🆆 Micro Monday: Be Astonished
#164 on pets, paying attention, and what we carry
This is Writer-ish with Darien Gee, where I help you write your most powerful stories in 300 words or less. If you’re new to micro prose and writing with me, check out this post here.
I. This Week’s Practice
Quote #164
Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.Mary Oliver
Prompt #164
Write about a pet.
Set the timer for 10 minutes and start writing. When the timer goes off, give the piece a title, count up the words, add it to your TOC, and post it below.
II. This Week’s Micro Prose
This section features micro prose (300 words or less) by me and other writers, including members of our community. Submit your work for consideration here.
Jeanne Tanaka is 102 years young. She still speaks up because she believes for the betterment of this country we need to point out our past mistakes so that we don’t repeat them.
Watch Out, There Might be Spies in the Room by Jeanne Tanaka
Growing up I never felt I was different because I was Japanese. Then when I was seventeen years old Japan bombed Pearl Harbor and my life as I knew it would never be the same. Papa got taken away by the FBI and Mama was crying, telling us that they might come for us next and line us up and shoot us. Trying to calm her down I told her, “Mama, America is not like that. They won’t do something like that.”
I was right—they didn’t shoot us, but they did enact Executive Order 9066 which forced all Japanese to be put into concentration camps. We had around three months while they built the camps to sell or get rid of everything we owned except for what we were able to carry. We still had to go to school, and that is when one of my teachers told the class, “Watch out, there might be spies in the room.” There was only one other boy and myself that were Japanese, and everyone turned around and stared at us. That was the moment I felt and knew I was not one of them.
Graduating high school is supposed to be a time to spread your wings, explore the world, explore life. I spent the next four years imprisoned at the Tule Lake Concentration Camp. Camp was horrible, but it was that moment when I was singled out in the classroom for not being white that changed my life.
247 words. An earlier version of this work appeared in the micro essay collection, Nonwhite and Woman: 131 Micro Essays On Being in the World, which received a Silver IPPY award for multicultural nonfiction.
III. This Week on Writer-ish
Early bird pricing ends today (Feb 16, 2026) for SHORT, SHAPED, SUBMITTED: a 6-week writing, revising, and submitting micro prose workshop (Zoom)
10-Minute Live Writing Sessions (LWS): Feb 17, 2026 Tues 3:00 pm PT
My second Substack, Drafts, Deals & Detours, is live! I’ve released my first dispatch “I Thought This Book Would Be Done By Now: Why I haven’t finished my Object Lessons manuscript”
IV. From My Desk
If you missed last week’s incredible 3 Things: Short Prose Conversation with Larry Smith of Six-Word Memoirs, go watch it now! The power of six words can transform how you share your story and connect with others. Larry is also hosting a workshop next month, “Storytelling for Influence, Culture, and Impact at Work in the Age of AI,” on March 11, 2026, from 12:00–1:30 pm PT. It’s $179, with a 25% discount for Writer-ish subscribers—use code Write6. I’ll be signing up; maybe I’ll see you there!
If I could spend a day doing anything, it would be reading. Recently, I loved Rebecca (the classic by Daphne DuMaurier), Nita Prose’s The Maid series, and two excellent works of narrative nonfiction: The Auschwitz Photographer and A Marriage at Sea. Reading is my refuge when I’m feeling overwhelmed or if I just need a gentle recharge. Right now, I’m rereading Patricia Lockwood’s memoir, Priestdaddy, and taking Best Offer Wins one chapter at a time.
Thank you for being here, writers. I’m grateful for the kindness, curiosity, and creativity you bring to our community.
warmly,
Darien
P.S. To see what’s happening on Writer-ish this month, go here for the full calendar.
so mine was mostly prompted by the Mary Oliver quote. She's been my go-to forever, used to read her under my desk at school when I was bored. She also loved dogs. So here's this. 267 words.
Robins and a kiss
There is something about my dog. He can smell guns. He’s never wrong. He’s a war survivor from Syria. Found on the road by a teenager, who got the attention of a journalist, who happened to be my friend. We got him to the states through a rescue. He was lucky to get in just before Covid.
It’s still cold here, the Chinese New Year, but I’m aware of spring birds making song. I’ve heard them for a few days. Today it’s finally possible to walk where it hasn’t been safe due to all the snow. My dog, with his feral nose, is looking for rabbits I can’t see. He’s anxious. I was interviewed yesterday by ICE about a student I’ve not seen since October. This morning I put on the same coat I was wearing then. The dog smells gun.
We go out before sunrise. Make our way to the marsh, where I let him run. He goes fast, but comes back, smells me again. I remind myself to wash the coat. I’m feeling anger. He nudges my hand, points his nose, then I see them. Two robins, teetering on an old wood beam.
The male bunches bits of brown grass into her beak. She is willing, patient, still. He makes a love nest in her mouth. Over and over he pokes, then tweets his wild tune until sun lifts the morning and she is full with brush. I watch them kiss this chance at life. Then, they are gone.
When I get home, I wash my coat. Later I tell all this to my students, watch their faces lift.
I had to have another go because my first one was flat. I wasnt feeling it that day but ushed myself to write anyway ... Then realized afterward i should have written about one of my childhood dogs. It hurts to write this one ...
Wbh always 234 Chuckie the dog i barely remember
I remember his name was Chuckie. I remember he was a smallish dog, Heda sized maybe a collie beagle terrier mix. I think he was brown and white with longish hair. I remember Chuckie nevr lived inside the house, he was chained to a doghouse in our yard. I sadly remember that Chuckie was mostly neglected. He spent his days at the end of his chain most likely barking, hoping for attention he never got. I remember he was never taken on walks, never got belly rubs like my current dogs get regularly. He was never trained so he was jumpy and over excited which made us avoid him. I dont remember who chose to get him or why - mom or dad. They were in their 30's, dad had a long commute and worked overtime, mom had 3 kids under 11 to manage. No time for a dog really. I dont remember what happened to Chuckie. I remember that back then winters were cold with lots of snow. Did CHuckie have a frozen waterish or did someone make sure he had fresh water every day? I dont remember if he got to come inside when it was too cold or snow was too deep. I feel sad and ashamed as I realize how much i dont remember about Chuckie, the dog we neglected.