Urbis is one of our favorite creative communities. Like SMITH, Urbis is powered by writers, and gets bigger and better with each submission. While our thing is nonfiction personal narrative, Urbis’ community of creatives tend to focus on fiction, poetry, and screenplays-in-progress, with lots of peer reviews and ranking to spur on competition. Now we’ve found the perfect mashup for SMITH and Urbis, a six-word challenge on “the creative life.” Over on Urbis, we call it, “Brevity is the Soul of It”: Six-Word Memoirs about the Creative Life, but I already prefer one of the submissions as a contest name: “The blade turned into a pen.” See if you can sum up your life as a writer, artist, swordsman, or raconteur in six well-chosen words. We’ll feature our favorites on Urbis and SMITH, give a few of you T-shirts, and maybe even scare up another book.

One more reason to love Urbis: founder Steve Spurgat is one snazzy dresser—just ask Esquire.

There’s no better part of making SMITH than witnessing what happens when we put out a call to our community for a challenge. Time and again, our readers/writers rock our world with their submissions to projects, contests, calls to convert a pregnancy story into a spot on a pickle jar—you name it. For a recent six-word project, A Life in Bites, we teamed up with our pals at Chowand asked how you to describe your food life in six words. The grand-prize winner, as chosen by the editors of Chow, is:

Are you going to eat that?

The peckish six-word scribe is Nancy Elliott, an attorney, wife, and mother of two school-age children in Houston, TX—and now proud owner of an iPod Nano.

These five runners-up receive our first six-word memoir book, Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous & Obscure.

“It’s not that kind of diet.” (Alison Carey)
“Egg cream is a dirty lie.” (Marcia Gaye)
“About that fire in the kitchen…” (Lauran Strait)
“Coffee, like love, is bitterly addictive” (Laurie Schmidt)
“It’s best just to eat it.” (Patti Williams)

The contest is over, but you can still submit six-word stories on your food life, for consideration for a possible, future book. If you’re not on the SMITH newsletter list, sign up—it’s the most sure-fire way not to miss out on new story projects, books, contests, and parties. Thanks to the great folks at Chow and all the writers who participated in A Life in Bites—SMITH loves you.

Here are 44 more six-word food stories that make us want to be a better chef.

Sex after making hot sauce—ouch.
Grilled cheese: the band-aid of food.
Don’t lie about using cake mix.
Wasting away again in weinerville.
Literal fish, in the literal sea.
Steal my Mercedes, not my fries.
Homemade cookies are worth every minute.
Brownies called, I answered the phone.
Little lambs led to the kitchen.
Taught to chop. Prefers to julienne.
It’s not you. It’s the garlic.
Hot sauce flows while cooking nude.
No garlic? No butter? No dinner.
By bread we are all united.
Kitchen never stays clean for long.
Zagat, Michelin? Family gives me stars.
Smoke alarm equals time for dinner.
Heaping helping of au gratin goodness.
Every meal starts by frying onions.
Worlds apart from mom’s dried turkey.
Hungry for love, settle for chocolate.
Nothing brings people together like pizza.
Still hide peas under mashed potatoes.
I eat anything on a stick.
An unfed guest is like blasphemy.
Sometimes one ripe strawberry is enough.
Threw spaghetti at wall; some stuck.
Lick, nibble, bite, suck, swallow, savor.
I want to taste it all.
Never, ever say no to pie.
Truffle taste on Ramen Noodle budget.
Mom’s apron became mine, now daughter’s.
Fresh bread is an edible orgasm.
My watermelon life: cool, juicy, inscrutable.
Totally whipped by my chef husband.
I’ll just start my diet tomorrow…
Scrambled … fried… the recipe of life.
I’ll have the pastrami extra fatty.
Patience learned watching Cheerios eaten individually.
Wishing recipes could bluetooth to stove.
Oh Avocado, where for art thou?
They call me cupcake at work.
Food like sex: depends on chef.
I just need one good lick.

Carlin’s short, short life story can only be these seven words: Fuck. Shit. Piss. Cunt. Cocksucker. Motherfucker. Tits.

