Harrowing Haiku

Last week, the acclaimed novelist, poet, professor, and publisher Kathleen Rooney and her sister, Beth Rooney, a visual journalist, writer, and photographer, held a launch event for their delightful new children's book, Leaf Town Forever.

The story, written entirely in haiku, was inspired by the real life exploits of a group of children in Oak Park, Illinois, who found innovative and inspirational ways to indulge their imaginations and reconnect with nature during the darkest days of the Covid-19 pandemic.

With joyous illustrations by the talented Betsy Bowen, this book is a total treat. You should definitely buy a copy for the young children in your orbit by clicking HERE.

Now, at this point in the post you're probably wondering why I'm being so saccharine and what in God's holy name has happened to the disgruntled sociopath you know and love.

Fear not, I haven't been detained by ICE (yet) or diagnosed with a terminal illness (yet) and will now revert to form.

With my dutiful wife extracting exorbitant rents at a medical conference downtown, I attended said launch event, which was held at the legendary Colvin House, with my two miserable and ungrateful offspring.

Amidst the amazing architecture, talented artists, and enthusiastic readers, Kathleen and Beth had set up two tables where attendees, including children, could write post cards to Leaf Town or create their very own haiku.

I first encouraged my miserable and ungrateful offspring, in an atypically enthusiastic manner, to write a postcard. I said I would aid their efforts and reminded them that art is subjective, there's no right or wrong way to create, and having fun and putting forth a great effort are the only things that truly matter.

Their response?

Apathy. Contempt. Indifference.

Undeterred by their callousness, I next directed them to the haiku station. With all the faux excitement I could conjure, I suggested they try their hands at the famed poetry format.

Using the wonderful materials provided by the wonderful authors, I explained the structure of a haiku—three lines of five, seven, and five syllables, respectively—and reminded my son, who's just over six, how to sound out said syllables. In an effort to further inspire them, I also mentioned how haiku typically includes allusions to nature or the seasons.

And what did I receive for my misadventures in positivity?

Apathy. Contempt. Indifference.

As I often remind my oft disappointed wife, as a father, I don't lead with hostility.

But I damn sure close with it.

Exhausted by their callousness, I then told my miserable and ungrateful offspring, with the calm and collected coolness of Hannibal Lecter, that they better write a goddamned haiku before the reading started, otherwise I'd deduct $50 from each of their personal balance sheets and I'd delete their Hades II game file.

The former punishment would reduce their net assets by 25%, while the latter would require them to restart the game from scratch and retrace dozens of hours of digital footsteps.

These promises were met with bitching, moaning, whining, flailing, and other performative nonsense.

My almost ten-year-old daughter, who possesses the raw intellectual horsepower of a nuclear physicist and the breathtaking duplicitousness of a private equity scumbag, had the audacity to suggest writing a haiku was "impossible." This despite the fact that millions of haiku have been written over hundreds of years, and we were, in fact, at a launch event for a book written exclusively in haiku.

My son, who's destined to live with his mom as a graphic novelist and UberEats driver, flopped around like a freshly decapitated fish.

To combat this onslaught of antipathy, I decided to demonstrate the joys of creating art by writing a haiku of my own. Show don't tell, am I right?

Behold the fermented fruit of my labor:

Title: Born to Lose

Woeful misery,
sad, bitter, resentfulness,
parenting is pain.

Upon completion, I laughed maniacally to myself.

My son whined "Daaaaaaaad" in his inexplicable Staten Island accent and continued his convulsing.

My daughter said I was "the worst."

I casually reminded them that $50 and dozens of hours of Hades II were on the line so they'd better get to work.

They reluctantly but immediately started writing while I sought out and conversed with my brilliant writer friend, and husband to Kathleen, Martin Seay.

A few minutes later my two miserable and ungrateful offspring returned with their respective masterpieces.

From my sentimental son:

Title: Moonlight

The moonlight shines bright,
over the dark night glowing,
in the sky, with Night.

And from my degrading daughter:

Title: Autumn

The bright morning sun
gleaming on the colored leaves,
this sucks so badly.

The takeaway?

Even miserable and ungrateful offspring like mine can achieve great things—once they're properly motivated.

My Guest Spot on Sophia Chang's Podcast

On her just relaunched podcast, Books. Biceps. No BS., I spoke with the talented, resilient, and no-nonsense Sophia Chang about the dire financial realities of modern-day publishing and the intrinsic motivation and brazen megalomania we all need to keep writing anyway.

Listen to the refreshingly honest conversation via: Apple Podcasts || Spotify || YouTube.

Substack Live with Leigh Stein

On Nov. 14 at 1 p.m. ET, me and the actually successful novelist Leigh Stein are gonna talk publishing, marketing, and making a living as an artist during humanity's final years.

Leigh will certainly say a bunch of super smart stuff and I will definitely spew a bunch of nihilistic nonsense. Should be great fun for the whole family. Hope to see you then.

As always, stay frosty out there.

—Amran

P.S. You can't own too many copies of Leverage.

P.P.S. Forward this email to infect a frenemy.