, they destroy my game, my fun, my reward, the whole splendour and glow of life, all there is for me. And they shant do it, damn them! You'll stand by me, won't you, and understand that I'm not being disobliging?

Yours always Willa