A Return to Haiku

I used to write Haiku. I began writing Haiku when it seemed impossible that I’d ever write again. An exercise. Write something. Anything. Just write. Three lines. Seventeen syllables.

I wrote at least 1000 of them. I was a fountain of Haiku. Then I began to think of them as money or how to make money. A book of Haiku? A guide—how to use Haiku to fight writer’s block? Workshops? Podcasts?

Guess what happened.

All of that thinking about how to monetize my Haiku had an effect. The parts of my brain that experience moments and the nerves in my body that feel joy or sadness or wonder went numb. I stopped writing Haiku.

When I wrote Tea with Dad it wasn’t “work” or to make money. It was an experience. A deeply important, moving, experience—sometimes hard, sometimes funny, sometimes painful, but at the end of each day always, always rewarding.

I don’t know about other writers. We are all different. So different. And though I would love to make money through writing—the cherry on the top—once I begin to think about making money different parts of my brain show up. The censor. The lawyer. The accountant. The professor. The editor. They are loud in my head. I cannot think, let alone create.

My daughter Sharon crochets the most beautiful things. Blankets for babies, octopuses for preemies, afghans… you name it. Gorgeous gifts. She takes pride in what she creates as well as joy in the gifting of it. The returns are many and never monetary.

I will think about this as I write today. I guess I’ll find a moment where I am aware enough to experience the world around me, experience a moment where life can be condensed into three lines made up of seventeen syllables.

After all, one must

not expect any return

before one invests.

(Photo source: “Captain’s Knot” by Sharon Meng.)