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.

As Elton John once sang: "Someone Saved My Life Tonight."
I don't think he was talking about a dog. But I must admit my own personal savior had huge, black liquid eyes, four paws and a fluffy, black and white tail.
It was one of those Sunday Afternoons. I was wandering aimlessly around New York City, having my ninth Existential Crisis of the Day, when I passed the Trump Pet Store, a fancy place on Manhattan's Upper East Side.
And it was there that I saw them. Four tiny puppies that burrowed their way immediately into my heart. The elegant, commanding black woman who worked there saw me watching …

I am amazed by how kind my mom is to total strangers -- She has a naive openess and enthusiasm that confuses and astounds me.

Then I'm sorry for all the times I make fun of her for it or treat her with disdain because she asks passersby on the street to take a picture of her and I together in front of the Midtown Tennis Center, where she takes me for a lesson because she so badly wants me to improve so I can enjoy playing like she does where she lives in Beaumont, Texas.

She's come to New York City to visit me while I'm finishing my …

Then, now? Never open car doors.

I feel capable of making decisions concerning jackson's health. it's only taken 10 months of him physically being in my life in order for me to say that, but hell, i said it. so there!
this has been an issue for me since the very beginning. doctors, specialists, behaviorists, bla bla bla... ists. i've heard the input from all of you. i have leaned on all of you, continue to lean on all of you. and now i am feeling capable.
my latest battle has been with jackson's pediatrician's office here in annapolis. and i don't use the word "battle" to insinuate that it's been this knock-down-drag-out fight that's been going on. it's just been a lot of back and forth... and back.
they want …

I am "locked in," and type using a brain-computer interface. After years of being alone, I learned how to "travel" at will, by leaving my body (and ego, that's critical) behind.

In my travels, normal rules of time and space don't seem to apply. When I discover something I cannot explain, I put it in this journal.

I "type" by looking at a screen on which letters flash very quickly. When my eyes see the letter I wish to type, my brain recognizes it, and my brain interface spots my "aha" reaction. The letter pops up on the screen. As you can imagine, this takes what an average person would consider a very long time - about fifteen minutes for each of these …

I am "locked in," and type using a brain-computer interface. After years of being alone, I learned how to "travel" at will, by leaving my body (and ego, that's critical) behind.

In my travels, normal rules of time and space don't seem to apply. When I discover something I cannot explain, I put it in this journal.

I "type" by looking at a screen on which letters flash very quickly. When my eyes see the letter I wish to type, my brain recognizes it, and my brain interface spots my "aha" reaction. The letter pops up on the screen. As you can imagine, this takes what an average person would consider a very long time - about fifteen minutes for each of these …
Hot flashes, Memory loss.
Cause? Menopause.

Am I to become the boldest, or shall I remain as I am.
While I’m left quivering in the corner, you’re living your life as you planned.
I am scared out of my mind, wondering if you would look my way.
I take on the role of the wallflower, dreaming of the unborn day.
I glance your way, and then I glance at the clock.
My wish is for you to hear me, but all I hear is tick tock.
When I dream of the future, I see you and me.
When I take in the scene around me, I know that could never be.
A Penny for your thoughts
By Naazish YarKhan

I’m folding laundry and picking stuff of the floor and such and my son, who was five at the time, thinks that should be part of my job rather than a family chore, since I am home and don’t have a job that I drive to, while the rest of them are busy going to school or work, including him.

So while I intend to make him tackle his list of chores, I do household work which I hate and find mind-numbing. Amidst it , I find myself match making, answering emails, watching for emails that haven’t arrived, flipping through websites, shifting things from one corner to the next on the counter, in other …

In the summer of 1984, when I should have been pursuing a path befitting of a college graduate, I took a detour instead to places less ambitious and more nefarious: Male strip joints. It wasn’t until I reached rock bottom (no pun intended) – when I was unceremoniously kicked out of one of the seedier clubs for my bad behavior and watched as a policeman handcuffed my God-fearing, cross-wearing best friend Linda – that I climbed out of the gutter and onto higher ground.

The timing of my descent was as well-defined as the moment I regained my footing. It began when my longtime boyfriend told me he loved me, then disconnected his phone the following day: my graduation day. It continued with a …

Kid, it's harder than it looks.

Memoirs, it is often said, are a confluence of memory and imagination. This fragment of my memoir is true.

