Six-word novels from 25 influential writers
Ernest Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in six words. The result: “For sale: baby shoes, never used.” Rumor has it that Hemingway regarded it as his greatest work. Stirred by this masterwork, the editors of BlackBook asked 25 of today’s most renowned writers to offer their own original six-word stories. Some offered more than 10 narratives in less than an hour’s time, while others took weeks to labor over each of their six words. In spite of its economy, the collection delivers the same humor, drama, irony, and suspense found in literature’s lengthier tomes.
Give it a try in a Comment to this Post!
“Forgive me!” “What for?” “Never mind.” –John Updike
Eyeballed me, killed him. Slight exaggeration. –Irvine Welsh
Satan—Jehovah—fifteen rounds. A draw. –Norman Mailer
“Welcome to Moeshe Christiansen’s Bar Mitzvah.” –Andrea Seigel
grass, cow, calf, milk, cheese, France –Rick Moody
He remembered something that never happened. –A.M. Homes
Saigon Hotel. Decades later. He weeps. –Robert Olen Butler
—I love you . . . –Love ya back. –Courtney Eldridge
She gave. He took. He forgot. –Tobias Wolff
You are not shit. You are! –Memoir, Jerry Stahl
All her life: half a house. –Jamie O’Neill
Poison; meditation; skiing; ants—nothing worked. –Edward Albee
My nemesis is dead. Now what? –Michael Cunningham
I saw. I conquered. Couldn’t come. –David Lodge
“Cyanide? Bitter almonds.” He knew. How? –Brian Bouldrey
Father died. Mother triumphed. I left. –Mary Gaitskill
“You? Her? No dice, fat boy.” –Pinckney Benedict
Oh, that? It’s nothing. Not contagious. –Augusten Burroughs
Mother’s Day came, doubling Oedipus’ pleasure. –Bruce Benderson
Tossed remorselessly, whiffle balls sure hurt. –J.T. LeRoy
As she fell, her mind wandered. –Rebecca Miller
It’s negative. Say hi to Mom. –Ben Greenman
Horny professor. Failing coed. No tenure. –“A Short History of Academia,” by Sue Grafton
Shiva destroys Earth: “Well, that’s that.” –A.G. Pasquella
Havana’s no place for hockey, coach. –Nicholas Weinstock.
The above appeared in the Utne Reader, July-August 2005, reprinted from the Fall 2004 Arts Issue of BlackBook. Thanks to Kathy Schienle for passing the challenge along to us.
Sold wedding band. Fled to Tibet.
Miffed and crocked, he decked Wallace.
Let's do drugs and drive around.
Believe me. Your life depends upon it.
Opened box. No ring. Closed case.
Last words, he said. I have none.
He was right, but it didn't matter.
He was right; it didn't matter.
So much yet so little.
Rest In Peace, All of You.
He worked. She cooked. They ate.
Explosions. Starvation. Wish I were home.
Baby cries. Dawn breaks. Hope returns.
Creation, elation, devastation, destruction, construction, rebirth.
Plane ascends; plummets, bursts into flames.
Birth; maturation; decline; death; disintegration; rebirth.
Serve, return, slam, game, match, win.
Bud, bloom, fruit, jam, eaten, digested.
Frigid, cold, cool, tepid, warm, hot.
Lost in space, no forwarding address.
Sign reads "Quicksand" -- he can't read.
Toast burnt; coffee stale; bus early.
Coyote howls, Dark night, flat tire.
Outdoors making love; leaves rustlel; busted.
Can't talk - wife's here.
Bathroom. Last minute. "Out of Order."
Hang-up call. Husband nervous. Mistress sighs.
Muhammed Ali: I am the greatest.
Fred Astaire: Singing in the Rain.
Kansas, Oz, Kansas. Dorothy's roundtrip nightmare.
Free samples. Get hooked. Crack addict.
I write. He reads. They critique.
He smiles. She demurs. Bus arrives.
Rotweiler named Killer -- good child's pet.
Super man. Lonely wife. Marital affair.
Close case. Strike match. Burn finger.
Explosions ripped through the cathedral. Dead.
Higher, she said. Higher. Right there.
Adam fled garden after fall. Damn!
Silent but deadly. Who would know?
Phone Tapped. Dead body. I'm what?
Clear the threshold unless your them.
Caught in midlife. Grow up!
God lives! They killed his son!
Rampant thoughts. Secrets unfold. Start recording.
Toilet paper on sale. Double up!
Life with Myron, and my underwear!
Wanted: Snuff film actors, send resume.
For once, love decided to behave.
Yet again, I was called out.
Pound dog. Home dog. Pound dog.
London stood here once, he realised
I shot. He cried. I apologized.
"Flat television"'s spam's disqualified. I win.
This was very interesting reading! I took the challenge and the result is on my DC blog here:
Enough paint to cover the blemish.
"It's midnight, let's go to bed."
Hemingway challenge? It's on, and over!
I tried, Ginger cried. She failed.
As a father, I tear up every time I see that Hemmingway line, it's truly heart-wrenching! :-(
Actually, Flerkin McBlerkin, the Hemmingway one used to seem sad to me until I became a parent. Now that I know how fast kids' feet grow, I realize that no tragedy is required.
Well read boy declares. Ginger Sucks.
Two stories in the same book
A sign big, bold, foreboding: Foreclosure
The silence fell and never left
He said, She said, They lied.
A bullet today, a memory tomorrow.
Hell or high water...choose one.
Sinned, but confessed. All is forgiven.
No umbrella ! !
Got wet! O
Prolonged submerge .
She had left only a note.
Derrick Webb said
Help me help you be successful.
Wednesday, January 29, 2020 9:11 PM
Instruments gather dust as anomie overtakes
Sunrise, sun falls, sun sets.
Post a Comment