My folks, to their considerable credit, took me to see George Carlin perform when I was, at best, 12 years old. Unforgettable. Later, at a stand-up comedy class I took, I performed his “A place for my stuff” routine (”that’s the whole meaning of life, isn’t it? Trying to find a place for your stuff”), a big favorite of my family (we’re hoarders). Watch a young Carlin perform his famous seven dirty words bit for old-time’s sake. He was my favorite comic. I’ll miss him.

by Elizabeth Minkel
Last February, just as Not Quite What I Was Planning started climbing towards the bestseller list, a blogger named BookBabie seized on the internet potential of the six-word memoir. After all, the whole project has been an online venture from the start; the fact that anyone can submit a super-short life story quickly and easily is part of what makes the concept so much fun. BookBabie turned the challenge into a meme, the blogging world’s equivalent of a chain letter (though you won’t be cursed with eternal bad luck if you fail to pass one on). The meme asked participants to write their own six-word memoirs and tag (embed a link to someone else’s blog) five friends. Today, just four months later, a google search of the term “six-word memoir” yields more than 350,000 results. I think it would be fair to say that a good portion of those are thanks to the meme.

When I started as a SMITH intern in March, I was given just one task as I boarded a plane for San Francisco: put a google alert on the term “six-word memoir” and keep an eye on things. “Comment on the good ones,” Larry told me. “But try not to look like you’re spamming them.” Maintaining that fine line between genuine appreciation and shameless self-promotion was pretty tricky, but I got a big boost of confidence when one of my first bloggers wrote back with thanks. A few days later, a woman I had complimented was so pleased that she wrote an entirely new post to draw attention to it. “How cool is that?!?” she asked as she quoted my comment. I guess it was pretty cool; if there’s one thing I’d rather have than good feedback, it’s good feedback from a complete stranger.

As the meme spread across the internet, I started to notice some clear patterns. I’d never given much thought to the way the blogging world worked; it didn’t occur to me that niche bloggers—mothers, runners, cooks, Christians, nature-lovers—often make online friendships within those niches. I watched the meme work its way through the well-organized mom blogosphere and into the ultra-organized fitness-mom blogosphere. I really started to notice the circular nature of the meme when it hit the finance blogs (“Saving sense to save my cents”), which seemed to encompass everyone from high-powered investment bankers to relatively humble get-out-of-debt columnists. When the bird watchers got their hands on it, the resulting memoirs were short, sweet, and accompanied by pictures of birds (“Birds, an essential part of life”). Even animals themselves joined in. Granted, theirs were a little more straightforward, like “EXCITED TO LOVE, EAT, PLAY, SNUGGLE!” from a three-year-old pug named Jemima Jones.

The tag itself is like the world’s biggest game of telephone. Ernest Hemingway was bet that he couldn’t write a story in six words, and SMITH put a memoir twist on the old legend. But as the meme worked its way across the internet, a good number of readers decided that “For sale: baby shoes, never worn” was Hemingway’s life story. In March, people tried to trace the origins of the meme with little success, pointing fingers at half a dozen bloggers. In recent weeks, people have started attaching Larry and Rachel’s names to the tag. No mention of SMITH, but then, that’s my job, after all. If you search my inbox for the term “six word memoir,” it says “displaying results 1-20 out of hundreds.” Gmail doesn’t even bother counting anymore. Sometimes the alerts seem like cosmic jokes. Just a few days ago, it sent me two new memoirs: one from a Muslim whose blog tag-line was “O Allah increase me in knowledge, amin,” and one from a Jew living in Israel who proudly displayed a little banner with the Israeli and American flags and the words “I support disproportionate force.” That might be one problem the blogosphere isn’t equipped to solve.

My six-word tastes run towards the cynical. As we hunt for thoughts on love and heartbreak, I generally prefer “Lost virginity and earring in backseat ” to “I never stopped waiting for love.” But as I searched the blogosphere, I wasn’t drawn to the funny ones. There are so many people out there using writing to work through tragedy and pain, and for some, distilling all that into six words is an incredibly powerful experience. Just the other day I noticed, “Her prescription came with unlimited refills,” a runner’s summary of her debilitating injury. After thousands of memoirs, I’d have to say that my absolute favorites are the simple ones that seem to sum up entire lives. Three months later, I still remember, “Quiet late bloomer, still quietly blooming.”

Have you been tagged yet? If not, consider this an official invitation. Just be sure to pass it on. I’ve started to notice the meme in other languages—yesterday I puzzled through a Portuguese one with Babelfish. I hope this trend continues; I won’t be satisfied until everyone in the world has shared their six words.

