RIP Ursula Le Guin
Author Laini Taylor shared this lovely poem by Ursula Le Guin on Twitter. It reminds me of what it's like to be a storyteller and can certainly relate to her words. RIP Ursula.
--Realm
Long ago when I was Ursula
writing, but not “the writer,”
and not very plural yet,
and worked with the owls not the sparrows,
being young, scribbling at midnight:
I came to a place
where the road turned and divided,
it seemed like,
going different ways,
I was lost.
I didn’t know which way.
It looked like one roadsign said To Town
and the other didn’t say anything.
So I took the way that didn’t say.
I followed
myself.
“I don’t care,” I said,
terrified.
“I don’t care if nobody ever reads it!
I’m going this way.”
And I found myself
in the dark forest, in silence.
You maybe have to find yourself,
yourselves,
in the dark forest.
Anyhow, I did then. And still now,
always. At the bad time.
When you find the hidden catch
in the secret drawer
behind the false panel
inside the concealed compartment
in the desk in the attic
of the house in the dark forest,
and press the spring firmly,
a door flies open to reveal
a bundle of old letters,
and in one of them
is a map
of the forest
that you drew yourself
before you ever went there.
The Writer At Her Work:
I see her walking
on a path through a pathless forest,
or a maze, a labyrinth.
As she walks she spins,
and the fine thread falls behind her
following her way,
telling
where she is going, where she has gone.
Teling the story.
The line, the thread of voice,
the sentences saying the way.
The Writer On Her Work:
I see her, too, I see her
lying on it.
Lying, in the morning early,
rather uncomfortable.
Trying to convince herself
that it’s a bed of roses,
a bed of laurels,
or an innerspring mattress,
or anyhow a futon.
But she keeps twitching.
There’s a lump, she says.
There’s something
like a rock—like a lentil—
I can’t sleep.
There’s something
the size of a split pea
that I haven’t written.
That I haven’t written right.
I can’t sleep.
She gets up
and writes it.
Her work
is never done.
—Ursula K. Le Guin, from “The Writer on, and at, Her Work”
Some of my favorite quotes:
“Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin
― Ursula K. Le Guin
“The creative adult is the child who has survived.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin
― Ursula K. Le Guin
“People who deny the existence of dragons are often eaten by dragons. From within.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin
― Ursula K. Le Guin
“We read books to find out who we are. What other people, real or imaginary, do and think and feel... is an essential guide to our understanding of what we ourselves are and may become.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin
― Ursula K. Le Guin
I can also relate to the bottom quote with writing too. I write and then learn more about myself and what I want to become.
Thank you for all the words you have written, Ursula.
--Realm
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