This Wired article was pretty cool when it came out, but it's really cool when you're writing a novel and the characters are rebelling against you. Basically, Hemingway once wrote a short story in six words that he considered his best work, apparently:
For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.
There's 33 good-to-great ones there; it's an awesome exercise because, really, who's going to be intimidated by six words? My favorite is Orson Scott Card's:
The baby's blood type? Human, mostly.
Holler back, Ender.
Here's a few of mine.
There was only absence of sound.
The beast reared, heaved, and died.
She said they were scars; liar.
It's simple; just destroy the head.
"We love you," they said. Maybe.
I didn't want to be sold.
You took, but he never gave.
Tommy was obsessed; a shame, really.
Now go do your own and de-stress. I know midterms are afoot for a lot of us.