Within the course of a few short weeks, we went from holding the soggiest six-word reading/slam to the sweatiest. Yet in many ways, Monday, June 9 at the Barnes & Noble in Park Slope, Brooklyn this was the sweetest. At each reading, we always tell some “stories behind the stories,” mixing up tales from the making of Not Quite What I Was Planning, amazing things about their lives many of the 850 contributors have shared with us, and then stories from six-word memoirists who are in the house. At this reading, we had such a stellar line-up of contributors that Rachel and I did less talking than ever, which in my mind led to one of the most amazing, inspired evenings in this whole six-word journey.

Carlos “Mare 139″Rodriguez talked with passion, sincerity, and candor about why his memoir (”Wasn’t noticed so I painted trains”) encapsulates his feeling that creativity was his way of dealing with “the shame of poverty” growing up in New York in the ’70s. He’s the guy on the video below; I hope you take two minutes and click (sorry it’s sideways). Jason Bitner, cofounder of FOUND magazine, unpacked items from his backpack, slowly unfurling the story of his professional life from FOUND to Dirty Found to his newest open-source, personal storytelling project, Cassette From My Ex. Then he revealed his own short, short life story: “Other people’s trash: show and teller.”

With her son and husband looking on, Nell Casey offered a few more intimate, honest words on how she landed upon “Haunting dad, spotlight mom, retrieving marriage” for her six-word memoir. “Gave commencement address, became sex columnist”—could only be the life trajectory of Amy Sohn. Abby Ellin unloaded a lifetime of issues in just six words that reveal a woman who is, “Jew-born. Yeshiva-educated. Date goyim” (contact her here if you’re not Jewish and want a date). Then Mary Elizabeth Williams offered the goy response: “Catholic girl. Jersey. It’s all true.” “it’s mine because the first three words are about me,” she said. “But the last three are about you, and how you interpret them. I know what they mean to me.”

Finally, a six-word slam broke out. There were many gems, but writer Lori Leibovich spoke volumes about her life and zip code in just a few well-chosen words: “Husband. Kids. Park Slope. You know.” Thanks to everyone who came out.

Salon’s Table Talk discussion group goes wild with a Six words to great lit’rature thread. Here are a few of my favorites:

The times were good. Also bad.
A Tale of Two Cities

Man Sleeps with Mother. Gouging Ensues.
Oedipus the King

Woman Sleeps with Preacher. Branding Ensues.
The Scarlet Letter

Hell, Purgatory, Heaven and sweet Beatrice.
The Divine Comedy

Vile man pities self, hates world.
A Confederacy of Dunces

Nothing happens. Then nothing happens again.
Waiting for Godot

You too can play. Submit your six words at Table Talk or leave them as a comment here.

Since we started this project, inspired by a probably-apocryphal six-word Hemingway story, we’ve heard tell of the probably-apocryphal six-word epitaph “I told you I was sick.” It’s a great last-laugh tale, but I for one thought it was just that. No so, proves the equally clever Not Quite contributor Matt “Full life; impossible to summarize in…” Love. He provides photographic evidence:

(click to enlarge)

Going to Philadelphia this past weekend was a sort of homecoming. It’s in Philly that I met SMITH cofounder Tim Barkow on the first day of college. Who can forget a guy who by way of introduction says, “My name is Tim. I like to paint sneakers.” He was a geek before I knew that word, with a personality that was just about the opposite of mine, probably why we’ve been working together even since, going all the way back to our college magazine days. A million years later, young Rachel Fershleiser would bounce from Brooklyn Heights to West Philly herself, and later into our world of SMITH. Good times.

Rachel and I rolled in the city on a rainy Friday, had the pleasure of meeting up with Andrew Schwalm from the storytelling organization First Person Arts, then were pleasantly surprised that plenty of people showed up at the Barnes & Noble in Rittenhouse Square for the reading. We did our story of the six-word project thing, but what we always love most is everyone else’s six words. From “I looked it up on Wikipedia” by a sassy teen, to the pitch-perfect “Bring a date to my Shiva” from a silly sixtysomething, the joy and genius of short, short life storytelling was all around.

On Sunday, we found ourselves at the Philadelphia Book Festival, honored to be invited to an incredible two days of readings. We commandeered the Poetry Pavilion, prayed the rain wouldn’t come, and held a six-word slam that even my pop got into. His six-word memoir is one the crowd in the tent related to all too well: “Phillies: 25 Years. Still no Champagne.” Later, my dad and I heard masterful storyteller Mark Bowden talk about his book, The Best Game: Giants vs. Colts, 1958, and the Birth of the Modern NFL. Headliner Barbara Walters, a living legend whose six we would die for, brought the festival to its sweet, soaked finish.

