reedsymarketplace
Assemble a team of professionals
reedsystudio
The writing app for authors
reedsylearning
Writing courses, events and memberships
reedsydiscovery
Get your book reviewed
reedsyprompts
Weekly writing prompts and contests
Writing courses, events and conferences
Upcoming events
Landing Your Literary Agent
November 22, 2026
Better Villains, Stronger Stories
September 28, 2026
True Stories with Michael Finkel
September 14, 2026
How to Self-publish a Bestseller in 2026
September 05, 2026
Learn how to succeed as a writer from the best in the business.
Every writer needs a Studio
Check out our writing app for authors!
Menu
More apps built by Reedsy
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2020
Shaunda Randall took particular pride in giving the scrawniest pieces of chicken, whether roasted or fried, to her White customers, thinking it was one small way to balance the scales. Logically, she knew it was not their fault that her forebears were enslaved, maligned, mistreated, deprived of rights and education, and held back from any form of opportunity, nor was it their fault that during all of the decades hence her people were still redlined, treated as second- or third-class citizens and remained the victims of outright prejudice. S...
Weekly Contest #340
Bear ached with old age—stiffness, pain in his hips, fatigue. He didn’t like being outside so much of the time; he felt homesick for California, for the inside life he had known there. Here, in this big, strange place called Texas, he had aged. A chocolate lab with deep brown eyes, Bear had come from California with his people three years before. He complained bitterly about both the heat and the cold in Texas, about his arthritis, about how no one even gave him glucosamine to keep his joints flexible. No telling how much longer he would li...
Weekly Contest #323
Every workday was the same. Maria boarded the bus to arrive at La Quinta at 5:45, wearing muted green slacks and print smock—her uniform. At work, she set out breakfast items: Bagels and muffin tops, wrapped and sealed. Cereal in square boxes. Spoons, knives, stirring sticks. Non-dairy creamer, sugar, tea bags. Small cartons of milk. Fresh fruit: apples, oranges, bananas. After she checked the fruit juice machine and coffee pots, Maria reported to the laundry room, where she and others folded towels and cleaning rags until it was ti...
Weekly Contest #315
Once a year it happened. The cactus, inert and nondescript, produced a progeny—a long, slender stalk with a pod-shaped bud. The green smoothness of the stalk and the potentiality of the bud contrasted the rough exterior of the mother form. If one did not take notice of the rare occurrence, the flower would blossom, close up, fall off, and die within a few days, unseen. Juliana’s attention was always riveted to the cactus as soon as she noticed the bud. Theo’s, too. They were nocturnal by nature, both artists. When the bud opened, always...
Weekly Contest #287
Gerry gazed at the polished brass samovar that had betrayed him. Just as he had taken a sip of the delicious tea produced from it, lightly honeyed and perfect in color, he had felt himself diminishing in size. He also felt a sudden nervous prickling of his skin. Was this some sort of allergic reaction? Now he was developing a tail, four legs, and webbed feet. To his horror, he looked down at himself and realized he had turned into a small gecko. Was it the proportio...
Weekly Contest #281
Max stepped into his neighbor’s garden and peered into the bedroom window. The heater was humming; the inhabitants wouldn’t notice him this time. He saw Darby stretched out on the window seat like little Lord Fontleroy, his nose extended into the lush pillows, and Emma curled up next to her mother on the bed, with a book and a pair of glasses beside them. What a scene! Max rarely thought of class difference, of lifestyle discrepancies. But on this chilly day when his own yard had frost on it, he mused upon the difference in the way crea...
Weekly Contest #272
Lacey set the empty dog-food bag outside the back door for recycling and resumed work on her Halloween costume. She was playing Ms. Frizzle this year—at the suggestion of her fourth-grade students, who adored the eccentric science teacher ever ready for the unexpected. Her costume included plastic reptiles sewn onto an old dress, two green and purple lizards she hot glued onto a pair of old tap shoes, a hat sporting a coiled snake, and a live iguana she would borrow from a neighbor. She expected the iguana, who tolerated walking on a l...
