Paul Crawford

To me, few writing styles are as elegant, as disciplined, or as heartbreakingly efficient as the six-word story. It’s the haiku of modern prose. A form so brutally brief that it leaves no room for error. No space for indulgence. No mercy for the writer.

Each word must pull its weight. Each pause, deliberate. Each omission, meaningful. In six words, empires are built — and broken. Hemingway’s “Baby shoes. For sale. Never worn.” remains the Everest of the form. A summit that thousands of writers have dared to climb, but few have stood upon.

As a copywriter, I’ve always admired this discipline. Six words to capture attention. Six words to provoke emotion. Six words to sell an idea, or perhaps, a dream. Over the years, I’ve practiced relentlessly, chiseling sentences down to their purest essence. Pursuing the impossible balance between brevity and depth.

And now, after countless drafts and sleepless nights, I believe I have finally arrived. I have created my masterpiece.

My magnum opus.

My contribution to the timeless art of the Six-Word Story:

I like to write six-word stories.