Thanks for everyone who came out, and to Philly Mag for cosponsoring the “It All Happened Here in Philadelphia” contest.

At the Six-Word Memoir event May 14 in Mankato, Minnesota, four of us contributors sat at a table telling our stories to the audience, all the while a guy with a fancy professional camera snapped pictures from every angle.

I didn’t know this man. I’ve lived in this town for 14 years, and having worked at the local newspaper, know all the Mankato media types. This guy wasn’t one of them.

While the other contributors were talking, I was thinking “Wow, someone’s taking pictures of us!” I straightened a bit, smoothed my hair. Is this how celebrities feel?

Turns out the photographer is the father of Renee Schunk (page 111—”Sperm too potent, now have triplets.”). I still felt important, only now a bit jealous as well. I wish my parents were that proud of me!

Besides Renee and me (page 99—”I grew up in a cemetery”) other contributors at Barnes and Noble that night were Patrick Dentinger (page 108—”Artist, disabled. Feeling mislabeled. Ambitions tabled.”) and Mary Hynes (page 129—”I forgot I have memory loss.”) The four of us represent the southern Minnesota Six-Word Memoir contingent.

The crowd wasn’t large by any means; we had to compete with the first really nice evening in what otherwise had been a cool and rainy Minnesota spring. But a few friends of mine showed up, as did Renee’s partner, her gaggle of kids, and her parents. Even a couple of strangers decided to spend a portion of their evening with us.

We read from the book, shared our memoirs and talked about the stories behind them. Most of us had heard the call for submissions on National Public Radio, while I stumbled across Smith magazine through MySpace. An audience member asked what role writing plays in our lives. We work in diverse jobs—hospital administrator, office manager, graphic artist, teacher. But in our non-work lives, three of us consider ourselves writers.

We got some help from audience members, who shouted out page numbers and we read six-word memoirs at random. Page 45 was one of those called, so we read Susan Henderson’s “Mistakenly kills kitten. Fears anything delicate.” Oooh, a downer! We shared some memoirs of the “famous” writers, from Stephen Colbert to Joan Rivers to Joyce Carol Oates.

I brought candy for people willing to share their own six-word stories. I’m always amazed at what people come up with on the spot! My friend Diane, who watched two parents die and became a mom all within the span of a couple of weeks earlier this year, wrote: “In fifteen days—new mom, orphan.” Twelve-year-old Jake came up with: “Pretty short, but not too bad.” We’re still not sure if he was referring to his life thus far, or his height! But the best memoirs can be taken more than one way.

One woman asked, “Do you have to write a memoir in order to get the candy?” Those were the rules, I said. No memoir, no candy. She replied back a few minutes later: “Life’s not fair. I want candy!” She got two mini Butterfingers for her efforts.

The Mankato Barnes and Noble has done a great job publicizing the book. Soon after it came out it appeared as one of the staff picks, prominently featured on a shelf near the front, and the review gave a shout-out to the local contributors. Recently, a neat stack of the books were displayed on the information desk. EVERYONE walks by the information desk, right? I asked the manager if he has full control of what books he features, or if the decisions come from corporate. The local stores decide, he said. We’re glad they recognize a good thing when they see it!

After the reading, the community events manager bought us each a treat at the café. I left knowing my picture had been taken, that my name had been on a sign, and with a free coffee in my hand. Yes, I think this is how celebrities feel!

Moms rock. This we know well. And the more than 1,000 six-word momoirs that poured in over the last two weeks rocked our world six inspirational, funny, and unusual words at a time. Here’s to all the moms with so many more stories to tell, in six words and many more.

The three winning momoir entries are:
Jessika Blanton, “Mommy’s boobies no longer Daddy’s boobies.”
Tara Lazar, “Suffered miscarriage. Daughter offered her doll.”
Sheryl Stein, “Can I pee in private, please?”

And while not among the judge’s top three winners, an especially appropriate one at this time of year is the simply stated: “Call your mom. She misses you.” True that.

For more of our favorites from the moms, see the Featured Momoirs. The contest may be over, but moms of all ages are always encouraged to tell their story in six words here. Or in more words in our My Life So Far story project.

Happy Mother’s Day!