Happy birthday, Ursula Le Guin
Various blogging friends are wishing Ursula Le Guin happy birthday on the occasion of her 80th. I think the blog posts are being compiled, but I don't think this typically self-centered post is appropriate for that project. Still, I can't help but throw in my two cents.
The only personal interaction I've had with Le Guin was when I workshopped a story in a Taste of Clarion workshop at an early Potlatch. She was one of the two professional writers in my group, and Le Guin gave me the best, toughest comments on a story that I ever got from anyone, going back to my earliest efforts in high school and college. She basically called me out for projecting a superior knowingness toward the reader in what was actually a terminally confused narrative that was only pretending to be complex, while she also recognized what was good in it: the precise use of language, the story of a soul journey. She invited me to rewrite it and send it to her again.
Well, I was unable to rewrite the story, as I had been unable to rewrite/improve any of my attempts at fiction over the years. However, this failure was the point at which I really began to question my ability to write fiction, and it wasn't long until I finally decided I didn't have what it takes. This was also around the time that I started writing for fanzines, which was another factor in the decision. I put a huge effort into writing and self-publishing, fanzine-style, a memoir/road trip piece that I called "Travels with the Wild Child," which I considered a very big deal in my development as a writer. I sent it to several professional writers with whom I felt I had some kind of connection, including Le Guin. In my cover letter I explained that she had offered to look at the rewrite of my workshop story, but I was sending her this instead.
Bless her heart, she actually responded (unlike the other writers I sent the piece to, not that I blame them), patiently explaining that she didn't have time to read such a thing, let alone to critique it, her offer had been specific, and it wasn't cool for me to try to change the game. It felt like a bit of chin music, a bit of a brush back, a challenge. I felt really stupid. On the advice of a writer friend who knows Le Guin, I sent her a brief note apologizing for my faux pas and thanking her for taking the time to explain the ground rules to a rube.
From this vantage, I really appreciate both of those interactions, because I feel that she was exercising her power as an established writer for good. She was both trying to encourage me and also warning me to get serious and stop with the games. There's a joke that the problem with MFA writing programs is that they don't do enough to discourage people from writing. Le Guin wasn't discouraging me from writing, but she was discouraging me from just pretending to be a writer. I respect her for that. It was a good thing for me to stop bashing my head against the wall of fiction and train my talents in more fruitful directions.
A few years ago, at another Potlatch, Vonda McIntyre arranged to surprise Le Guin with a presentation of her SFWA Grand Master award, which she hadn't been able to accept at the official awards ceremony. Vonda let all of us know that she was going to spring the award on Le Guin at the trivia quiz, and she arranged for something like a dozen people to walk into the room with Le Guin masks at the moment of the presentation. So halfway through the trivia quiz, with Le Guin doing some knitting at the back of the room and calling out occasional answers or comments, Vonda made the signal, and the people with the Le Guin masks filed into the room. All the rest of us stood up and cheered like crazy people. Le Guin was utterly stunned, and when Vonda brought her the Grand Master award, she burst into tears. It was one of the most moving moments I've ever experienced at a convention. It's the type of thing that makes science fiction fandom so great, as we thanked one of our own for a lifetime of achievement in the field.
So happy birthday to Ursula K Le Guin -- a true grand master. And thanks for the whack upside the head. It did me good.
The only personal interaction I've had with Le Guin was when I workshopped a story in a Taste of Clarion workshop at an early Potlatch. She was one of the two professional writers in my group, and Le Guin gave me the best, toughest comments on a story that I ever got from anyone, going back to my earliest efforts in high school and college. She basically called me out for projecting a superior knowingness toward the reader in what was actually a terminally confused narrative that was only pretending to be complex, while she also recognized what was good in it: the precise use of language, the story of a soul journey. She invited me to rewrite it and send it to her again.
Well, I was unable to rewrite the story, as I had been unable to rewrite/improve any of my attempts at fiction over the years. However, this failure was the point at which I really began to question my ability to write fiction, and it wasn't long until I finally decided I didn't have what it takes. This was also around the time that I started writing for fanzines, which was another factor in the decision. I put a huge effort into writing and self-publishing, fanzine-style, a memoir/road trip piece that I called "Travels with the Wild Child," which I considered a very big deal in my development as a writer. I sent it to several professional writers with whom I felt I had some kind of connection, including Le Guin. In my cover letter I explained that she had offered to look at the rewrite of my workshop story, but I was sending her this instead.
Bless her heart, she actually responded (unlike the other writers I sent the piece to, not that I blame them), patiently explaining that she didn't have time to read such a thing, let alone to critique it, her offer had been specific, and it wasn't cool for me to try to change the game. It felt like a bit of chin music, a bit of a brush back, a challenge. I felt really stupid. On the advice of a writer friend who knows Le Guin, I sent her a brief note apologizing for my faux pas and thanking her for taking the time to explain the ground rules to a rube.
From this vantage, I really appreciate both of those interactions, because I feel that she was exercising her power as an established writer for good. She was both trying to encourage me and also warning me to get serious and stop with the games. There's a joke that the problem with MFA writing programs is that they don't do enough to discourage people from writing. Le Guin wasn't discouraging me from writing, but she was discouraging me from just pretending to be a writer. I respect her for that. It was a good thing for me to stop bashing my head against the wall of fiction and train my talents in more fruitful directions.
A few years ago, at another Potlatch, Vonda McIntyre arranged to surprise Le Guin with a presentation of her SFWA Grand Master award, which she hadn't been able to accept at the official awards ceremony. Vonda let all of us know that she was going to spring the award on Le Guin at the trivia quiz, and she arranged for something like a dozen people to walk into the room with Le Guin masks at the moment of the presentation. So halfway through the trivia quiz, with Le Guin doing some knitting at the back of the room and calling out occasional answers or comments, Vonda made the signal, and the people with the Le Guin masks filed into the room. All the rest of us stood up and cheered like crazy people. Le Guin was utterly stunned, and when Vonda brought her the Grand Master award, she burst into tears. It was one of the most moving moments I've ever experienced at a convention. It's the type of thing that makes science fiction fandom so great, as we thanked one of our own for a lifetime of achievement in the field.
So happy birthday to Ursula K Le Guin -- a true grand master. And thanks for the whack upside the head. It did me good.