Your personal essays and memoirs-in-progress. Submissions Feed
Six-word Memoir Tshirts for Sale

Get social with SMITH


The SMITH Superfeed
All the stories submitted to the site, even ones we write

We are not accepting submissions at this time.

He stops, repeats in machine gun or whatever language he's speaking in; then decides to look over his shoulder. Eyes scanning near the back, I just know…yep there it is.

Me, yes of course, I was the whole cause of the scoffing.

He gives a look of disgust while sizing me up, critiquing my wardrobe, haircut, wrinkled up oily face; the image produces superiority from having taken what must have been a fortnight to style himself that morning. Lifting his chin only to turn and proceed to order three more drinks.

There is no way… no fucking way he's ordering three more drinks.

No way had the half deaf, googly eyed, we feel sorry for the handicapped so …

The best way I can say this is that I am searching for my Eldorado. A few weeks ago, I was watching my favorite John Wayne movie by the same name (Eldorado) and it occured to me that one of the best parts of the movie is the theme song (sung by George Alexander). So I looked up the poem that was mentioned in the movie. It is the one (by E. A. Poe) about the knight that spends his life searching for the fabled cities of gold (Eldorado).

I realized that I spend my life searching for something, only I wasn't sure what it was. Fortunately, I'll know it when I find it. For right now, since I …

In 1977, I bought my very first hand-held blow dryer. That ten-dollar purchase changed my life forever.

Every morning, after shampooing, I'd take the device out, plug it in, turn it on, and then point it toward my head. If I aimed it just the right way and then used one of those round brushes, I could reshape my hair. My main aim was to force it to obey my every command. In other words, I wanted to make it look less like an Afro and something more subdued and "feathered." In those days of the disco era, when John Travolta could be seen doing his thing in the film Saturday Night Fever and Farrah Fawcett (RIP) was the …

It’s starting to rain. Not much, just a light pattering. In the distance there’s another sound, a continuous whoosh of air like waiting planes on a runway. It’s the gulf churning. Hurricane Ida is creeping in the Gulf of Mexico. According to The Weather Channel, it’s expected to make landfall as perhaps a Cat 2 somewhere here, along the Florida Panhandle, more likely further west, probably Pensacola. My wife curiously tracks Ida’s slow movement. Her own tracking models have it roaring through our living room around noon tomorrow. “Better tie down the cats!”

I’m more optimistic. We’ve experienced Mother Nature’s wrath before. We used to live along the earthquake prone San Andreas Fault in California. The occasional arrival of a moderate earthquake was …

Looking for blackberries, old Folgers cans in our hands, we'd walk together down Happy Lane. August on California's north coast was when the fruit had finally moved from tiny white flowers, to sour red bumpies, to the dark juicy buttons, tangy sweet, that plunked in the can and stained our fingers deep red.

Cans full, we'd return home, to grandma in the kitchen. We'd present the berries, she'd accept them with little comment. And set to work. We'd leave her to her alchemy in the kitchen, the Giants game playing on a cheap transistor radio that accompanied her everywhere. Soon we'd hear the thump of the rolling pin.

It was a simple pie, it would never make it into a cookbook or …

The meanest thing I ever did was send someone flowers.

Everything I couldn't abide in another human being was wrapped up into a tiny five feet tall package named Mindy. She was my co-worker at the Jewish non-profit where I’d been employed for seven years.

Mindy was the apocryphal Upper West Side girl; Orthodox, Jewish, fresh out of college, and in New York to (chastely) find a mate. Mindy was also baallei teshuvah; Hebrew for one who had returned, shorthand for born-again Jewish.

Prior to my employment at this organization I had been unaware of the baallei teshuvah. I thought we Jews were all commie-pinko socialists who had occasional forays into show business, law and medicine. I …

“Hello Tabitha, hissed Kylie Jean Lucille. “I see you’ve done something to your eyebrows.” From where she sat in the back seat of our chauffeured ride, my friend Kylie or Kyle as he was known out of drag could see the wreck I had made of my countenance. Barely 21, I had only just acquired my license to drink which led the way to a new way of life I would be spending in drag. A few months past my long awaited magical graduation to 21, I was already bored with the boozed out patrons of the West Hollywood Boystown bars. Aching for inspiration, I fixed my attention on the splash of color and star quality that came crashing through the doors of the Mother …

I've always wondered why I didn't become a teacher.

I used to like helping my friends study when I was at school; then at the university; then enjoyed giving out explanations to some of my colleagues at work; and some other times I liked helping out friends in their own life. I even started teaching my parents (don't tell me you didn't have to teach them how to turn on the computer more than once) and, I got to be honest, strangers too.

I thought of the satisfaction of watching some of my 'students' succeed was rewarding enough and then I started to question myself on why I couldn't give me such good advices. The answer, I did not succeed to find it, …

Now that I’m a dad I have been trying to follow the path of truthfulness. It’s a process. In full candor, it is not one without a few detours. For example, once I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. I knew it was wrong but if you’ve ever been to Reno you will understand my inability to suppress the urge. Of course, then I compounded the offense by telling everyone that Johnny Cash did it. Johnny wrote that song about it and made a lot of money. I see now how wrong that was.

