Writing Workshop: Word of the Day (Week 1)
Familiar words and their secret selves
Create a compendium of stories
Welcome to the first week of exploring how single words can take us to unexpected places.
For the next three weeks, we’re exploring words and their meanings through timed 10-minute writing prompts with an eye towards building a small body of work.
We think we know these words. We use them, read them, skip over them. But what happens when we stop and really listen, when we hold a word like “fugitive” in our mouth and let it lead us somewhere new? It might take you to that time you ran away from home at seven. Or to the escaped parakeet that lived in your garage. Or to the way love feels when it’s slipping through your fingers.
This week, we’re working with familiar words that have hidden depths. These are words you’ve probably used before, but maybe never really examined. Like old friends you’ve never asked about their childhood, these words have stories to tell if we just pause to listen.
Are you ready to add 21 new pieces of micro prose to your TOC in the next three weeks? This post is free to all subscribers until August 31, 2025!
Guidelines
Remember, the prompt is only a way in. Prompts are a way to get around overthinking and over stressing. It’s a way to tap into stories we might not otherwise have easy access to. Start with the prompt and then let yourself go in whatever direction you feel led.
Micro prose is 300 words or less, not including the title, but we don’t worry about the first drafts as long as you stop at the end of the 10 minutes. Most writers will end up with a piece that’s 125-650, depending on if you write by hand or type (either is fine).
After you title the piece, count up the words, and add it to your TOC (and the comment section below), you can then go back if you want to keep writing.
Don’t judge your work or dismiss possibilities. What feels unexpected or irrelevant might be exactly what wants to emerge. Stay curious about where your writing leads you rather than deciding if it’s good or makes sense.
Trust the process. Some pieces will feel “successful” and others might feel like Anne Lamott’s shitty first drafts. That’s okay! The goal is consistency and discovery, not perfection.
Don’t pre-plan your writing. Resist the urge to think about what you’ll write before you start the timer. Let the prompt and the moment guide you.
When you get stuck, keep your hand moving. If you hit a wall, start by describing the word in as much detail as possible. If necessary, write the last word over and over until something new emerges.
Feedback is not required nor expected, but if you want to leave positive feedback for each other: Focus on what works rather than what doesn’t (“I loved the detail about...” rather than “good job”). Be specific and respect the generative nature—no suggestions for improvements. We want to discover what sings and encourage the writer (and ourselves) to keep exploring.
Getting Organized
Set up your binder! If you haven’t already, grab a 1” binder and 5 or 8 tab dividers. Create a new tab for this workshop behind your other sessions and label it “WW: Word of the Day.”
Download this session’s organizational materials:
Word of the Day Cover Sheet. Add this behind the appropriate tab for this session.
Word of the Day Table of Contents Template. Track your pieces as you create them.
Learn more about my Binder System here and download the Binder System cover sheet, Binder System spine, and master TOC.
Single Micro Prose Formatting Template. Type up your work, even if it’s still a first draft, and assemble your individual pieces into a working draft.
What To Do
Write for exactly 10 minutes, no more and no less (learn why here)
Finish your sentence when the timer goes off.
Add a title and count up your words (don’t include the title in your count)
Add it to your Table of Contents
Share in comments. Post your title and word count, or if you’re feeling brave, share the entire piece
At the end of the week. Type up all of your work, one micro narrative per page, and add it to your binder with the most recent piece on top. Make sure your TOC is always on the top and up to date.
Find Your Micro Buddy
Looking for an accountability partner for these 3 weeks? Leave a comment in the Writer-ish chat if you’d like to be paired with a micro buddy. Here’s how it works:
Communication. Agree in advance to share your pieces via the Substack chat (I don’t recommend sharing email unless you already know them).
Accountability. Agree on check-in frequency (daily, every few days, weekly)
Feedback approach. Try the “2 + 1” method—share 2 things you love about a piece, 1 thing you’d like to know more about
Work sharing. Decide how many pieces you’ll share with each other (3, 5, or 7 pieces total). Remember: less is always easier to start with.
Support style. Are you cheerleaders, gentle nudgers, or detailed readers?
Having a micro buddy makes the journey more fun and helps you stay consistent. Plus, it’s amazing how much you learn about your own work when you read someone else’s. Just remember that everything is in progress and you are not trying to fix each other’s work, but celebrate what really sings.
Week 1 Word List
This week we’re working with Familiar Words with Hidden Depths - words we think we know but that can surprise us when we really listen.
Your words for Week 1 (choose any for your prompts):
Antic - n. a playful trick or prank; adj. grotesque or bizarre
Askew - adj. not in a straight or level position
Bemuse - v. to puzzle, confuse, or bewilder
Contrite - adj. feeling regret and sorrow for one’s wrongs
Embellish - v. to make something more attractive by adding decorative details
Fester - v. to become worse or more intense; to form pus
Flotsam - n. debris or wreckage floating on water
Fugitive - n. a person who has escaped; adj. quick to disappear, fleeting
Jettison - v. to throw overboard; to discard what’s unwanted
Livid - adj. furiously angry; discolored by bruising
Nascent - adj. just beginning to exist; not fully formed
Restive - adj. unable to keep still or silent; restless
Slough - v. to shed or remove; n. a swamp or muddy place
Untoward - adj. unexpected and inappropriate; inconvenient
Verbose - adj. using more words than needed
Week 1 Writing Prompts
Each week, aim for 2 prompts minimum from the seven below. Micro prose wizards, if you have the time and energy to bring it on, go for 1 a day with the intention of having 21 micro prose pieces at the end of our 3 weeks. You can do it!