Going to college In Nashville, I had a girlfriend, Lynne Lastname, from Evansville, Indiana. Pretty. Tall, thin, long blond hair. A “real” blonde. It‘s easy to tell. Anyway, I met her at a SCLC meeting about a month before Kennedy was shot.

On that sad November day, I was reading to a blind student from Kentucky, Barry Lastname, when my roommate, Terry Lastname, walked in and told me the news from Dallas. Lynne and I spent a lot of time together in late November being pissed off at the senselessness of the assassination and quite depressed along with the rest of the country. …

When did I become the expert on relationships? Or the example for that matter? My amazing, almost perfect relationship has become the example they follow…when did this happen?
I used to be the girl that never had a date on Valentine’s Day. In fact, I haven’t had a good Valentine’s Day, or a boyfriend on this god-forsaken holiday since...ever. I was always the one that got asked out by friends, inquiring why it wouldn’t be fun to go out on the town with our single selves, just to show we don’t care and have enough self-respect to go out and have a good time, saying fuck you to Valentine’s Day and everything it normally entails. Well, that didn’t work out so well for me. …

Karim was a disheveled kid with a weird northern accent. His dad was a Marxist anthropology professor, who drove a 1974 Dodge Monaco sedan with the back window smashed out. They'd moved to Little Rock from Michigan when I was in sixth grade. I'd seen him at the neighborhood Circle-K, and around on the streets, and maybe even talked with him a few times. I don't remember when I first met him, but I do remember when we became friends. It was during a rare Arkansas snow storm in January 1987.

As I walked up Garfield Street in the deep, wet, slushy snow, I saw Jamie B., who I'd known since first grade, and some other kids taunting Karim and throwing snowballs …

Life's Word Bank. Where's My Toaster?

In the last several months, I've taken up horse riding. Until recently, I had had a single experience on a horse when I was 17 and on a camping trip in upstate New York with my high school boyfriend. Let's just say that it was short-lived and ended with the horse running back to the stable after nibbling my feet. I asked for my money back.

I was never what you would call an athletic kid. It's not that I wasn't fit. I danced from the age of 3 —ballet, modern and tap. I was raised by intellectual, artist-types. My mother is a classic New York Jew who believes if you perspire you are working too hard and should immediately return to the …

When I was a kid our neighbors had a plant that grew concord grapes. It’s vines ran up the brick wall dividing our property from theirs, and some of the clusters of grapes would hangover from where the vines had grown over onto our side of the wall. My brothers and I would spend all summer plucking the ripe tender ones and eating them, spitting the seeds and the skins at the wall and into the grass. They had a pungent taste that filled your mouth with a flavor that was familiar yet unlike anything you’d ever known: a sweetness on the tip of your tongue that swelled, seemed to ripen and explode in an instant, as the squishy pulp rolled around in there, and …

I had to work to get over to help Keisha. So quiet, wearing her bright Tweety-as-a-rapper sweatshirt that must be two years out of date, she might as well have been in another universe as far as the rest of the class was concerned. I had my hands full that day, but I was determined not to forget to check up on her again. Some classes are "challenging; this class had me looking at the clock all to often. It was a class with too many students who were too interested in the latest developments in the social pecking order or simply too tired to care about art. Several, had taken the same class from me last year as eighth graders. It didn't help that …

My saddest secret is my earliest memory of my father. For some reason, it’s exceptionally vivid; I remember what room we were in, the color of his shirt, the shape my thoughts took. I don’t know how old I was, no more than three, I’m sure, and he’s lying on the floor, with me straddled across his lap. He’s swinging my hands and talking like you do with infants, asking obvious questions to get them talking.
“And who do you love?”
“Mommy.”
“And who else?”
“Bobby.”
“And?”
“Mrs. Laura.”
“Do you love your daddy?”
“No.”

There it fades away, and I don’t know what happened next, but I know that eventually I ended up in the adjacent room with my mother, and she …

Caffeine, you were my friend. I started my day with you and recently began seeing you on an ongoing basis in the late afternoon. When I realized you had no effect on my regular bedtime I relied on you to give me that extra push from my day job to my evening job as a dad and husband. Suddenly I had energy to do the dishes without being asked and to cheerfully help my girls with their homework. But no more. From now on I will do my evening work without your help. I’ve learned my lesson.

Last Wednesday, as I sat in the train commuting home I suddenly realized I was a bit queasy. This wasn’t anything new. A late-day coffee sometimes upset …
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.