Posted to Stories on the topic of Autobiographies on
3 April 2008, with no comments so far.
From 400 Words, Issue 1
by Derek—Age 33—Portland, OR
I now reside in Portland, Oregon. I arrived here two years ago in a beat-up truck with everything I owned crammed into the bed and cab. I was fleeing Lee’s Summit, Missouri, where I had worked for a shady sub-contractor for the Justice Department—blowing the whistle led to my termination. I lived with a woman in Blue Springs who was 15 years older than me for a while before that. We ended up having an affair (she had a boyfriend), things ended badly, and I moved out. See, I didn’t even want to go to Missouri, but I needed to attend the main campus of Park University to finish my bachelor’s degree, which I did. But before I could do that I had to travel from North Carolina on four bald tires, after I quit my job working for a strange electrician. I spent hours crawling under houses pulling wires for him because I needed the money to keep from losing my house. See, I’d quit my high-paying job at the cryogenic plant, and times were tough. I was a cryogenics mechanic in the Marines a couple years before, that’s how I landed the job; those were some strange days, especially the six months I spent in Italy. I blame my decision to enlist on the poor job market in Waterville, Maine (the geographical opposite of where I live now). I learned how to wire houses at a tech college in a neighboring town just a few months after graduating high school; I still had long hair and wore an earring. I was what many considered a ‘strange bird’ in those days. They should have seen me as a small boy, acting out scenes in the back yard by myself, playing with small cars and talking to myself, kissing a girl on the mouth when I was only two years old. Maybe it’s not so strange. But when I was born, the doctor did tell my mom, “This one’s a whole other breed of cats.”
(Repost)
Posted to 400 Words News on
20 March 2008, with 3 comments so far.
1. Daffodil shoots
2. Less-expensive asparagus spotted at the fruit stand
3. Stirrings of life at 400 Words
It’s been a long and restful sleep, but 400 Words is getting ready to come back to life. The first step: a fresh coat of paint. I wish I were a real web designer, but I’m not, so I’ve been searching for a new WordPress template that will liven up the place. Something simple, but a little brighter and more cheerful. I will be trying things out over the next couple of weeks, so please excuse intermittent upheavals in the site’s appearance.
If you want to buy a copy of the Compulsions issue, the store will remain open. The Work issue is coming soon!
Update, 3/30: I’m tinkering around with Derek Powazek’s DePo Skinny theme, which I love love love. Tinkering is fun and slow going, I’m definitely still playing around with colors etc. Next stop: sidebars, and a custom header image.
Posted to 400 Words News on
6 January 2008, with 8 comments so far.
As you may have noticed if you follow this site, 400 Words is taking a bit of a sabbattical. We’ll be back soon with more new stuff, including print issue #3. In the meantime, hang out, peruse the archives, send in a 400-word autobiography if you want. Copies of print issue #2 are still for sale, and people who see the cute little books still can’t keep their hands off them. Get yours here.
Thanks for reading, and see you soon.
Posted to Stories on the topic of Work on
11 November 2007, with 7 comments so far.
by Erin—Age 30—Saskatoon, Canada
Each day is quite different from the last. I am a mother. I am a grad student. My work, however, can scarcely be summed by such labels.
When I was five, my parents decided to go to grad school. In the five years that followed I was very much on my own, save my older brother. I once swore I would never repeat this grave error in judgment that my parents had made. And yet, here I am, riddled with guilt, determined to change the outcome.
This was a day when my daughter had a play date with her grandmother. My head was spinning with ideas from the night before. I snuck past the nagging feeling that my mother couldn’t handle the day that she would face. I blew a kiss to my girl through the kitchen window, and was off.
My day was frantic but still. I sat in the same spot in the library; writing, reading, thinking. But in those brief moments of self-consciousness, when the music in my head took pause, I could feel the ridicule of a younger student…the transparency of my idiocy. I had been whispering some nonsense aloud. I bit my lip so hard it began to bleed. But soon none of it would matter. The post-rock in my ear would revive my belief in an ideal truth, and the importance of aiming toward it. On this day, in a creative whirlwind, I sketched my thesis. [Read more →]
