I Can't Keep My Own Secrets
I Can’t Keep My Own Secrets
Six-Word Memoirs by Teens Famous + Obscure
From Smith Magazine
Edited by Rachel Fershleiser and Larry Smith
Contents
This is the story of six….
Begin Reading
Searchable Terms
About the Author
Other Books by Smith Magazine
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
This is the story of six….
Most memoirs are books written by one person and are meant to be read from start to finish. There’s one overall story with a beginning, middle, and end, plus some characters you get to know pretty well.
This is not one of those books.
This is a book with over 600 authors (all aged thirteen to nineteen) and 600 characters (all real, as far as we know) and 600 stories (which can be read in any order). What every story has in common is that each was written about the author’s own life, and that each is the exact same length: six words.
The idea of telling an entire story in half a dozen words dates back to Ernest Hemingway. Legend has it that this great American writer was once challenged to write a whole novel in just six words. He came back with “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” Since then, writers have been exploring the six-word story in many shapes and forms. Our idea was to ask readers for their six-word memoir—there’s no topic you’re a bigger expert on than yourself.
Last year, we published Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous & Obscure, a collection of hundreds of slices of life that was hugely popular. The book sparked people of all ages around the world to create their own memoirs. Teachers from kindergarten to graduate school used them as exercises in classrooms, and ministers and rabbis brought them into sermons. People put on six-word-inspired plays, wrote six-word songs, and filmed their own YouTube videos. In a high school in south Texas, students made paintings and sculptures to illustrate their six-word memoirs and debuted the show in a gallery.
Back at SMITH Magazine, we couldn’t wait to hear more. We challenged teens to continue the trend by telling the story of your lives in just six words, and you blew us away. You revealed secrets about your families (“Falling apart because Dad’s behind bars.”), your hearts (“In love with best friend’s boyfriend.”), and the tough road life can lead you down (“Seventeen, pregnant. He’s off to Iraq.”). You offered up your big dreams (“I’m poor. I’m going to Harvard.”) and guiding philosophies (“Life lessons found in Scrubs episodes.”). You told us about battles with disease (“Fifteen and my mom has cancer.”), food (“Bulimia was only cramping my style.”), and technology (“According to Facebook, we broke up.”). Many of you are still trying to figure out the questionable calls your parents made (“I was named after a store.”).
When we were teens, our secrets filled journals stuffed under mattresses; you share your stories with one another and the world. On your blogs, your MySpace and Facebook pages, and at places like PostSecret and SMITHteens, you’re the leaders of a revolution, using personal storytelling to connect everyone.
This book contains hundreds of six-word stories, written by and for teens across America and beyond. Each word and every image came from over 600 contributors. If you’re new to all this, we hope you’ll read it and be inspired to write your own. Everyone has a story—what’s yours?
Rachel Fershleiser and Larry Smith
April 2009, New York City
SMITH Magazine • www.smithmag.net •
www.smithteens.com
Told you I’d be published someday!
—Kay A.
Born in the wrong decade, man.
—Victoria D.
Half sister doesn’t
know I’m alive.
—Emily R. M.
Met online; love before first sight.
—Chris S.
I own nine pairs of Converse.
—Maddie F.
Music and God are my constants.
—Aubrey H.
A roller-coaster ride of unbelievable events.
—Micah M.
I’m army boots. Ready for battle.
—Amanda L.
Five elementary schools and two obituaries.
—Eunice B.
My name will someday be remembered.
—Claudia R.-G.
Born 1992. Unhappy. Adopted 2007. Happy.
—Tabitha G.
Eventually, I’ll make my own breakfast.
—Sam Z.
Rather be alone in my room.
—Anais V.
You’re the parent, act like one.
—Lily M.
Hung myself. Sister found me. Alive.
—Anna-Lise M.
Don’t believe in love. Only science.
—Hannah D.
I only tell truth in journals.
—Rachel W.
First I hone; then I pwn.
