Featured Writer: Lynn Edge
First-person reflections on the art of writing haibun
In the late 1990s my husband and I took trips to New Mexico with our two miniature schnauzers. I wanted to write about traveling with dogs and signed up for an internet writing class. The instructor, Allegra Wong, introduced me to haibun. I was excited about the form’s terse prose compared to the explanations and backstories required in essays, but I struggled with haiku for years. Only after I read Lee Gurga’s Haiku: A Poet’s Guide did I understand the nuance of juxtaposition. (For anyone just starting to write haibun, my advice is to learn to write haiku first.)
My first haibun to appear in print was “Heidi.” It appeared in contemporary haibun online in 2006 and then was selected for the contemporary haibun anthology that year. I tried to capture the moment my dog and I anticipated each other’s actions. The simple haiku indicates our pets aren’t with us long enough. “Heidi” is still a favorite of mine and hopefully resonates with readers today as it did eighteen years ago.
Heidi
a black and silver Schnauzer, my companion for a dozen years, sleeps on the checkered quilt that covers me. Do I stir first? Or does she? Either way, she knows I am awake, lies at the foot of the bed, muzzle between front legs, waiting. With long familiarity, we rise in unison—feet and paws touch the floor at the same time.
a hint of shadows
along the old dog's ribs
winter chill
***
Most early haibun writers wrote about their personal experiences. Much of my work is autobiographical, and more recently it includes family stories I heard as child. I begin with an actual experience, then perhaps add or delete details to make a story more interesting or understandable.
In the last few years I have written about my husband’s death and living alone. When I decided to publish a collection of my haibun, I chose work with a Texas theme. I arranged my husband’s western shirt, his hat and his branding iron on the floor, then photographed them for the cover. Unsaddled is dedicated to him. Grief doesn’t end in a year or even five, but writing helps with healing.
My first attempt at fictional haibun was “Year of the Farrier,” written in third person. Fiction has been challenging because my family and readers expect autobiographical content. Even though “Farrier” represents a departure from my usual style, it retains a distinct Texas flair.
Year of the Farrier
windswept pasture
a horseshoe hangs
on the gateIn springtime, under the old barn eaves, he shoes the thin-soled mare. The woman holds the chestnut’s lead as he measures, trims, and shapes the hooves. When summer comes, they move beneath a mesquite’s sparse shade. With his shirt off, he jokes and she laughs. Muscular from hard labor, he places the mare’s hoof between his knees, then bends to tack the shoe. Sweat beads his bare shoulders. He grins, then wipes the droplets away with a towel stored in his box of nippers and nails.
Autumn wind twists the mare’s flaxen mane into witch’s knots. The woman untangles them with her fingers while he works. That winter she makes a difficult decision and sells the soft-footed chestnut. His farrier skills are no longer needed and along with the mare, the laughter disappears.
wild ducks vee
across a dimming sky
distant rain
My most recent haibun, which appeared in The Haibun Journal 6.2, is “Backward Glances.” It features a combination of second and first person. In the first paragraph I invite the reader to join me for a stroll through the hotel. Then, by adding first person, I create a personal connection and a path for contemplating a long life. I continue to experiment.
Backward Glances
salty air
a swish of palm fronds
beside the sidewalkYou step through a door with a lighthouse beveled in the glass panel. The desk clerk stands in front of pigeon holes for mail or room keys; she hands you a hotel card. To the right is a library with wing-backed chairs. You may read there or take a book to your room. In the circular dining area, ceiling to floor windows provide a panoramic view of the bay.
My daughter made reservations for our family to spend the night as my birthday present. The owner admired the historic Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island in Michigan and built a smaller version here in Texas. The balconies, the rocking chairs, the outside painted a stark white: all are incorporated into this replica. When my husband was living, we never stayed in a place this elegant.
satin skirt
my napkin slips
to the floorIt feels as if I have you been transported back in time. What if that were possible? What if regrets and mistakes could be undone and successes repeated? For a moment, I wonder what my husband would have thought of this hotel, then continue walking down the hallway to my room.
sinking sun
butterscotch waves
roll onto shore
***
If a haibun is rejected, I consider rewriting it. Some journals have limited space and many submissions, so not every rejection needs rewriting, but I usually find something to change. Don’t give up on a good idea. Look at rejections as an opportunity to create better writing. There are more places to publish haibun now than a few years ago.
***
A final thought concerns joining an online or in-person group of haiku or haibun writers. Besides providing support, such groups can lead to long-time friendships.
Editor’s Note: “Year of the Farrier” was selected for inclusion in the 2024 Best Small Fictions anthology, published by Alternating Current Press. It originally appeared in MacQueen’s Quinterly 20 (September 2023).
About the Author
Lynn Edge lives in a small Texas town. She has written haibun since 2002 and has been published in journals such as contemporary haibun online, Haibun Today, and Modern Haiku. Her book of haibun, Unsaddled, was published in 2022 by Red Moon Press.
I love your haibun, Lynn, both the autobiographical pieces and the fiction pieces. I also like writing fiction pieces and creating stories and characters. You do it well.