6-word memoirs

A memoir is a story from our own lives.

The idea for a 6-word story came from Ernest Hemingway.

Hemingway was an American novelist, short-story writer, and journalist. He was born on July 21, 1899 and died on July 2, 1961.

One day he bet a friend that
he could write a whole story in 6 words.
He wrote a very sad story.
His story was "For sale: Baby shoes, never worn."
He won the bet.

Smith Magazine had a contest last year. People had to write a story from their lives in 6 words.They collected 1,000 stories and made a book.

You can read some of the 6-word stories here.

Some people in the Our Stories course wrote 6-word stories:

I'm fifty- three, no fun yet.

Life is interesting, dull and exciting.

I applied to six colleges no degree .

I will be an animal lover forever.

After finishing, we found the can-opener...

Came to Program Read; now reading!

Honey I'm home you are not.

Number one looking for Number two.

My Love is like a Rose!

I'm up. I'm dressed. Now what?

MYSELF

Myself ...

Here I am sad

as sad will be

Myself has left sadness

dark and very lonely

Myself has no laughter

no smiles

Myself... all that I see is a very empty world

Myself has no love or freedom

I wish I could just die in peace

By

Yvonne Murray

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

A Stars Death in the Sky (A Dirge)

by Mark Sigsworth

Do you see it up there in the sky

Brightly shaping lights of thine

See it brightly bleeding

Will it die up there in the sky

It watches us from above

Sees us die ourselves from our own design

Floating on what we call land and sea

Breathing in deaths breath from our dying time

When will its lives blood not reach us

That star in the sky

Sight beyond sight

Gripping itself tight

The energy from it

Slowly fading away

We feed on its death

Light feeding us from its death

All the while its feeding on us

Too late for it for it is dead

Now we watch as it fades from our eyes

Creating new life from our lies

New birth new light

Life starts from the beginning

Inverted death oh so sweet

We give our life oh what a treat

Life is over from death above

Leaks from life bleeding onto us

Life done, now death done

Light retreat death obsolete

Retreat retreat

A Night at the Night Cafe

By Eric Rawlinson













The lights are dim, as is the mood, thinks Sarah, stirring her drink lazily with a finger, trying to fight the boredom that threatens once again to take her. She found herself in some backwater café for the third week in a row with nothing to do except look at the other occupants of the room. She does not jump this time when her companion, the cloaked and hooded figure beside her, cracks a bunch of the peanuts in his hand and drops the fragments to the table.

“Must you keep doing this?” Sarah protests, raising the drink to her mouth. Taking a whiff, she places it back down again without taking a drop.

His companion sifts through the cracked pieces, searching for the small red-lined nut. “I’m hungry and they still haven’t brought our food, therefore peanuts.” He pops one into his mouth.

“No,” Sarah grumbled, “I mean why do you keep doing this? Why do you come week after week to this place just to crumble peanuts, eat questionable food and drink a tiny shot of whiskey. Surely there are more livelier places.”

He tosses yet another nut up into the air and catches it in his mouth. He spies Sarah out of the corner of his eye. “Of course there are more lively places then this. But I like this place the best.”

“But, why?”

“You ask that question a lot you know,” Her friend smirks, but with a hint of annoyance in his voice, “This is the best place to observe.”

Sarah looks confused as the youth performs the stunt of tossing and catching again. “Observe what?”

The youth smiles, “Them.” He motions with his hands to indicate the far side of the room and the occupants of the rest of the café.

Sarah shook her head, “They’re not doing anything.”

“Of course they're not doing anything. But they’re still doing something by being here.” He continues, knowing that Sarah will only insist he should, “Take that man by the pool table in a white shirt. Of course it is the uniform of an employee. But notice how he looks at the pool table. He longs to join us, but more importantly, he wants us to join him in a game of pool, to enjoy the evening. But he knows that people come here to avoid one another, while at the same time, trying not to be alone.

“Such as those guys by the window. They have worked long and hard all day at jobs they do not like to support families they barely know. Lifeless and loveless they mingle here. Or the man asleep at his table. He’s here because he has no where else to go. And then there is the man in the corner with the girl. Little does she know, she’s just one of many girls that have been on his arm in the past week. And he is a special case himself. A true visionary of the light places, before slowly moving to the darkness. He’s a tortured artist who works for his art, and for his love. And he finds his muse in his darkness. And his heart.”

Sarah nods, understanding, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was…”

The figure nods, “It is. Now you know why I come here all the time. I wanted to see him. And to imagine, what it is like to be here.”

Sarah smiles appreciatively, “Why don’t you go up and talk to him?” She asks, “Ask him about his life. Ask him about how he feels.”

The figure sighs and shakes his head. “I cannot. Because the computer is not programmed to do that.”

Dining Room

When I was young my favorite room was the dining room. As you come in from the kitchen the first thing you see was a wall with two lights on it. Right in front there was a hut, with cups, glasses and plates inside. From the kitchen on the left side there was a large window and door which led to the front door. On the right side you come to a hallway which lead to the living room. As you go further in there another wall with a table in front. In the center there was a dining room table. When I was a young this room was used for many things like, besides eating there, we did homework, plaid card and born game. When we had family meeting it was do in this room. When I was growing up, this room was the most used room in the home.

by Ramsey