—Dan G.
Daddy’s little angel, Mom’s right hand.
—Angelica R.
I just want to feel infinite.
—Phoebe G.
Boob exposure and salary increase unrelated.
—Rhiannon P.
Fears:
jellyfish,
cocaine,
stray hairs,
heartbreak.
—Jane H.
My mind soars on paper airplanes.
—Bridget H.
Money’s tight; thankfully imagination is free.
—Vanessa E.
Teen victim of shooting: lost leg.
—Chris H.
I seriously love school bean burritos.
—Kenna J.
Never been kissed. Don’t want to.
—Katherine R.
I edit my profile, or vice-versa?
—Noa B.-S.
Can’t chew gum without blowing bubbles.
—Laura H.
Ripped open,
sewn back up,
healing.
—Traci V.
Called him, but he hung up.
—Amanda B.
Mom just revoked my creative license.
—Nur A.
Nada y pues nada, Hemingway says.
—Louis E.
They screamed “nobody.”
I believed them.
—Andrew C.
Living my dream;
please send money.
—Brittney L.
When I jump, no one catches.
—Brionna L.
I’m deaf, but she can’t hear.
—Rosemary F.
I like to fix broken things.
—Rachel T.
Bulimia was only cramping my style.
—Mary A.
Found the “One,” scared he’ll run.
—Ashleigh B.
I stopped reading between the lines.
Alicia F.
I looked it up on Wikipedia.
—Maya A.
Wikipedia didn’t know either.
Oh well.
—Jessica Z.
Contemplated joining circus.
Foolishly chose college.
—Sally C.
You are my sixty-second sunset.
—Wendy K.
Can’t stop taking pictures of myself.
—Kacey K.
Some hairs grew on my face.
—Wade P.
Only seventeen;
already using wrinkle cream.
—Kristy M.
Grandma’s dying while I’m out shopping.
—Sara M.
Exaggeration is the spice of life.
/> —Eve G.
Stillborn baby lost, I found God.
—Lydia S.
My dad has more
MySpace friends.
—Daryle J.
Fat camp makes fat campers fatter.
—Ava C.
Never been drunk.
Never been happier.
—Leah V.
I always imagine clowns without makeup.
—Visala A.
Intensive care stopped my self-destruction.
—Emma P.
God abandoned me, so I reciprocated.
—Amy M.
I can’t look at babies anymore.
—Evie S.
One egg. Two girls.
Best friends.
—Bethany D.
You left no note.
I’m heartbroken.
—Jillian T.
Sorry,
but I’m with the band.
—Liz M.
Can say I beat depression,
finally.
—Lizzy A.
Aspiration: colonize Mars. You’re not invited.
—Jordan H.
One Tree Hill changed my life.
—Ju P.
Polaroid photographs taken
of prospective boyfriends.
—Rachel C.
Call me “hippie.”
I. Dare. You.
—Maggie R.
I’d rather be eating a cheeseburger.
—Zoe R.
I used too much Texas Pete.
—Abigail T.
Spent more time reading than living.
—Martha G.
I am more than just gay.
—Alex K.
Wow. I lived to see eighteen.
—Sarah M.
Straight and narrow, straight to hell.
—Julie Z.
Daddy issues are all I know.
—Amanda H.
In love with best friend’s boyfriend.
—Elizabeth F.
One house; never had a home.
—Jessica H.
Hypnotism changed my life. Go figure.
—Rachel N.
I will be that cat lady.
—Rolynda T.
Dreams too big for this town…
—Megan M.
I resent people who ignore grammar.
—Molly S.
I never got my Hogwarts letter.
—Deanna H.
I love you,
please stop drinking.
—Kristina R.
You still smell like my childhood.
—Sarah R.
I plan on breaking her heart.
—Neil C.
First time hazy.
Blame the booze.
—Juliana R.
Rejected by parents, nowhere to go.
—Marlee V.
