There is an urban legend about Ernest Hemingway that goes something like: Papa was once challenged to write a six-word story. He penned… “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”
I say urban legend, because there really isn’t any proof that said flash-fiction was actually penned by Hemingway. Similar accounts even predate his account. It is a good story though.
Back in the day, a meme floated around the Inner Nets that challenged participants to write a six-word memoir. Like these 100 word challenges, it ain’t easy to say what you want with these restrictions.
My life story, condensed down into six words:
“Not the worst, better than most.”
or
“Moving too fast, can’t remember anything.”
This week’s word is:
Memoir
What to do:
Using “memoir” for inspiration, write 100 Words – 100 exactly – no more, no less. You can either use the word – or any form of the word – as one of your 100, or it can be implied. Include a link in your post back here, and add your story to the Mister Linky list. If you don’t have a blog, you can leave your submission in the comment section, or as a Facebook status post. Remember to keep spreading the love with supportive comments for your fellow Wordsters.
Thin spiral notebook 
The other week I found my old diaries. They covered my teens and very early twenties.
My sixteen year old daughter read them in fascination. Here was her apparently sensible and mostly calm mother displayed in unconfident angst. Friends fell out. Bullies bullied and unreasonable teachers demanded. I told the diary how much I loved a boy who didn’t notice me; how I wrote him love letters on behalf of my friend, who knew how much I loved him but fancied him too.
‘You and your friends were just like us!’ she said.
Only thankfully, I thought, without social media.
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I tried posting this but don’t see it anywhere. I’m trying again. MEMOIR
Recently my sister gave me two boxes she set aside for me when my family cleaned out my parents’ house. Mom died several years ago. Dad was moving to a continuing care community. My sister chose items she thought would be meaningful to me. She chose well. I found an old photo of me with my best friend, keeper of my secrets, my handsome cousin John. John was 18. I was 16. Dressed in his army uniform it was the day before he shipped out to Viet Nam. We smiled bravely for the camera. He came back home a stranger.
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I thought I posted this last week. But, I don’t see it in the archives under Future. Hope late is better than never. Now on to this week’s challenge.
FUTURE
Looking back appears easier than looking forward. Memory is selective. For Uncle Bill, released by Russian soldiers after 3 years, 3 months and 8 days in Stalag IV-B, a WWII German prison camp, looking forward was the tricky part! Demons pursued him relentlessly. Alcohol often served to dull his pain but caused new pain and chaos. How could he get past feelings of bitterness, take lessons from the past, and create a FUTURE filled with hope? What really mattered? How could he stop tyranny and hatred?… Make life better? He lived hope by teaching his four children to love.
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You’re fine. I was a bit worried when I didn’t see anything from you, but this is great.
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Thanks, Tara. In a way I’m glad you missed me!
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