The first academy. Turn the thing that lives only in your head — a rabbit hole, a hobby, a weird competence — into a Claude Skill that someone in your life actually uses.
Anyone can prompt Claude to "write a quiz." Doing it for general use is what AI does best on its own — and the result is forgettable. Skills Workshop is the opposite move: you teach Claude what only you know, in your specific taxonomy, with your edge cases.
By project three you've shipped a Skill that other people install, that has tests, that knows when to refuse, and that has a v1.0 → v1.1 changelog. You'll have done the part only you could do — and it shows.
It is not a tutorial on prompt engineering. It is not "make Claude do your homework." It is not a place to make a generic "fitness coach" or "homework helper" Skill — those already exist, and yours wouldn't be any better.
The whole academy refuses to let you build something that isn't specific, yours, and useful to a person whose name you know. If you can't name the person, you go back a step.
Pick a domain you actually know more about than the adults around you — birds, dumplings, knots, a video game's lore, a niche of skateboarding. Build a Skill that thinks the way you do about it.
You ship → SKILL.md + 1 example output that proves it knows what only you would teach.
Three Skills that call each other and share memory. The whole pack is designed for one specific person you can name — your grandmother, your little brother, your aunt. The pack feels like one thing, made for one person.
You ship → 3 Skills + 1 orchestration manifest + a session that visibly remembers the user across the three.
You write tests for your Skill. You evolve it without breaking the tests. You teach it when to refuse. Then you publish a v1.0 — with a changelog — and a real human installs it and uses it for a week.
You ship → SKILL.md @ v1.0 + tests file + a one-page changelog + 1 testimonial from your real user.
A Claude Skill that other people install. Tests that prove it works. A changelog that proves you evolved it. And a person in your life who depends on it. That's a real engineering deliverable — at age 15 — that almost no adult professionals have. Carry it forward.