Current status in life equals wallflower.
—Kaitlyn C.
I’m still scared of a B-plus.
—Carmel B.-S.
They had sex and I watched.
—Mike S.
Sick of being the good child.
—Laura K.
Lost 130 pounds for your attention.
—Elizabeth C.
My art was better than me.
—Jewels H.
I am definitely my mother’s daughter.
—Andrea W.
Catholic girl desperately wants her faith.
—Emma F.
I have curves!
I love mirrors.
—Rebecca H.
Live in Canada. Not an igloo.
—Mackenna C.
Not your average teen angst bullshit.
—Amanda L.
It is very
very
very
complicated.
—Kika M.
I am only creative on
MySpace.
—Adrienne D.
David Bowie:
my drug of choice.
—Kelsey O.
I sold all my Barbie dolls.
—Cameron V.
Atheist.
So much for Hebrew school.
—Zachary R.
Pen to paper, all I need.
—Tyra B.
Turn around, and you’re all alone.
—Lizzi G.
My friends don’t know:
I believe.
—Jessica L.
Turned thirteen and don’t feel different.
—Ena S.
Friend.
Boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend.
Friend.
Friend’s boyfriend.
—Maura M.
Music is love; band is drama.
—Kendra G.
Refusing to be
just another statistic.
—Brittany G.
I was so much happier fat.
—Lauren H.
Can’t live without
a little insanity.
—Sara R.
Fifteen and my mom has cancer.
—Demi M.
I live bigger than your labels.
—Samantha N.
Big orange couch; miss the 90s.
—Hannah D.
Male humans were my childhood fear.
—Desiree M.
And all I wanted were doughnuts.
—Kari D.
Three high schools. Only uniforms change.
—Keerthana J.
Can’t get over my dead family.
—Kristen C.
PHX to PDX. Best. Move. Ever.
—Maddie R.
Girl meets boy. Boy is gay.
—Kate M.
Salinger.
Sartre.
King.
Camus.
Vonnegut.
Huxley.
—Stephanie C.
Eccentricity is not an exact science.
—Melissa L.
I am almost always missing something.
—Nina F.
Gave up one addiction for another.
—Marissa L.
Finally learned “weird” is a compliment.
—Teagan E.
HIV: We could have saved her.
—Kathryn L.
Never shopping at Wet Seal again.
—Aimee M.
Roots are shallow, wings are broken.
—Kelly V.
I hate your one-word replies.
—Trisha D.
Dan saved my life; doesn’t know.
—Stephanie H.
Failed driver’s test. Meant to pass.
—Samantha T.
Not enough room in the margins.
—Coreen G.
Homecoming king with a septum ring.
—Reid K.
Grew up, kept my childish heart.
—India K.
I wish “Sir” was “Dad” instead.
—Sarah B.
Autistic brothers give the best hugs.
—Kristen C.
Gamer girls will rule the world!
—Shawna F.
My status messages are about you.
—Elissa S.
Always end up marring my manicure…
—Elisha M.
Lost virginity to Speed Racer theme.
—Raella R.
I’m just a simple human. Being.
—Nic H.
I run on the rainy days.
—Alessandra W.
Coming out was not the answer.
—Alice K.
Best first was falling in love.
—Abby K.
Braces were sucky, perfect teeth now.
—Lola L.
The keys I have don’t fit.
—Alicia K.
Iraq doesn’t need you. I do.
—Alicia Marie S.
I’m secretly
much older than fifteen.
—Rachel C.
A never-ending series of
marvelous misad
ventures.
—Kirby S.
Wake up.
Pee.
Step on scale.
—Kia W.
Googled what he called me. Ouch.
—Emily L.
Started growing up way too early.
—Kathryn A.
Follow your dreams.
Not your parents.
—Srishti K.
Note to all boys: I quit.
—Lauren A.
History.
Math.
Study hall.
Birthing coach.
—Laura D.
Wish I could color outside lines.