Written three years before her death at the age of 88, Ursula K. Le Guin contemplates her life as a writer.
Since keeping house and raising kids
don’t count as jobs, I only ever had one.
I started out as a prentice
at five years old, and at near eighty-five
in most ways I am still one,
being a slow learner. And the work
is quite demanding.
The boss who drives the shiny yellow car
and those nine sisters up there by the spring
are tough, but fair. There’s times
you can’t get them to listen,
but they’ve always got their eyes on you.
They don’t let botched work pass.
Sometimes the pay is terrible.
Sometimes it’s only fairy gold.
Then again sometimes the wages
are beyond imagination and desire.
I am glad to have worked for this company.
Ursula K. Le Guin