10 Six-word Stories
Writing is selection. —John McPhee
One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple. ―Jack Kerouac
Above: The knight wields his sword, the writer his pen.
Constraints have a terrific way of eliciting creativity.
For instance, you’d be amazed what you can do with a small number of good words.
We have all heard that short is sweet and brevity is the soul of wit, however, hearing is not the same as listening.
To assume otherwise is to equate Boston Market take-out with Grandma’s Thanksgiving dinner. My stomach grumbles otherwise.
Similarly, unlike kindergarten, good writing consists of showing, and not telling (e.g. “He cracked a toothy smile when he saw his little brother” says a lot more than “He was happy”).
Two examples showcase the complexity captured in and by simplicity:
Randall Munroe’s brilliant Thing Explainer: Complicated Stuff in Simple Words. In it, he uses line drawings and only the thousand (or, rather, “ten hundred”) most common words to provide simple explanations for some of the most interesting stuff there is, including: food-heating radio boxes (microwaves), boxes that make clothes smell better (washers and dryers), and the pieces everything is made of (the periodic table).
Ernest Hemingway’s apocryphal, gut-punching line "For Sale, Baby Shoes, Never Worn.” Per Open Culture, the myth sets Hemingway in a hotel some time in the 1920s. He was allegedly having lunch with a group of writer pals when he bet them he could write a story with a full narrative in just six words. After his friends put their money down, Hemingway jotted down a few words on a napkin and passed it around the table. Though brief, the other writers couldn't deny that "Baby Shoes" was indeed a full story.
Inspired by this legend and in the spirit of plumbing simplicity for depth, I took a stab at ten six-word stories of my own.
Ungloved and beaten, the boxer slumped.
Deaf ears heard “I love you.”
Words fell empires, not gun-toting men.
The quiet nursery said everything necessary.
Shaking, she hugged his flag-draped coffin.
When the monitor flatlined, everyone wept.
Fluorescent lamps don’t nourish like sunshine.
Ring on her finger, he rejoiced.
The blood at Arlington nourishes America.
The tight handcuffs brought long-awaited freedom.
If you have your own six-word story, please share it.
Try it on for size and move around a bit.
Who knows—when you gaze up at the mirror you might see Hemingway staring back.