For several years, the Sunday Washington Post Style Section had as a regular feature a pair of short written pieces each week called Life is Short: Autobiography as Haiku. The rules for the Washington Post haiku are simple: the writing is not to exceed 100 words. The most successful of these short writing exercises are those which are most personal and which seem to be very small in scope. It is precisely in their minuteness that more universal significance is often found. They are not generic, they do not preach or moralize, they speak for no one except for the author. They are simply like a small window into the soul of the writer, showing a reader how experience has shaped the writer s soul.
Considerations for writing in this style: Writing 100 words is more demanding than writing more words. More thought is required when few words are allowed. Take a lot of time to edit, so that every word of the 100 is important. It is helpful to read your work aloud; hearing your words will aid the editing process. A successfully written haiku will be an intensely personal story. Often, the most intensely personal accounts are the ones that have the broadest appeal and recognition. Resist the urge to sum up your story, or to interpret its moral. As a matter of fact, slay the urge!
Aim for descriptors that communicate strongly; distracting details are not substitute for descriptors. A successful haiku is less about painting a picture, more about taking the reader into or inside the moment itself. A good haiku is an identification of an insightful or an insighted moment. MORE WITH LESS: an effective haiku will communicate specific place, time and person even though the reader doesn t know those specific details, doesn t need to know those details, and, those details don t much matter anyway.
A poem by Wendell Berry, entitled How to Be a Poet, holds great advice for finding a beginning for this kind of writing HOW TO BE A POET (to remind myself) i Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill more of each than you have inspiration, work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity. Any readers who like your poems, doubt their judgment. iii Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came. ii Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensioned life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places.
Autobiography Haiku Write a 100 word autobiography that describes something about you. Focus on a moment, scene, anecdote, or event (not your entire life) Because it is short, have a strong ending Use of contrast, juxtaposition, or humor Shows a specific event/action/etc. that hints at universality Pay attention to word choice, details, sounds of words and sentences.
I loved her with all my heart. Little did I know that this little dog was my teacher, showing me how to negotiate life's journey. Shana's lessons: Hang out with the people you love, and get as close to them as you can. Always be ready to play. If someone doesn't like you, don't worry about it. Lots of others do. Spend your time with them. Don't spend a lot of time being sad. Find something to do that makes you happy. If someone upsets the one you love most, pee on their side of the bed. Be joyous. Lynda Van Kuren
My teenage son was scanning the pantry. I asked him what he was looking for. "Mayonnaise." Hopeful that he would make his own lunch, I told him to look in the refrigerator. He shrugged and, expending as little effort as possible, walked to the fridge, opened its door and quickly declared, "It's not here." I knew it was there. I joined him at the refrigerator, immediately saw the mayonnaise, grabbed it, shoved it into his hands and asked, "Are you blind?" He stared at the jar. "No, are you deaf? I was looking for Band-Aids." Marla McIntosh
What I need: round-trip bus tickets to New York, Advil, gas in my car, more money, a birthday card for Jean, to stop eating ice cream for breakfast, a way to move a futon to Boston, textbook money, a plan, a kitchen table. What I want: new shoes, to lose five pounds, a nap, free everything, my cat on my stomach, better social skills, cooking classes, someone else to do the dishes, beer money, cheese fries, to smack some people, fewer doubts, to be there already. What I have: two jobs, one more year of college, too much choice. Christine Bath
I'm at a party the other night, looking over the crowd. There are many shapes, sizes, colors and ages. On the other side of the room, I spot this very attractive guy. He's tall with dark hair and looks very distinguished in his long-sleeved blue shirt. I feel flushed. My heart is beating faster. Whew! I'm surprised by my spontaneous reactions to him. He's my husband of 36 years. Nice to know "it" still works. Ella Cleveland
I look up and wish he would watch me. I look down and wish I would stop looking up. I know it is hopeless, truly, to wish for more than friendship, for I am the absurd friend of an absurd little sister, no more than a quirky teenager who seems to enjoy his company. I look up and wish that he knew how very much. -Margaret Lilly
Life is short. I am not. I'm used to this. When I screw in a light bulb without standing on a chair, I'm not amazed. Others, however, seem shocked. "How tall ARE you?" they ask. Daily. "Six-two." "You couldn't be that tall." Favorite question: "Have you always been that tall?" Favorite comment: "I wish I were tall but not as tall as you." Yes, I played college and pro basketball. But I wasn't good because I'm tall. I was good because I practiced. Mission: To be the kind of person who's worth looking up to, just in case anyone's looking. Mariah Burton Nelson
My husband and I walk our neighbor's dog every Sunday. Maude is a 9-year-old bloodhound who enjoys conversation. "Are you enjoying the walk?" I ask her. As she continues walking with a slightly faster pace, my husband responds, "Yes, I am." My husband is jealous of Maude. On Saturday mornings, I drag him out of bed to play tennis. Running errands in the afternoon, he trails reluctantly behind me on detours into shoe stores and boutique shops. I realize I seldom stop and ask if he is enjoying himself, too. Helen Ip