What Are We Writers Up To, Really?

Ray Rasmussen

This essay was previously published in Drifting Sands Haibun.

I’ve recently been reading essay collections as a means of getting away from the easy-to-fall-into routine of mainly reading haibun and, as important, a way of escaping the very dismal world news. Personal essays tend to offer good, imaginative writing with a poetic flavor.

The type I seek are quasi-autobiographical, but neither overly prosaic nor didactic. Like haibun they tend to focus on the personal experiences of the writer but are typically much more expansive than haibun. Thus they’re akin to non-fiction and short memoirs, providing a larger bit of a lived life than haiku (which represents but an Ah Ha! moment in the poet’s life) and haibun and tanka prose (which represent an outstanding experience, a more expansive snippet of life).

Michael Chabon’s Manhood for Amateurs, is one such collection I’d recommend to anyone who likes well-written memoirs and personal essays. In a passage from “The Loser’s Club,” Chabon offers his own experiences and thoughts about the motivations of artists of any stripe:

“Every work of art, every project seemingly created for self-realization, every impulse to create work that can potentially be seen or read or listened to by others is one half of a secret handshake, a heliograph flashed from a tower window, an act of hopeless optimism in the service of bottomless longing. Every great record or novel or comic book or poetry collection convenes the first meeting of a fan club whose membership stands forever as one, but which maintains chapters in every city—in every cranium—in the world.”

What Motivates Haibun and Tanka Prose Poets? Or at least me?

Chabon’s passage led me to musing about what motivates us haibunists to send our writing to journals and writing forums, to post it on personal websites and blogs, to offer it to publishers and, of course, send it to friends and family. Are we, as Chabon asserts, driven by a “bottomless longing” for a “fan club.”

I personally don’t like the idea of having fans which implies a kind of cultish devotion to a celebrity. However, Chabon, who makes his living from his writing, does want and need fans. They tend to buy his books, and thus help feed, shelter and clothe his family. I don’t earn a living from my writing, and if I tried, I’d be starved out in a matter of months. So far, I’ve earned about $300 Cdn in Royalties from my Amazon Posted collection: Landmarks. Nor do I know of any haiku genre poets who make a significant amount of money from the sale of their collections.

I also don’t desire a “bottomless” readership. But I would feel good if a good number of people to read my work, far more than the 300 or so that have been purchased, many by family and friends. I’d also be please if more people would use the “comments” pages in our journals to let me know that they’ve appreciated something I’ve written, but while a simple, “like” would be okay, more detail would be even nicer. I’ve deleted the names, but posted the comments of many readers who commented on this essay when it appeared in Drifting Sands Haibun 6 years ago. Bless you all!

I’d also like to see haibun in general, not just mine, appearing in mainstream poetry journals and literary magazines. Even Reader’s Digest, read by a wide variety of people, would make me happy because RD is not just writers writing for other writers. I’d also like to see the number of writers grow dramatically in the next decade and the readership of our collective writing grow.

But let’s be realistic. Not much of what I want, and particularly what Chabon thinks I want, is going to happen. I’ve not yet been discovered by a publisher, either of literary or Reader’s Digest stripe. Nor have I even been found by the mainstream poetry folks. Nor does our genre have a superstar like free verse’s Billy Collins with a style that allows him to both make a living (I’m guessing) and enjoyed by a wide variety of readers. But there are very few poets in any genre who have that sort of readership.

So, if I long for anything, it’s simply what I have, a community of like-minded writers, a reasonable number of readers, a number of good venues to which I can submit my work, and a flock of volunteer editors who read and assess my work. Even if they reject a piece, I only grumble for a year or so.

I’d also like to have a number of people sending and exchanging comments on both my work and the work of others. I comment from time to time by writing commentaries and reviews. It’s useful that some online journals, drifting sands haibun and Contemporary Haibun Online (to name two), have comments sections allowing detailed comments to be made, much more than a simple “I liked it.” Alas, I didn’t notice many meaty or even many simple I-like-it comments in either the last issue of CHO or DSH addressed to the writers.

