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
The Bigger Picture: Writing with a Series in Mind
April 13, 2026
Writing Beyond Your "Brand"
March 16, 2026
What's in a Name? Naming Characters, Places & Titles
February 09, 2026
From Book to Screen (And Everything in Between)
February 02, 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 Sep, 2021
Submitted to Contest #140
Crystal City Polar Bear Christmas 1955. The brand new Philco 45 RPM all-transistor record player was encased in a puke-green plastic box with a lid of the same putrid color. Despite the extremely heavy use over the next three years, in 1958, the Made in America turntable, still rotated without a glitch. A white plastic mesh cover on the front of the box hid the speaker. With the precision of a skilled surgeon, I lifted the lid. Inside on the left, I rotated the round white plastic knob to ‘On’ and waited for the virgin transistors to warm-...
Submitted to Contest #120
48 Years is a Long Time Blind dates can be risky propositions. No matter if the man’s handsome, or the woman’s beautiful, it’s the sprockets spinning inside the other person’s noggin that matters. Neither idle chatter nor dark ruminations make for a satisfying date. But if the other individual is witty with insightful prognostications, then you’ve got a ‘keeper’. I met that person, the one who I couldn’t live without, in the month of October. The year was 1972 and I was a man on the go, jetting from the corporate headquarters in Omaha, Neb...
Submitted to Contest #112
Fruit of the Lemon Tree Anthony Pusateri was a peace-loving man. The short, stocky devout Roman Catholic lived with his family on 10 acres just outside of Palermo, Sicily. One beautiful Spring morning, Anthony’s wife, Rose, cleared the breakfast table, poured her husband a second cup of coffee, then asked, “Tell me, An-tony, what on earth will I fix for dinner?” Anthony just grunted. She gently patted the thinning hair on his head. “Dear St. Theresa,” she begged. “This is my provider? God bless the soul of a man who won’t shoot a deer or eve...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email: