Summary

Theresa C. Dintino recounts the profound impact of Ursula K. Le Guin's essay "The Fisherwoman's Daughter" on her own writing and the invaluable advice Le Guin offered on embracing one's truth as a woman and a writer.

Abstract

The web content describes how Theresa C. Dintino, influenced by Ursula K. Le Guin's essay "The Fisherwoman's Daughter," attended a writing workshop led by Le Guin. Despite the workshop's general focus on writing craft, Dintino sought insights on women's writing experiences, a topic Le Guin had explored in her essay. During a private session, Le Guin encouraged Dintino to maintain her feminist voice, emphasizing the importance of writing one's truth. Dintino reflects on the challenges and rewards of following this advice throughout her writing career, expressing gratitude for Le Guin's guidance and the absence of regret in her later years. The essay also touches on the historical context of women writers, the portrayal of motherhood in literature, and Le Guin's extensive literary contributions.

Opinions

Dintino values the authentic representation of women in literature, particularly in relation to writing and motherhood.
Le Guin's essay resonated with Dintino's personal struggles as a writer, affirming the significance of a feminist perspective in her work.
The workshop culture, particularly its formulaic approach, was seen as uninspiring and not conducive to the deeper conversation Dintino sought about women and writing.
Le Guin's personal advice to Dintino underscored the importance of not compromising one's feminist voice, suggesting that deviation from one's truth could lead to regret.
Dintino acknowledges the historical challenges faced by women writers, who often had to balance their craft with domestic responsibilities.
The content suggests that literature benefits from the inclusion of women's perspectives, especially those that reflect their lived experiences and realities.
Le Guin is revered not only for her prolific literary output but also for her role as a mentor and role model for aspiring women writers.

Ursula K. Le Guin’s Advice To Me On Writing

“Write your truth”

Marian Wood Kolisch, Oregon State University (Wikimedia Commons Ursula Le Guin (3551195631).jpg)

When I was in my late twenties, there was one essay I read in the New York Times Book Review that moved me so deeply that I immediately signed up for a summer writing workshop where the writer of the essay was teaching. It was not like me to go to writing workshops anymore at that age. I was in complete burnout with the workshop culture from my college writing program and the many writing workshops I had gone to after.

I was what I would call a “beginning writer” at that point, trying to find my authentic voice, in the middle of writing my first book.

But this essay, it rumbled my insides as I read it and made my cry out “Yes,” and “please.” I wanted to learn more from the woman who had written it. That woman was Ursula K. Le Guin. The essay was, The Fisherwoman’s Daughter. It begins like this:

“’So, of course,’ wrote Betty Flanders, pressing her heels, rather deeper in the sand, there was nothing for it but to leave.’

That is the first sentence of Virginia Woolf’s Jacob’s Room. It is a woman writing. Sitting on the sand by the sea, writing. It’s only Betty Flanders, and she’s only writing a letter. But first sentences are doors to worlds. This world of Jacob’s room, so strangely empty at the end of the book when the mother stands in it holding out a pair of her son’s old shoes and saying, “What am I to do with these?” — this is a world in which the first thing one sees is a woman, a mother of children, writing.

On the shore, by the sea, outdoors, is that where women write? Not at a desk, in a writing room? Where does a woman write, what does she look like writing, what is my image, your image, of a woman writing?”(213).

Written in 1988, Le Guin tackles the questions of women and writing, the lack of women represented as writers in fiction, how women have written through history with all the other responsibilities constantly tugging at them, women writers and motherhood, the books vs. babies myth, women allowing themselves the full breadth and depth of their imaginations and women’s realities as represented in art — all topics still relevant today.

Women have written at kitchen tables, between making dinner and lunch, with their children running about (Harriet Beecher Stowe), hidden their works on writing tables under other, more acceptable, “ladies papers” such as letters and invitations (Jane Austen), had their work trivialized by their family even though they have become famous for it (Louisa May Alcott), and written potboilers in the corner in the evening with other women who are chatting while doing their needlework (Oliphant).

Little Epiphanies or Virginia Woolf’s “Moments of Being”

Transcending the Self

medium.com

Women have felt they needed to choose between writing books or having babies as (they have been told) one would surely kill the other. Women’s realities in literature have been portrayed through the lens of other: husband, lover, son, rather than the woman herself. In 1988 there were very few portrayals of motherhood from the perspective of the mother in literature, especially not writers who were mothers.

When I went to the writing workshop, I was so happy to be in the presence of an elder, a role model. I was so excited to hear more, to talk to her about all these subjects, but, frustratingly, Le Guin did not speak about this in the workshop sessions.

We were a large group who had mostly — except for me, (hungry to hear more from her about women writers, women and writing and get advice how to navigate being a woman and a writer) — come to learn more about the craft of writing and have their writing read and reviewed in a group facilitated by her. Another dull writing workshop is what it, in fact, was.

In our private session, however, I did get to address the issues of the essay with her. She told me that she was so happy for me that I was already identified as a feminist and a writer at such a young age and that I was already, without question, putting those two identities together as a feminist writer.

She said it had taken her a long time to get to that point as a woman and writer and she regretted it. She encouraged me to keep my feminist voice, and pleaded with me to not let anyone talk me out of it. “You will regret it,” she said. “Write the truth. Write your truth.”

This was great encouragement for me at the time. I had often been told the opposite. Why do you have to be so feminist? People don’t like that. Could you write about things that appeal more to people, not this angry feminist stuff?

I always remembered her advice, especially as I moved forward in my writing and took larger and larger risks. For, though I was never going to let go of my feminist voice — the whole reason I wanted to write was to address women’s issues and causes through this vehicle — I trusted her that if I didn’t, I would regret it.

I have to say now, at this point in my life — in my late fifties and having written eight books — though it has not been easy, she was right — I have no regrets. And regret, it seems to me, is the stuff that corrodes away at happiness in later years.

Ursula K. Le Guin (1929–2018) is one of the most prolific writers of our time. She is the author of over twenty-two novels, including EarthSea series of books, The Dispossessed, The Left Hand of Darkness, Lavinia, seven books of poetry, over a hundred short stories, four collections of essays, twelve books for children, and four volumes of translation.

She is also the mother of three children.

Works Cited:

Le Guin, Ursula K. “The Fisherwoman’s Daughter,” Dancing at the Edge of the World: Thoughts on Words, Women, Places, (Grove Press: N.Y., 1989)