Weekly Contest #267
Every day since he turned 16 Dalton tried to create a metaphor that was particularly lucid and fraught with meaning. On such occurrences, he became ecstatic and couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He had read that Aristotle wrote, “To be a master of metaphor . . . is a sign of genius.” But he could never tell if he was on the path to becoming a genius or if that path, metaphorically speaking, was beyond his reach. Dalton included similes in his classification of metaphors, not distinguishing between the two. Some of h...
Weekly Contest #258
“I hope you realize that I’m a goddess, not a mortal,” she whispered as he nuzzled her neck and planted tiny kisses just at the top of her spine, causing her to shiver with delight and anticipation. “How will this affect our relationship?” he responded, with characteristic logic. “Oh, wonderfully,” she answered, giving in to the sheer pleasure of his sudden touch upon her breast. But she did not know this man at all. How could she see then that he would never see the goddess wi...
Weekly Contest #242
Dazed and dazzled by the Dior collection of haute couture at the DMA, Dorian experienced a liminal moment of decided, delirious spiritual bliss. In this state, he could hardly remember his own name or why he had come again (his sixteenth visit to the exhibit in 19 days—oh, why, why were they closed on Mondays?) Bumping into a young woman who stood with a sketchbook in front of a dazzling gingko-leaf printed draped masterpiece, his drawing diary disengaged from his arms, and a dozen sheaves of watercolor paper descended, bedecked with h...
Weekly Contest #233
The Drought I. One hot, dry day and all the blossoms are gone, Louise thought, bending over her gardenia bush to pick off all of the buds that had withered in her absence. There had been thirty or more on the bush, ready to open up any day. Now there weren’t any. She’d picked the last of the open flowers to wear in her hair at the gallery opening for her friend’s exhibit. Irene was always producing new work that interested the galleries. It had been a long time since Louise had had a success. Then there was the matter of her fish. He h...
Weekly Contest #145
Dazed and dazzled by the Dior collection of haute couture at the Dallas Museum of Art, Dorian experienced a liminal moment of decided, delirious spiritual bliss. In this state, he could hardly remember his own name or why he had come again (his sixteenth visit to the exhibit in 19 days—oh, why, why were they closed on Mondays?) Bumping into a young woman who stood with a sketchbook in front of a dazzling gingko-leaf printed draped masterpiece, his drawing diary disengaged from his arms, and a dozen sheaves of watercolor paper descend...
Weekly Contest #143
Cedar trees that grow close together become joined at the top, Max had heard. That is why when some get cut down, others around them become vulnerable to high winds and destruction. When his people had first come from California, the trees were dense in his yard—a magical forest. But his family had cleared the land and filled in the natural landscape to extend the area around the pool. High winds had followed, uprooting more of the trees and leaving a sad, scraggly terrain between the yard and the creek and the neighboring prope...
Weekly Contest #106
The first time it happened, Camilla was completely caught off guard. She had been wandering in the rose garden at the Dallas arboretum, captivated by the fragrance and beauty of over 200 hybrid tea roses of 16 varieties, and when she got to a particularly delicate peach rose, she felt a tingle in her feet. She looked down to see that she was literally off the ground—by about five inches. It didn’t prevent her from walking gingerly on the air, and she had perfect balance despite the absence of earthy contact. Of course, she had to bend over a...
Weekly Contest #105
1. The best thing about being in Branson, Missouri, ordering "Green Rivers" at the drugstore. The counter boy would squeeze fresh limes and add sugar, a thick green syrup, and soda water. It would get frothy, and I’d sit up with my legs wrapped around the red stool feeling proud I knew what to order. Back then, anyone who came in for a Coke or a shake seemed ignorant. Me and my sister and brother would stay in that store for hours, drinking our Green Rivers and wishing...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
0 likes