So here are two questions that come to mind from what I’ve written above. Why do we care about readership? And since we care (at least I think we do) why aren’t more people reading and commenting on haibun?

Why Do We Care?

My answer is that serious haibun composition, and writing of any type, requires a good deal more time and energy than a tweet or short facebook post with the message: “Here’s where I am, what I’m doing, and a pic showing who I’m with.”.

Serious writing for submission and publication requires even more work, particularly redrafting until there’s a high level of quality in content and style leading to a personal story worth readers’ time and attention. It’s also much more demanding than simply posting early drafts on an online writers’ forum, for example, where mostly people send either “attaboys” or polite silence in return. Beyond writing the piece, the act of preparing and sending a submission to journal editors takes an enormous amount of work. Even more work is involved in preparing a manuscript for a publisher or for self-publishing. And then there’s the ego cost. Getting those “No Thanks” from editors and publishers is costly to the writer’s spirit – I don’t care who you are or how thick your skin is – it just plain hurts. And never getting comments on the work also produces a kind of hurt, a feeling of emptiness that our note in a bottle hasn’t been picked up and read by a beachcomber, and may never be.

Why Aren’t More People Reading Haibun (and Commenting?)

My answer is that haibun is a very small drop in the pond of haiku poetry, and but a water molecule in the ocean of mainstream poetry and various related short genres like short stories, memoirs and personal essays. Our publication venues don’t number much more than 20 and the multi-genre venues like Modern Haiku and Frogpond only publish a few haibun per issue along with hundreds of haiku. The number of writers in our haibun community is probably less than 500. That’s just an impression I formed while editing over the last 20 years at Haibun Today, Contemporary Haibun Online, A Hundred Gourds, Simply Haiku, The World Haiku Review and Notes from the Gean. The same names tended to reappear at least once a year and many repeated in almost every issue. When a name disappears, I feel the loss.

Our mass mailout announcing issue releases of Haibun Today was sent to about 400 folks associated with haibun and/or haiku. The software stats told us that only about 250 opened the issue as a result of the mailing. Of those, we don’t know how much of the issue was actually read. (Don’t worry, we’re not the secret email police or at least not very adept at it). I think that many of us click on our own pieces to see how our work looks on the journal’s pages, and then look at a few others. I admit that I look at my own and then shop for my favorite writers and then shop a few titles that interest me. And then I burn out.

Writing as a Solitary Journey

Chabon also wrote:

“Art, like fandom, asserts the possibility of fellowship in a world built entirely from the materials of solitude. The novelist, the cartoonist, the songwriter, the poet, knows that the gesture is doomed from the beginning but makes it anyway, flashes his or her bit of mirror, not on the chance that the signal will be seen or understood but as if such a chance existed.”

Advice for New Writers to Haibun

I think that lack of response and particularly those early rejections are very discouraging to new writers in any genre.

I’d suggest that you keep writing through the rejection period and learn what you can. Eventually something will come of it. Do seek places where you get coaching and honest feedback and your skills will improve and writing memoir type pieces means you’ll come know yourself better.

Having said that, I know that you will or you won’t keep at it according to the thickness of your own skin and your need for responses and contact. In that sense, Chabon is right, particularly early on, writing is a solo journey and with respect to sailing into the world of writing, many people probably jump the boat and swim home.

If you keep at it and get that first acceptance, I can predict your spirit will rise and motivation increase. And after a few more “Yes Responses” you might even be hooked. Or you might not. It is, after all, a lot of work.

One thing that will happen, or at least happened to me, both as a photographer and writer is that I now appreciate at a higher level both photography and fine art and writing in many genres. Consider your writing journey not so much as a gathering-of-fans endeavor, but more as a poetry appreciation course.

Of course, there’s always the noble idea of “writing for oneself.” I think it’s true that writing can be a path to the fulfilling that famous “Know Thyself” adage which is thought to be a path to leading a more worthy life. Particularly, largely autobiographical writing – a series about the highs and lows of the one life we have to live. As such, writing is cheaper than a weekly meeting with a shrink and it might be more effective.

