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 64: Preterist (noun). Someone overly fond of the past.
She lived in the 50s. She dressed and ate and decorated her home in appropriate style and with only legitimate pieces of the past. But the day a truck crashed into her bicycle, the future crashed into her life.
Day 65: Nulla-nulla (noun). Australian aborigine’s club.
The wound was similar, but not quite the same as one inflicted by a Nulla-nulla. James knelt and leaned forward for a closer look, careful not to disturb the corpse. He wrote detailed notes in precise shorthand for comparison with his archive of weapons and injuries.
Day 66: Kibitzer (noun). An interfering onlooker.
It would have gone so smoothly. I had every detail planned, right down to the number of seconds, right down to the shoes she wore. It would have been perfect. If that nosy, arrogant sod hadn’t stepped in.
Day 67: Crepitating (adj). Rasping, crackling.
The paper was so thin, so delicate. As I gently turned the pages, they crackled softly and the musty, dusty scent filled the air. After five hours or so, the words began to blur in my eyes and my hands began to tremble.
Day 68: Fumets (noun). Deer excrement.
It was so romantic. He’d laid a blanket out on the grass in the mottled shade of the trees. A ring of wild flowers surrounded the simple spread he’d provided. She stepped forward into the glade to greet him, and stepped right in deer shit.