Set your timer for exactly 10 minutes per piece. When time’s up, finish your sentence, add a title, and count your words. Add it to your TOC and share it in the comments.
Tip: Don’t overthink your choice. Just choose a word and start writing.
Prompt 1: First Encounter
Choose a word from this week’s list. Write about the first time you remember encountering this word—not its definition, but the actual word itself. Was it in a book? Did someone say it to you? How old were you? What did you think it meant before you knew?
Prompt 2: The Sound of It
Pick a word and focus only on how it sounds. What does it remind you of? If this word were a musical instrument, what would it be? Write about a memory triggered not by the word’s meaning but purely by its sound.
Prompt 3: Mistaken Identity
Choose a word and write about a time when you (or someone else) used it wrong, misunderstood it, or confused it with another word. What happened? What did that mistake reveal or create?
Prompt 4: The Body Knows
Select a word and locate it in your body. Where does “fugitive” live—in your feet, ready to run? Where does “verbose” sit—in your throat, your chest? Write about what your body remembers when it holds this word.
Prompt 5: Opposite Day
Pick a word and write about its opposite—but not the dictionary opposite. What’s the emotional opposite? The spiritual opposite? If “askew” is crooked, what in your life has been desperately, necessarily crooked?
Prompt 6: Word as Compass
Choose a word and let it guide you through a day in your past. How would a “restive” day unfold? What would you notice on an “antic” afternoon? Let the word reshape a memory.
Prompt 7: The Word Between
Select two words from the list. Write about the space between them—the story that connects “slough” to “embellish,” or the journey from “verbose” to “fugitive.” What lives in that liminal space?
If you have time, try all the prompts again—you’ll never write the same prompt the same way twice, even if you choose the same word.
A Note on Definitions and Rules
The definitions provided are just one possibility. You have complete permission to:
Use what you thought the word meant before you knew
Confuse it with another word entirely
Make the opposite true
Invent your own definition based on sound alone
Let the word mean what it needs to mean for your story
If “verbose” wants to mean “a green vegetable” in your piece, let it. If “fugitive” becomes “a type of pastry,” follow that thread. The definitions are here as one possible doorway, but you can build your own door—or climb through the window.
This workshop is about where words take us, not where dictionaries say they should go. Trust your mishearings, your child-logic, your dream-definitions. Often the “wrong” meaning leads to the right story.
Notes
If you’re struggling to start, try writing the word at the top of your page in different styles—cursive, print, all caps. Sometimes your hand knows things your brain doesn’t.
Remember: You’re not writing about the word’s definition. You’re using the word as a doorway.
Which words feel comfortable in your mouth? Which ones feel foreign? There’s a story in that difference.
Read the word list out loud before bed. See which words visit your dreams.
Next week, we’ll play with words that dance on the tongue—unusual sounds, borrowed words, and terms that feel alive. But for now, invite these familiar words reveal their secret selves.
This Week’s Challenge
Choose your most surprising piece from this week, such as one where the word took you somewhere you didn’t expect. Share the first and last line in the comments and reflect on your process. What journey did those 10 minutes contain?
Medusa 348 words. (I will be brave and share.)
Your father says, “Enough of your antics!” You have been refusing to go to bed. And Pretending to be sick when you want want to stay home and be with your mother, your cat who just had kittens, and all the books that are more interesting than what you’re reading at school. Maybe you will get to go to work with your mother, in that building that used to be someone’s house, where women in the 70s are gathering to come up with alternative forms of childcare and community so they don’t have to everything alone. There is macrame everywhere! Ropey plant holders holding plants whose tendrils roam the hardwood floors and climb window frames. You love this place. It smells like wheat germ and instant coffee. You can walk down a slate sidewalk to the library and read about Medusa, who you also love. One day you tell a graduate student working at the office the story of Medusa. Her name is Karen. She has black curly hair and looks like an angel. You say that when Medusa was killed, her sisters found her headless body lying splayed out on their island full of sparkling, rivers and olive trees. They wept so loudly it rained, and the wind carried their cries to the Sirens, who sang back an opera of grief that woke up the sea, who carried the message to the Minotaur, who knelt on one knee and bowed his magnificent horns in sorrow. In his cave nearby, the cyclops‘s one eye filled with tears. Who could’ve done this terrible thing? Why? What had Medusa done to anyone but turn conquerors into stone?
Karen asks where you got that story. You say a book somewhere. You don’t tell her you made it all up. She says she doesn’t think you are really sick. Yes I am, you say happily.
Telling lies is another one of your antics and you love making things up because most of it almost always feels true.
For the word Jettison (prompt 5: The Body Knows), here is my unedited opening sentence: "It is in my arms, specifically my biceps and they tense and extend over and over and over again. With all of my might, I would fling the whole of it overboard in batches, watching it all splash and bob and then sink below the surface." (281 words)