Here are some more of those word a day writing things I’ve been doing:
Day 3: Miniate (vb). To color something red.
She was so peaceful. Laid on the table in her finest dress. He admired the cold marble of her skin as he brushed her dark hair out and painted her closed lips a deep red.
Day 4: Pudency (noun). Embarrassment, modesty.
I’m not sure what caused the change in me, but for the first time in my five year career I was ashamed. I hurriedly scooped up my discarded scraps of clothing and rushed from the stage.
Day 5: Scion (noun). Young member of family; shoot of plant used for grafting.
I cradled the rosy newborn and brushed a piece of fluff away from her eyes. The poor little mite. I had brought her into the world – guiding her out of her mother, but I had no idea what to do with her now.
Day 6: Valetudinarian (noun). Someone in poor health or constantly fretting about their health.
The doctor glanced at the notes again. That was the sixth time. Hadn’t he read it properly the first five times? Finally he put down the file and looked at the bruises on my son’s leg.
Day 7: Erucate (vb). To burp, belch.
The church was quiet. All the guests – her family, her friends, her soon-to-be family. Every face was turned to watch as she glided down the aisle. She felt so peaceful and beautiful. Until she belched.
Day 8: Ultroneous (adj). Spontaneous, voluntary.
The room was untouched. No sign of the roaring fire that had until moments ago filled the room with light and heat and danger. The room was untouched, apart from the charred chair where Emily had been sitting when she had spontaneously combusted.
Day 9: Obfuscate (vb). To muddle, confuse or bewilder.
The letters on the page in front of me were swimming. Why couldn’t I focus? I glanced around the room. It wasn’t just me. Students all over the library were frowning at their work.
Day 10: Wuther (vb). Blow, bluster (of the wind).
The sea screams at me. Roaring its waves as I stand on the cliff and listen to the howling around me.
Day 11: Noesis (noun). Pure knowledge; cognition.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been in the library but I have a thick beard I didn’t have when I first got here. But leaving would never occur to me. There is still too much to read.
Day 12: Recrudescence (noun). Reopening of an old wound.
The blade gleams and calls to me, but I make it wait. First I bathe, and rest and relax. Then the area is cleaned with warm alcoholic wipes. And finally, the wound is opened again.
Day 13: Zinzulation (noun). The onomatopoeic sound of power saws.
It was comforting. All my life I’d been surrounded by hammers and drills and the zinzulations of power saws. And I’d felt so alone since I’d gotten here. The quiet thrum coming through the wall was like a hug from home.