A weekly newsletter and monthly reading series co-curated by Narratively, Catapult, Granta, Guernica, The Rumpus, Longreads and Tin House. We've brought together the heavy-hitters of online memoir to provide the very best new first-person writing all in one place, so you'll always be well-read and in the know.

Memoir Monday LIVE: Announcing our June lineup!

We're thrilled to announce another fantastic lineup for next month's Memoir Monday reading! Join us on June 18th at Powerhouse Arena for an evening of readings by Jeannie Vanasco, Ash Sanders, Dara Lurie, and Porochista Khakpour.

Learn more and RSVP here!

Animals Died at Our House, and Other Things that Burn or Wear Away

by Autumn Watts

Ground squirrels drowned in the horses’ water barrel. Mice died in the attic. Feral dog packs prowled the desert and littered our yard with bones. Once, a snake crawled into the swamp cooler and decorated our walls with snake and half-dissolved bird. Sometimes I came home from school to a decapitated chicken hanging feet first from the shed.

My Childhood in the California Sun Gave Me Skin Cancer...and It Was Worth It

by Gina Harlow

Maybe it was one day, years later, as the dermatologist shined her magic lamp on my face, exposing a hidden map of spots, looking much like the surface of the moon, or maybe it was one spot in particular that I could see in any light, that finally made me lose my affection for amber. That spot, the doctor said, was fine. Until a while later when it wasn’t. Melanoma. A little shocked after the doctor called, I kept repeating the word in my head, thinking it rhymed with bella nonna. I might have drawn this crazy connection because I’d been studying Italian online, or it might have been because that was what I wanted so desperately. I just wanted to be a beautiful grandmother.

Splintered Doors

by Vanessa Mártir

When I was a kid, Mom would lock herself in her room. We could hear her whimpering through the splintered door. Her partner Millie had to rebuild that door out of cheap plywood whenever she had to break it down to get to Mom. She rebuilt it so many times.

None of us three kids ever dared knock. My brother, sister and I were afraid of what we would see. In what condition we’d find our mother. If we could hear she was crying, at least we knew she was alive. At least we knew she hadn’t hurt herself.

The Moment Your Life Crashes and Burns: On Divorce, Injury, and Questions Without Answers

by Jill Gallagher

Now that I’ve been hit by a car, I can say the shock of that weekday December morning, sitting in our living room listening as he told me our marriage was over, was similar to the feeling of my body colliding with 4,000 pounds of steel in motion. He’d given no indication that he was unhappy prior to that conversation, never gave me a reason why he loved her more than he loved me. When he’d routinely told me that I was “perfect for him,” he’d decided after just a year of marriage that I was no longer good enough.

Three Lesbian Sex Positions

by Courtney Gillette

Have your partner order Seamless while you scoop the cat litter before taking down the trash. In your twenties, you have sex. In your thirties, you talk about having sex. End up here, in a long term relationship, a healthy miracle, a shared address. Go one week, two weeks, five weeks without sex. Worry that this is the lesbian bed death that you were warned of. Talk about it. Talk about having sex. Come home from work so tired that when you finally get to bed, you put your head upon your partner’s bare knee and whine, “Does this count?”

A Tiny Scar, From Falling

by Lara B. Sharp

Finally, at the age of 48, I was strong enough, brave enough, and curious enough — and ready to know the truth about my childhood. I wasn’t expecting it to be pretty, but I was stable and happy enough in my life that I realized it was time. Mentally and emotionally, I was fully prepared for anything that came back.

Insomnia

by A.L. Kennedy

Perhaps because I was born in the middle of the night I never have really associated the hours of darkness with wasting my time in sleep – more with being up and about and ready, I sometimes think much more ready than I manage to be in the day. Insomnia started early for me, but it wasn’t about not sleeping, it was about being full of other things, being too delighted to let go and drop away. I’m told that when I was little I would go to bed quite obediently, but then for a while I would sing – small person in under blankets and singing, happy to elongate the day and perhaps fond of music, I suppose, I’m not sure.