My dear friend A, who moonlights as a t&p stringer, wrote recently to express dismay. Generally a model of enthusiasm and industry, she had just discovered there is a limit to the number of submissions permitted for the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival’s haiku contest. Blissfully unaware of this, A had spent days as an ungovernable creative upwelling had its way with her, resulting in a sheaf of neat poetic gems which she now needed to reduce to two. Writing haiku is like eating potato chips or caviar: there is no such thing as “just one bite”; once you start writing the salty, addictive little things, there is no easy end.

Ordinarily the editorial collective would have voted unanimously to keep this haiku contest under wraps: they rarely miss an opportunity to tilt odds in their favour. But, moved by an uncharacteristic spirit of generousity, they are officially urging (both) our loyal readers to follow A’s example by firing up their own haiku machines and entering. The deadline is January 31. Winners can look forward to seeing their poems displayed in buses and other public places. Fame, honour, and a best-selling line of T-shirts will inevitably follow.