And when you finally do take the step to feel good enough about your writing to produce a collection and offer it to the world, I think you’ll feel, as I do, that you’ve accomplished something important. At the very least, you’ll have left a legacy for children and grandchildren and have a gift to give to your friends. Many of my friends have told me that my Landmarks collection sits in a prominent place in their bathroom. Don’t get me wrong … haibun make for good short reads while busy with the daily unmentionables. And, to be honest, it makes my day thinking that I’ve helped someone find enjoyment in those visits.

Notes:

Quotes from “The Losers’ Club” in Michael Chabon, Manhood for Amateurs: The Pleasures and Regrets of a Husband, Father and Son, HarperCollins, September 30th 2009. I’ve paraphrased Chabon’s passages a bit, but they’re quite close to the original.

Another collection of personal essays I’ve found worthwhile is E.B. White’s One Man’s Meat, Tilbury House Publishers, 1942.

Yes, for whatever our reasons, we’ve chosen to live in relative solitude as writers when we joined what might be called “The Tiny Companionship of Haibun Poets.” And we’re not unique. This is also true of the Bigger Company of Haiku poets and the Very Big Association of Mainstream Poets.

For myself, I enjoy seeing the work of other writers and feel I’ve gotten to know them precisely because we are a small gathering. And that’s sufficient, isn’t it?

