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
Things that Go Bump in the Night: Writing Horror
October 27, 2026
Unreliable Narrators: When Your Storyteller Gets It Wrong
November 02, 2026
Beyond Book One: Writing a Bingeable Series
November 03, 2026
5 Ways to Write More Creative Sex
November 09, 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, 2023
Weekly Contest #376
A man condemns his own creation as monstrous, yet neglects to confront the depravity of his own nature. He cloaks his savagery in virtue, his sins in righteousness, and mistakes his capacity for remorse as proof of innocence. How curious that a being so acquainted with evil should tremble at the sight of its own reflection. It wasn’t as if the thing was born that way. In fact, its origins were no different from any other child's: expelled from its mother's womb, swaddled tightly in an ivory sheet, and gently cooed at by passersby on the subw...
Weekly Contest #227
“See ya soon!” The overly pleasant, the tender smile, the unspoken vow of a next time. The same farewell was used after the conclusion of all our evenings. At the time, I hadn’t detected the veiled hesitance concealed beneath her carefree goodbye. The cry for help entrenched beneath her words. That was the last thing she spoke to me before tumbling off the face of the earth. Ten years later, those same words still keep me up at night. I recall so vividly that last day. The crisp winter biting our cheeks, leaving splotches of red, painting...
Weekly Contest #225
They took Tobias’ brush away. Then it started, this obsession. Unbothered, he continued smearing the paints with anything available, especially his hands. His palms were slowly saturating with colors that could never fully be washed off, no matter how hard he scrubbed. Even at the mere age of ten, he outshined so many of his tutors. Never failing to impress with his untempered skill. A child prodigy they said, amazed by the things he could create. He’d disagree. He wasn’t good at art, he was art, and he embodied it with his entire being. Som...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email: