This story has been any number of lengths over the years. First written as a 600-word piece for a music site that welcomed personal narratives inspired by songs from legendary albums, I picked “Me, Myself, and I” after finding out the album I was assigned was Beyoncé’s debut solo album Dangerously In Love. I was then asked to asked to cut 150 words due to space limitations. I didn’t want to do it…writers get most attached to their little word children. But I snipped away and the end result was the 460 word piece in the video and featured below.
I was further motivated by my editing challenge to see if I could keep whittling it down to submit to Reader’s Digest long running story contest, Your True Story, in 100 Words. It wasn’t easy but I made it work and submitted it. A few months later I received some mail from them that I almost threw in the trash can; luckily I took a moment to open it and discovered a check for $100. A dollar a word is some pretty sweet cha-ching for word whittling, especially these days.
WHAM! BAM! THANK YOU! SLAM! offers a $100 prize to the storyteller our audience thinks told the “best” four-minute story, so start killing your darlings and get in the game!
If you have any questions about how it all works, leave them in the comments and we’ll answer them in a new post.
We know you can do this.
“I need to buy a one way ticket to Seattle,” I told the ticket agent in Medford, Oregon. She had salt and pepper hair pulled back in a scrunchie, deep red press-on fingernails and her name tag read “Janice.” She eyed me with a concerned look as I stood before her with a sunburned face, clad in a tank top, capri pants, in flip flops with dirty feet.
Janice clickety-clacked, clickety-clacked, clickety-clacked on her keyboard. “Next flight will cost you $287. But all that stuff, that’s another story.”
“All that stuff” Janice was referring to was my overloaded luggage cart, stacked with three suitcases, four cardboard boxes and a garbage bag full of shoes.
“You can check one bag for free. Second one is $50, everything else is $100 a piece. You really should have packed it all better. Perhaps you should go home and do that, come back again tomorrow?”
Sorry, Janice, not a possibility. I left my boyfriend of five years after his cheating became legendary in our gossipy little Nevada town. I bought an eight hundred dollar Volkswagen, loaded it with my few possessions, and made plans to head north to my hometown. I took one too many hills in a high gear on a 107 degree day, and the Volkswagen sputtered violently and lurched to a stop. I flagged down a guy who helped me get the car towed, the garage confirmed the engine was fried. I convinced another kind soul to drive me to the nearest airport.
“I just left my boyfriend, Janice, so I don’t have a home to go back to right now. I’m sure this all looks like a bunch of crap to you, but it’s everything I have left. Here’s my credit card. Just let me know when it maxes out and I’ll figure out what I can leave behind.” I couldn’t recall a time in my twenty-five years when I’d felt so defeated, so small.
Janice paused, then began to clickety-clack again with gusto. She sealed the boxes with duct tape. She slapped tags on each box, on each bag, even the garbage bag; tags that read SEATTLE. She loaded them onto the conveyor belt with care, swiped my credit card, and handed me the slip.
It read $287. I was motionless as I waited for her to realize her mistake.
Janice whispered, “I left my husband two years ago. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. It helps if you can catch a break sometimes. Now go get on your flight.”
As I made my way to the gate, I didn’t feel the crush of no job, no car, no man, no plan. I only felt the weightlessness of being free.
Do you have questions about WHAM! BAM! THANK YOU! SLAM! as a storyteller and/or audience member? Our resident muse Slamone is taking a break from philosophy and cigarettes and would love to set the record straight (or bicurious at the very least). Please submit all of your burning queries below for an upcoming Q&A!
You can also message Nan, if you prefer to ask your questions in private! She can handle it. Nothing embarrasses NFT (Nan Fucking Tepper).
Our first story slam is on January 17, 2026. Please restack this post, share with friends, sign up to do a a slam if you’re a woman writer on Substack. We want you and we need you to grow!
