Yep. There I am on page 127 of “Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure.”
Smith Magazine got the idea, see, from Hemingway, that one can say quite a lot in six words, which of course, one can, whether one is famous or obscure. Most of us would be the latter.
“After Harvard, had baby with crackhead,” Robin Templeton’s six words that lead off the book … well, those are pretty lively, huh?
It took me a few years to get my answer to the question of what happened to my marriage down to … let’s see … ten words, which I’m not revealing here. That was a long time ago. I’m not going to try to knock it down to six. Unless someone wants to publish it.
My six words included “serendipity,” which is sort of cliché, or at least it’s a word I get tired of periodically. But I’m not going to give you the other five words here. Go read the book.
Or give me your own six-word memoir in a comment, and I’ll play catch-and-throw.
