The Art of Making up Verbs | Verbing Nouns!

“Verbing nouns” turns non-verbs—often nouns or adjectives—into active verbs to make prose punchier, denser with imagery, and more vivid without relying on “as/like” comparisons or weak verbs such as “was.” The core payoff is stylistic: a well-made-up verb can deliver an “oh moment,” lift the image, and keep language dynamic rather than static.

The technique draws attention to the wording itself, so it’s not meant for writers who prefer invisible, traditional prose. It’s also not a rule that every verb should be invented. Used on purpose and sparingly, it can add layers of meaning through implication, vary sentence structure, and reduce wordiness. A major practical benefit is compression: when a writer converts a simile into a verb, the sentence can drop the “like/as” scaffolding and sometimes even replace “was,” which the transcript treats as a low-sensory, low-impact verb. Stronger verbs also align with the idea that verbs carry motion—the “doing” of a sentence—so the writing feels more visceral and alive.

Beyond the appeal, the transcript offers craft guidelines for making invented verbs work on the page. First, the made-up verb should “sound right,” with the logic of onomatopoeia: the phonetics should match the action’s feel. If the sound clashes with the image, the result can feel counterintuitive or jarring. Second, the verb must “make sense” logically; otherwise readers can’t picture the scene. An example given: describing breath as “steaming” while comparing it to water falling—an image an editor flagged as illogical because breath rises while waterfalls fall.

Third, tone matters. Invented verbs can easily tip into silliness because they’re “word doing a circus trick” outside its usual role, so the surrounding context has to support the brightness or strangeness. Fourth, invented verbs should fit the story’s linguistic ecosystem—consistent patterns of word choice, imagery, or even scientific vs. natural diction that match character and setting. Fifth, the wording must stay in character: the comparisons compressed into a verb should be something the character would plausibly think or connect.

Finally, restraint is a rule. Overusing the technique can make prose overly dense, with every sentence trying to “pop.” The transcript warns that when every verb becomes the coolest strangest one, logic and sound can degrade, and the technique stops being effective.

For implementation, the transcript suggests practical ways to form past tense invented verbs (using “-ed,” apostrophe-d, or adding “ed” depending on legibility). It then categorizes invented verbs into four types: concrete noun-verbs (e.g., “stiletto’d” instead of “walk” to capture how stilettos change gait), concrete adjective-verbs (e.g., “floraline” from “floral”), simile-verbs (e.g., “pearled” from “like pearls”), and the rarest “illusion verb,” which condenses an external reference (myth or literature) into a verb—illustrated with “medusad,” invoking Medusa’s petrifying power.

The most advanced examples are praised for layered implication: a single invented verb can smuggle in multiple meanings at once—psychological themes, identity questions, and shifting interpretations of who a face might represent—turning one word into a whole condensed analogy.