19 Comments on “What Are We Writers Up To, Really?” Again, Bless you all. Made my day!

1. I love haibun. I have admit that I read far more than I comment on. I prefer to rate a haibun because so many times it’s the gordian knot holding it together that appeals rather than a single comment-able part. The kinds of responses I like most on mine are ones that say I can relate to that even when it’s mind blowing surreal.
2. Yes, I am still trying to survive the many rejections phase. It has helped me to be more critical of my own work and to read others for clues to their successful publication. Thanks Ray!
3. I, too, hesitate to comment on the works of others because I am a novice and don’t think I have anything to offer. Ray’s essay makes the point that “useful” is not the point, recognition ( in the interpersonal sense of the word) is the point, community is the point, vision is the point. Thank you.
4. Ray, I read every haibun and tanka prose in each issue after the first one of mine published in HaibunToday, until I hit a personal stumbling block and left the scene. Same with CHO. Ahhh…now you burst my bubble. I thought writers were like me and so I thought at least everyone who published in that issue read mine! Oh, how egotistical of me. No big deal. I enjoyed the process and being published. Just stumbling back in. Don’t foresee myself writing much. Maybe after reading a bit.
5. Thanks for that wonderful piece, Ray. It dwells on writerly experiences in such an honest spirit. I was also reminded of Bashos’s views on poetry from the opening paragraph of The Records of a Travel-worn Satchel:“In this mortal frame of mine which is made of a hundred bones and nine orifices there is something, and this something is called a wind-swept spirit for lack of a better name, for it is much like a thin drapery that is torn and swept away at the slightest stir of the wind. This something in me took to writing poetry years ago, merely to amuse itself at first, but finally making it its lifelong business. It must be admitted, however, that there were times when it sank into such dejection that it was almost ready to drop its pursuit, or again times when i was so puffed up with pride that it exulted in vain victories over the others. Indeed, ever since it began to write poetry, it has never found peace with itself, always wavering between doubts of one kind and another. At one time it wanted to gain security by entering the service of a court, and at another it wished to measure the depth of its ignorance by trying to be a scholar, but it was prevented from either because of its unquenchable love of poetry. The fact is, it knows no other art than the art of writing poetry, and therefore, it hangs on to it more or less blindly.”
6. On the rare days when I scroll through my haiku, haibun or other poems (including the mediocre ones that have not been sent for publication, or have been rejected), I clearly see a record of my life’s journey, and relive the many moments that I have forgotten, in a slightly different light. So, in that sense, it’s also an important journalling that helps one grow, I feel.(And the shameless plug: My poetry collection, In The Sanctuary of a Poem, sold about 600 copies and then was largely forgotten. There are two shops here in Goa (a clothing store, and a seed store) that sell about 20 copies in six months, and then I replenish the stock).
7. Initially I was shocked that ‘Landmarks’ sold only a few 100 copies, and I’m glad I wrote to Ray probably a year ago now, telling him that ‘Landmarks’ had become one of my favourite books in any genre and was the book that really got me going on the haibun path. But of course a sale of 100 books is actually pretty good going in the world of haiku and haibun (even if friends etc make up a good percentage of sales). Initial print runs don’t number much above this and a long time ago, in my mainstream writing days, I remember once reading that only Hughes, Betjeman and Gunn sold more than 200 copies of their ‘slim volumes’. I have re-read ‘Landmarks’ on a number of occasions now and it has become nicely dog-eared in next to no time. Perhaps we should think about the success of a book in terms of how it is treasured and re-read by those who bought it, rather than sales figures – not that it would be possible to measure this with any degree of accuracy!
8. As one new to haibun, I’ve had the sense that I didn’t have anything “useful” to offer in a conversation. Your thoughts here make it clear that “useful” is not necessarily the point; just a note about what I liked in a haibun is welcome. I do like using haibun to comment about intriguing little aspects of the world, not just the more personal memoir topics.Thanks for this essay, and for the many ways in which you’ve made it possible for the “tiny” haibun corps to thrive and expand.
   1. What an enlightening and beautiful essay dear Ray. Your thoughts made me contemplate as to why we write haibun and why we don’t comment on the haibun of our poet friends. It’s true that we write to express ourselves, to relive some moments of our own life, our childhood memories and stray encounters. We do read the published haibun, (albeit selectively) and enjoy them too. Yet as you say writing is a solitary journey and your thoughts are inspiring for writers. Here I would also like to add a word about editors who take time to guide and refine the submitted poem rather than an outright rejection. Their kindness and guidance motivates writers to write and submit more. Ultimately the art needs more reading, more practice, more honesty and humility. Grateful Ray for the guidance and ideas given.
9. Such sound advice. I love what you’ve written and being new to haibun I will keep your thoughts in mind. I usually write because I need to. Someday I might submit and keep my expectations low. Even thick skin hurts. (Lol)
10. Ray, thank you for this inspiring essay. I am immeasurably grateful to have found the ‘Haibun Way’– loving the wind, ‘sailing into the world of writing’, and doubt I will ‘jump the boat’ anytime soon. Very much a novice, with three haibun accepted by online journals so far, though I dare say–I’m hooked! There is a longing, yes, but not for fans, only to share with like minded beings.
