Word a Day Writing

Last year I bought a “Word A Day” desk calendar in a charity shop, and although I’m not doing them daily, I’m using them as prompts to freewrite a short passage.  These are the ones I’ve done this month.

Day 33: Schiller (noun).  (Having) bronzy sheen.

It hung on my wall, surrounded by photographs and posters and doodles.  The trophy from my past.  It had lost its shine now, but it still triggered many memories – good and bad.

Day 34: Uggr (noun).  Fear, dread.

It looms daily.  Enveloping me in a black cloud that I can’t escape from.  I feel trapped.  Lost.  This fear, this doubt, this sorrow.  It’s all I feel, all I can think about.  My days are consumed – my soul is wounded.

Day 35: Ziggurat (noun).  A pyramid-shaped tiered temple, built by the ancient Assyrians and Babylonians.

She watched the sun sink further and further behind the trees and as the light slowly disappeared her trepidation grew.  The ropes that bound her to the top of the temple were tight and cut into her bare skin.

Day 36: Xanthic (adj).  Yellow or yellowish.

We gazed up at the clouds, picking fluffy constellations in the shapes.  My hand was warm in his and the grass was soft beneath my back.  The field shone yellow with buttercups, with pollen that I’d never get out of my dress.

Day 37: Viscid (adj).  Sticky, wet.

I stopped, leaning against a tree to rest a second.  My shirt clung to my back and I considered taking it off.  But the sun beating down on me would have cooked my skin to a crisp.

Day 38: Tucket (noun).  Flourish on trumpet.

I tried to listen to his words.  I tried to focus on his lips, across the candlelit table, but the sound of the 5-piece brass band that serenaded us was overwhelming.

Day 39: Slumgullion (noun).  Meat and vegetable stew: watery soup.

I handed him the thermos and he drank deep from it.  His face stopped being quite so pale and his hands stopped trembling quite so much.  He took another gulp, then turned and headed back to his box.

Day 40:  Adfenestrate (vb).  To sneak through a window.

The curtains billowed out and I brushed them aside with my gloved hand.  I pulled the windows slightly wider so that I could climb in without brushing against the glass.


About Colette Horsburgh

A 30-something creator/baker/writer/artist/crafter living with several (but not enough) scatty animals.
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