I recently attended a reading by Larry Smith, he of the “Six
Word Memoir” phenomenon, and I’ve been thinking in sixes ever since.
If you’re not familiar with this concept, it started with the
idea of a piece of sudden fiction. Like
this “novel,” told in just six words:
For sale: Baby shoes.
Never worn.
Ernest Hemingway is often credited with this particularly
powerful story, though it has not been verified that he actually wrote it. Doesn’t matter, to my heart and mind; I’ve thought of this teeny-tiny story hundreds
of times, and each time I do, my eyes get fizzy and my insides twist. I imagine the face of the person selling the
shoes; I go through all the events and feels that led up to the decision and
the sale.
The six word memoir project grew from Smith’s commitment to
it, starting with his first compilation titled Not Quite What I was Planning.
He has published several books since, each one filled with the six word
memoirs of other people. Two of my
favorites are I Can’t Keep My Own Secrets,
six-word memoirs written by teens, and
Fresh Off the Boat: Stories of
Immigration, Identity, and Coming to America. These books need digested slowly, carefully,
sometimes just one or two at a time, because they force a depth of thought and
imagination, and, more notably, oftentimes the text-to-self connections require
a few minutes to breathe.
Smith and his people have developed a delightful website, too, that highlights
stories, contests, and profiles of the memoirists who found significant value
in using their six words. Be careful,
though: It is easy to sink deeply into
the website and not come back up for a long time. I know, because these things grab me by the
throat and I get good and lost in reading them.
I love writing them, too, for the chapters of my so-far
life.
The ones that flow easily are the sad ones, which is interesting to me, because I tend to slide old sadnesses into containers—with
lids—because I know they would imprison me if I let them. But those sadnesses come out easily in
six-word increments.
Such as:
I never talk about the
miscarriages.
My sister’s anger holds
us hostage.
I’m habitually
hamstrung by self-doubt.
My grandfather’s
suicide lives beside me.
There are happy ones, too, the love letters to my life:
Sometimes I feel
childhood joy, untethered.
This husband: my wise, wise choice.
Obliged to this precise,
perfect life.
All is as it should
be.
These children. Smells, smiles, tears, triumphs.
The coexistence of these six-word stories in my one single
life is a miracle of sorts. How can struggle
and angst live simultaneously with satisfaction and joy? I don't know—but it does.
Okay. So. Connection to teaching and learning—? Ah, yes.
Mannnnnnnny teachers have incorporated the six-word memoir idea into their classroom. It’s a natural and effective teaching tool,
and heaps of teachers have used it, with good reason: Having only six words forces you to tear away
all the gobblygook that comes with writing, all the unnecessary phrases,
sentences, and paragraphs that might gum up the message behind the essential words.
It also forces careful consideration of punctuation. No matter how hard we try, sometimes our six words don’t float along
without help; they need some starts and stops and pauses to work correctly. Suddenly, the power of a comma or semicolon
takes on new meaning, because it enhances the connotation and significance of
every.single.word.
Teachers can take a look at this site for a whole bunch of ideas, inspiration, and advice about making this project
part of your teaching.
What chapters of your life might beget a six-word summary?
Are there ways students in your class might be able to study this concept?
Because, after all...
There is joy in writing well.