11. Thanks for writing this essay, Ray. It resonates with me and many others who felt early on being drawn toward what Tom Clausen calls “A Haiku Way of Life.” (For those who have not yet read or do not recall Tom Clausen’s 10-page essay from 1998, download a PDF of it from The Haiku Foundation’s digital library.) Some of us have also explored a side road called “Haibun Way,” and others have traveled down “Tanka Road” and meandered along “Haiga Path.” They are what William Least Heat Moon calls “Blue Highways,” roads not far from the interstates but overlooked, unused, almost hidden.Reading the following paragraph from your essay got me thinking about an “official” name for this widespread guild of isolated writers we have unofficially formed or joined, but no name could possibly encompass its many “Third Order” vocations:“Yes, for whatever our reasons, we’ve chosen to live in relative solitude as writers when we joined what might be called ‘The Tiny Companionship of Haibun Poets.’ And we’re not unique. This is also true of the Bigger Company of Haiku poets and the Very Big Association of Mainstream Poets.”However, your “Tiny Companionship” name works just fine, with a nod to Dylan Tweney’s tinywords. And, yes, I bought, read, and enjoy your “Landmarks: A Haibun Collection” for my Kindle and recommend it to everyone who writes and cares for haibun. I look forward to reading your next collection of “inuksuit,” but this time with photographs!
12. Just the joy of creating that children enjoy when mark making , the joy of creating something as part of a creative universe. These are enough for me.
13. Chabon’s statement that “Every work of art, every project seemingly created for self-realization, every impulse to create work that can potentially be seen or read or listened to by others is . . . an act of hopeless optimism in the service of bottomless longing” brought a sense of relief. I am not alone with bottomless longing! My core longing is to write as a way of making sense of the world of humans and to be connected with nature. I began recording my observations and reflections decades before discovering haiku and haibun – partly because it was enjoyable and partly so I wouldn’t forget unique experiences. What motivates me to write haibun? My old jottings could be left in their original form for my own enjoyment and yet I find myself mining them for material for haibun. I enjoy the challenge of linking title, prose and haiku into haibun. But, I often wonder why I take the time to transform some of them into haibun worth submitting for publication.I was so caught up in pondering the longing to write that I was surprised to realize longing for readership was the primary focus of the essay. I do not long for a fan club, but I do long for people to read what I write and, yes, some of that longing is for my writing to be appreciated. Part of what drives me to publish haibun is that it is a way of saying “hey, look at this amazing thing I saw” to a community that is observing life as carefully as I am. I suppose that is a way of breaking the solitariness of writing.I can only offer these vague ideas about why I write haibun and strive to have it published. All I know for sure is that a deep longing calls me to do it and so I do.
14. Ray, As a “fan” of your “largely autobiographical work,” I particularly appreciated your inclusion of this notion in your essay:
    “I think it’s true that writing can be a path to the fulfilling that famous “Know Thyself” adage which is thought to be a path to leading a more worthy life. Particularly, largely autobiographical writing – a series about the highs and lows of the one life we have to live.”
    In pursuing a short form career (if we can call a largely unpaid endeavor a career), the work one willingly undertakes can allow not only the honing of one’s writing, but the refinement of oneself. The reflection and introspection autobiographical writing requires has the potential to deepen self-awareness and broaden consciousness. As a person with an active interest in Jungian ideas, I would submit that autobiographical writing is a form of alchemy, and as such, is one path to individuation. This could explain why authentic, autobiographical work so often resonates with a uniquely palpable energy. Because it has been lived, it is alive.
    Thank you for delivering a thought-provoking essay in your characteristic grounded, relatable way.
15. I find a piece of writing is a way to explore and unravel the self. I don’t write for an audience, I write to make meaning, to decode the conflict within me, lay it out in neat categories where I can look at them and then go back to them again and again, shuffling these categories, mixing them up, arranging them under different rubrics to make sense of patterns.The act of reading is quite like finding a friend among strangers. I tend to read randomly picking up pieces here and there. It’s also about access. There are certain people whose work I will actively pursue, then there are others where I have literally stumbled upon a piece and enjoyed it. Although I read and try to write regularly, there are periods where I need space. It is like taking time out because one is exhausted by the form or style or voice. I haven’t actively read a novel in a long time. More and more, I find, I’m edging towards work that is shorter, crisper and flows honestly without pretense. I like Haibun for that reason because many writers tend to write from that sort of space. The link and shift within a piece of writing then becomes interesting because someone, has arranged a new pattern while still exploring the duality(juxtaposition) that exists in this world. I find the simple often the most beautiful, the honest often the most resonant.
16. I share your sentiments, and was heartened by your comment, “This could explain why authentic, autobiographical work so often resonates with a uniquely palpable energy. Because it has been lived, it is alive.” Thanks for the breath of optimism.
    For the artist, poetry might be the most rewarding of the arts (who knows, but I cherish the “alchemy”, as you say). This is what motivates to make the effort. But it sure is nice when someone appreciates the finished product.
17. Enjoyed reading this. It’s always a pleasure to see how I measure up to what or how other writers do things or if I’m completely off base!
18. I found your comments so relatable. As a relative newcomer to haibun and tanka prose, I have benefited immeasurably from writers and editors like you. Thanks for sharing some of your journey with us.
19. i loved reading this essay. The writing life is a lonely one. I always appreciate your careful reading and keen insights.