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
How to Self-publish a Bestseller in 2026
September 05, 2026
Apostrophes, Dashes and Colons, Oh My!
August 03, 2026
Reading with a Writer's Eye
July 27, 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 Jan, 2022
Weekly Contest #316
A man in a faded NAVY hoodie sat alone at a Starbucks corner table. He was tired and his back hurt after a long day of panhandling. His shoes were shabby. His hands were rough from exposure to cold, sun, and wind. On the floor next to him a sheet of folded cardboard rested against his chair leg. He was invisible to most of the other patrons. Some didn’t see him; others chose not to. He had grown accustomed to it, and had learned to take comfort in the anonymity. He was nursing a tall coffee, purchased with a gift card someone had passed him ...
Weekly Contest #307
Waking to a crisp September morning in 1947, Ross Eldred, a returning sophomore at the Ashwood Academy for Boys, was surprised to find a small envelope on his nightstand. Puzzled, he could only guess that someone had snuck into his room and left it while he slept. Leaning on one elbow, he rubbed his eyes, removed the folded note from inside, and read:“Greetings, Mr. Eldred,We are impressed with you. If you are interested in pursuing membership among our ranks, go to the gazebo on the far side of Mirror Lake at 12 noon today. A representative...
Weekly Contest #303
My name is Micah Walker. I was born in 1880 and raised on a cattle ranch in the high plains of western Kansas. My father owned over 1,000 acres of grazing land there. Every fall we’d sell around 300 head of beef cattle and drive them to the stockyards in Denver. Growing up it was my Pa, my Ma, my little brother Caleb and me. But they’re all gone now.I’m putting this in writing now because there’s something I’ve been carrying around with me for nearly fifty years - something I’ve never told a living soul. And I just need to get it off my ches...
Weekly Contest #297
My father is dying. I sit near his bed as he grapples with his pain. His anguish puts a helpless twist in my gut. With trembling hands, I pick up the morphine bottle and fill the calibrated dropper to the five milliliters prescribed for “pain as needed”. I release the soothing dosage under his tongue, and his moaning subsides within seconds.Eighty seemed unimaginably ancient when I was a kid. Now it seems too young to die. It makes me wonder if I’ll still be above ground when I become an octogenarian twenty-five years from now.Dad entered th...
Weekly Contest #295
On a hot August morning, in a roadside motel in Wildwood, New Jersey, Billy Conlon laid out his wardrobe for the day: a silver-blue wig, a prosthetic brassiere, a black fascinator with face netting, a KN95 mask, a long-sleeved, knee-length black dress, black gloves, black tights, a pair of black pumps, and a cane.Two newsprint items, both of which he had recently clipped from the Cape May County Herald, lay nearby on the table: a two-column article from two weeks prior bore the headline “In the Case of Missing Hammonton Man, Boat Found Adrif...
Weekly Contest #289
“How was she today, Maggie?” I ask, dropping my work bag, keys, and coat in the entryway.“She’s struggling. She just had a few sips of soup,” the hospice worker says.“How long – I mean do you have a sense of - ““It’s hard to say exactly. But not long. Days at most? Maybe hours only.”I nod and feel a tightening in my throat. “Don’t be afraid to give her a few units of the morphine if she seems uncomfortable. That’s the most loving thing you can do for her now.”“Okay.  ...
Weekly Contest #286
The knock on my door is loud. Not as loud as the explosion that shook the building fifteen minutes ago, but loud. And persistent. “Coming, coming!” I get myself on my feet and move toward the door. Yahtzee is there ahead of me, barking ferociously. Her front feet lift slightly off the floor with each yip. My chihuahua weighs seven pounds soaking wet but imagines herself a dire wolf. I pull her leash from a hook on the wall, clip it on, and open the door. A sol...
Weekly Contest #285
I’m freezing my ball off out here. At least it’s not snowing. Yet. I can’t believe Emily dropped me on the curb alongside her empty tuna cans and black banana peels and the rest of the trash. Not even a box to cover my shame. Can you believe it? An IBM Selectric II, once the monarch of word craft royalty, waiting for a garbage truck to haul me away in the morning. The abject indignation! Oh, I enjoyed a place of honor in Emily’s life for almost fifteen years. &...
Weekly Contest #284
It was Christmas night, 1863. Mama and Aunt Beverly were finishing up the dinner dishes as my Uncle Cleon dozed in a chair in front of the fire. They had travelled from their home in Loudon County to spend the holidays with us. The aroma of roast goose still hung in the house. An apple pie sat cooling on the counter. I was reading my Christmas gift, a copy of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The wind outside rattled our shutters, pushing in a cold front wi...
Weekly Contest #275
Emily Gray realized she had been staring at the wall calendar for way too long. She turned away and closed her eyes. November 8 – eyes open or closed, asleep, awake, alive or dead, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t have been more perpetually aware of the date if it were tattooed on her brain. Swiping at a tear, she picked up her phone and dialed her ex-husband, Carl. “Hey Em. How are you doing this morning?” “Okay, I guess. It’s been –“ “Two years today,” they said at the same ti...
Weekly Contest #273
Tyron is a babe in arms again. He savors the comfort of his mother’s embrace, breathing in the sweet essence of her pachouli as he snuggles against her breast. He looks up at her smiling face, her sandalwood brown eyes, and the rich curly locks of auburn hair cascading around her shoulders. She kisses his nose and whispers “I love you sweet boy”. He can feel her breath and the soft brush of her lips against his ear… “Tyron. Wake up.” With a mild jab of his staff Tyron’s squad ...
Weekly Contest #272
From my favorite perch atop the mausoleum, I had often watched the skinny, bespectacled teen arriving at the bus stop early autumn mornings or returning home dark winter evenings. He always walked as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but fully expected that there would be some sort of trouble along the way. And all too often, trouble found him. The school bus pulls up at the stop near the gates of the rural cemetery I call home. The sun has set, robbing the brilliant fall colors from the ash, ...
Weekly Contest #270
After making final arrangements for his father’s funeral, Lucas left the undertakers and headed back to the apothecary shop. Amphoras had passed away in his sleep the night before, following a long illness. On returning to the shop, Lucas pulled up a stool at the mixing table. With shaking hands, he broke the wax seals and loosened the ribbons securing two small scrolls of parchment he had found on Amphoras’ bedside table that morning. Sunlight filtering through the dusty windowpane over his shoulder revealed the un...
Weekly Contest #265
It’s just before sunrise on a Tuesday morning, and traffic is light on the New York State Thruway. Heading out to western New York, the perpetual slipstream of the road ahead stretches to a vanishing point in the far distance. I glance over at the empty pet restraints clipped into the passenger side seat belt and smile to myself. It’s a hard-earned smile. As I surrender to the hypnotic motion of the car moving through space and time, my mind and memory turn backward to how this chapter of my life began. Meredith and a fe...
Weekly Contest #129
In the Trees Brian Webb, January 2022 Having failed at mending fences with Joann, I decide I’ll stretch the President’s Day weekend by taking Friday off. Just a short getaway for some rest and relaxation. “No booze, and no weed,” I tell myself dead-seriously in the mirror as I’m shaving. And I mean it this time. Just clean fresh air, a little skiing, and some healthy self-inventory. It feels like the best thing I’ve done for myself in too long. I pack a light bag and throw it in the car with my gear, then...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
12 likes