Despite the occasional slip-up I really am trying to do better. Fatherhood will do that to a man, Honesty is important, after all, according …

Here I sit, on the edge of something wonderful; yet all I can do is look down upon everything I once had. A tiny little town; one made of memories. Walls made of wishes, so easily burned to the ground. Hopes and dreams fly above like clouds. Looking down upon all the moments that have molded me into who I am today. Retracing the steps that have brought me to where I now linger. I cannot get over this feeling that I am missing something. That instead of looking down, I should be looking up. To the stars, the heavens above. To the beauty; the wonder that lies ahead. I so much want to leave this foundation; this little town that my feet are so …

Titi was my neighbor in Sonaguera, Honduras. His appearance was a bit strange. His head was slightly asymmetrical. One day while we were walking to Drive Inn Las Champitas, I asked him, "When you were younger did you have health problems?" He replied, "Si hombre," with the emphasis that means, yeah, without a doubt. He proceeded to tell me the following story:

When he was nine he fell out of a mango tree and suffered a serious blow to his left eye socket. He pointed out a good sized scar running through his left eyebrow. Several years later, when he was 15, without warning, he began hemorrhaging from his nose and the left side …

Titi was my neighbor in Sonaguera, Honduras. His appearance was a bit strange. His head was slightly asymmetrical. One day while we were walking to Drive Inn Las Champitas, I asked him, "When you were younger did you have health problems?" He replied, "Si hombre," with the emphasis that means, yeah, without a doubt. He proceeded to tell me the following story:

When he was nine he fell out of a mango tree and suffered a serious blow to his left eye socket. He pointed out a good sized scar running through his left eyebrow. Several years later, when he was 15, without warning, he began hemorrhaging from his nose and the left side …

Music Feet on the DC Metro

When I was in San Francisco last week for meetings I stayed with good friends in Noe Valley. Being a seasoned commuter I left the house each morning precisely at 7:55 and walked down to Market Street to catch the MUNI downtown. My Bay Area mornings were like every workday morning for me --a walk and then a hop onto mass transit.

And when I got onto my train I appeared to do what every San Franciscan did. I pretended to be in my own little world (as I pretend to do every morning on my commute from the Maryland burbs to downtown DC). Secretly, however, I was really being myself: curious as ever, watching my …

While the bible might be a logical choice for advice on the subject of keeping a righteous path, that has really gotten me nowhere in the past. Man has tainted the message I should have gotten by way of imploding every word with religious manipulation. People near and dear to me can be quick to offer praise or condemnation as they see fit. They have such a clear idea as to my status....funny I do not. Accordingly, I look to another source. Seeing as Oscar Wilde is not in danger of being considered the founder of anything religion, I ponder his words:

Do you really think ... that it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are …

There was a reason why I did not attend my high school reunion. Bad memories still decorate my mind, and the ghosts of my past refuse to fade away. And I don't want to be reminded of the girl left behind or the ones that tortured her, and I did not care to see what became of my fellow graduates. But time still caught up with me.

A cold wind blew around a small café off Main Street. An elderly man sat back against the window, casually smoking his pipe. Cars paused at pedestrian signs, and couples walked their dogs past small, country stores. Fall was in the air, and the Apple fest was coming to Warwick. But today would be spent in reminiscence.Read more »

I’ve been called an asshole many times before. Usually it doesn’t bother me. It used to until high school when I took a physiology class and learned that if we (humans) didn’t actually have assholes, we would bloat up and explode like shaken up soda cans, spewing feces and entrails all over the place. In essence, without assholes we would have the lifespan of a housefly.

In my estimation, the asshole (sphincter) is the third most important part of human anatomy. In keeping with this theory, I think the asshole (person) is the third most important type of person in the world (behind musicians and little people). I actually wear my asshole-ness as a badge of honor.

Which is why I was surprised …

Nowadays, instead of calling someone to tell them that you are sorry so-and-so died, you can message them directly…on Myspace…saying, I’m sorry YOU died, rest in peace buddy. It sounds so impersonal. RIP is all over the internet for those who didn’t make it. I hear you can even start attending funerals online if you can’t make the trip. How exciting.
Gone is traditional photo developing too, thanks to digital technology. Who needs Walgreen’s or Wal-mart to develop their pictures? Let your memory card do the work. Better yet, just shove your memory card into your 4-in-1 fax machine and print out your own photos. You can do it.
Pretty soon you won’t even have to go to …

As a young girl bearing the trifecta of awkwardness—baby fat, curly hair with freckles, and a mouth full of metal braces—all I wanted was to fit in. So when I was faced with a serious spinal deformity at 13, I made the decision to protect what little normalcy I had, even if it meant secretly risking my health.
It started in the seventh grade during a routine scoliosis screening. You remember the drill: girls in one room, boys in another, each told to remove their shirt and bend forward while a rent-a-nurse examined the sea of adolescent backs for irregularities. In my case, this uncomfortable scenario included two encore examinations and a letter for my parents alerting them to the …

The floor of the kitchen was an earthy mustard linoleum that was slightly sticky on bare feet. There was a wooden table with a circle of chairs around it and the table was always covered in mason jars and coffee mugs. Nearer the window was a card table that had a coffee-maker and a pineapple on it. The window had bars over it, and never let the sun in right. It blended the light with the air so that the dust in the air was radiating. There was a pistachio colored tea kettle on the left burner of the stove; one of the old kettles that whistles murder when the water is done.
The living room was more of a hallway choked by a sofa …

I was born and raised in Lapeer Michigan on Feburary 28 1966. I was born to an alcohlic father and a controling mom with two older brothers. I am the youngest and only girl in my family. i was very opininated as a child and still am. I was married to an abusive man and after 3 months of marriage i threw him out and was divorced 9 months later.I later met a lady who i was in a friendship relationship and then realized i enjoyed the company of women more than male. I realized that i would look at woman and was attracted to the same sex. I have been in a relationship with a female but it did not work out we are …
Jump to a page 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 ... to infinity!

 
SMITH Magazine

SMITH Magazine is a home for storytelling.
We believe everyone has a story, and everyone
should have a place to tell it.
We're the creators and home of the
Six-Word Memoir® project.