Micro-Memoir Contest
Submissions Closed
About the Contest
At HerStry we pride ourselves in telling your stories in long form. But with this contest, we turn that on its head. We’re asking for your micro-memoirs. Your true stories told in flash form.
But just because it’s micro doesn’t mean it should lack depth. We’re looking for micro-memoirs that tug on our heart strings, make us re-examine what it means to be alive and observing in this world. Don’t just tell us your story. Show it to us with depth, and emotion. Evocative language and beautiful images. Blow us away with what we can feel in so few words.
Our 2026 submissions have closed. Winners will be announced this fall!
Guidelines
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Essays must be true, about YOU, and previously unpublished.
Essays must stay under 1,000 words. The shorter, the better.
All essays must be submitted with a third person bio and author photo. Neither of which we will see unless you are a contest winner as we read everything blind.
Essays should be submitted in a .dox form. No PDFs, please.
Essays should be double spaced, Times New Roman (or similar), 12pt font with 1 inch margins. All essays should be clear of identifying information. Because we are expecting a large number of submissions we will disregard any submissions that do not follow these guidelines.
Do not submit more than one essay.
While we cannot stop you from submitting your work elsewhere while it is under our consideration we kindly ask that you withdraw your essay if it is accepted elsewhere. Winners will be announced no later than November 26, 2026.
HerStry centers the experiences of women identifying persons. We’re looking for work from bigender/polygender persons, cisgender women, intergender persons/intersex persons, non-binary persons/gender non-conforming persons, transgender women/transfeminine persons, two-spirit. In other words, if you are a cis man, please refrain from submitting.
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First Place - $200
Second Place - $150
Third Place - $100
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Public - $10
Babes Who Write - $5
*entry fees go toward paying staff and contest winners
On our ofrenda, I place chocolate, agua, mezcal, and beer among the photographs of our dead. Coors isn’t sold in Oaxaca, so I put a Victoria instead. I think Daddy would have liked it. As I light the copal, white smoke rises. Its sweet smell reaches my nose. Under a golden archway of caña and flores, Daddy’s face stares at me from under his white baseball cap. His once-brown eyes have turned gray, his chestnut hair now the color of a life lived hard. I pluck petals from cempasúchil letting them fall to the floor. I make a path from the ofrenda to the door, hoping they will lead us to each other, if just for a night.