"A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." So wrote Virginia Woolf in her groundbreaking 1929 essay "A Room of One's Own." As a single mother and a writer living in South Korea, I would love to tell you, dear reader, how wonderful this essay is line by line. But having neither the time nor the space, I will concentrate on my own journey as a writer and how I came to have a room of my own-indeed an entire house of my own, something very rare for a woman even in today's relatively wealthy South Korea.

I live with my daughter, who has grown into a young woman of 14, in the Korean countryside. She is beautiful, and taller than I am, and a lovely singer. We listen to music and sing out loud and dance fiercely in the middle of the night. We raise all kinds of flowers and trees. We pick dreamers' fruit every year. I write books; my daughter plans to study English literature at university.

As is the case in much of Asia, the cost of real estate in South Korea, especially high-rise apartments that climb toward the sky in metropolitan areas, is extremely high. It is said that owning your own house is like catching a star in the sky. Even if a family manages to rent or own a house, nine times out of 10 it will have just two or three rooms. For these reasons it is rare that a woman has a room to call her own. In all likelihood a "room of one's own" is nothing more than a small writing table in the corner of the kitchen, like Jane Austen's was.

So I am truly blessed to have not only my own room but also my own house, my own star from the heavens right here on earth. But it didn't come easy. The first step was realizing that there was no way for me to salvage my marriage. After years of trying to make it work, I knew it was over, but I wasn't sure I could take care of my daughter and myself as a single mom. A divorced woman in Korean society is regarded in much the same way as an adulteress in Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter." I had to overcome much doubt and self-hatred before I chose to become a single mom.

Still, I persevered. I moved forward. I'd always wanted a room of my own, to think and write in. So, with my savings I purchased some land in the countryside in the hope of someday building a house on it. Fortunately, the price of land in the countryside is much cheaper compared to apartments in cities. But I had no money to build my house, only hope.

One day, while reading the Hankyoreh newspaper, I came across an announcement: Hankyoreh Literary Award, Grand Prize 50 million won (about $50,000). Money for my place was very scarce at that time, so I made up my mind to apply for the award. I worked as much as I could, still without a room of my one. Sometimes I would stay in quiet temples to write my novel for several days, leaving my dear daughter, who was just three-years-old then, with my sister. Whenever I felt I might succumb to my severe surroundings, I listened to Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 by the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Carlos Kleiber. I would pray, "Give me power, please." The only proverb on my mind was "Humans can try their best but the outcome is decided by something greater."

Incredibly, my efforts were rewarded, my dream realized. In 1997, I received the Hankyoreh Literature Award and the prize money. I'm very proud of receiving this prestigious prize, and it's something I'll always cherish. The title of my novel, "So Was I Once Myself a Swinger of Birches," is a line taken from Robert Frost's poem "Birches." The novel describes the young women students who embraced the Korean democratic movement of the 1980s. These early feminists struggle with marriages and child-rearing within a movement which pretends to have gender equality but consistently practices sexual discrimination. Finally, these women find the seed of hope in their sisterhood. As you may expect, this story is based on my own marriage.

In the summer of 2007, my first nonfiction book, a travel diary, was published by Hankyoreh Press. The book, "Walking Through Europe With a Daughter," looks at Europe and Western people, culture and art from the point of view of a marginal, minor, single mom from the Eastern world. At present I write a column for the Hankyoreh about my daily life and my relationship with my daughter.

Still, I can't help thinking about the tragic figure of Judith in Woolf's essay. "What would have happened had Shakespeare had a wonderfully gifted sister, called Judith, let us say?" writes Woolf. There may indeed have been a Judith in Shakespeare's England who didn't have a chance for her talent to blossom and took her own life one winter's night when she was pregnant. We will never know.

In Korea, however, during the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), there was a genius poetess who was most definitely not a work of fiction. Her name was Heo Nanseolheon (1563-1589), and she lived about the same time as William Shakespeare (1564-1616). Living in Korea she had to endure even greater oppression in her marriage than most Western women of the time, particularly from her husband's family. While her exact cause of death is unknown, many believe she, like Woolf's Judith, took her own life. If her brother, a well-known novelist, had not shared her poetry with others, she and her poems would have surely disappeared forever.

I didn't have any plans at all when I left for the remote northern countryside of South Korea holding my young daughter's hand. I had no idea how we would make a living. Still, my daughter and I survived, we refused to disappear. I just listened to and followed the voice from my heart. Now I realize who shouted out loud from my heart's well: It was Judith, Virginia, Heo Nanseolheon and all the female writers I love, whether living or dead.

Ms. Kim is a fiction writer and columnist in South Korea. She is the author of six novels, most recently "Gardenia and Mulberry in the Summer Days" (2006). Among her awards is the 1997 Hankyoreh Literature Award, which she received for her fourth novel, "So Was I Once a Swinger of Birches." Her fiction has appeared in numerous journals and magazines.