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
Mastering Pacing: When to Speed Up and When to Slow Down
October 19, 2026
Write Stunning Sentences
October 26, 2026
Things that Go Bump in the Night: Writing Horror
October 27, 2026
Unreliable Narrators: When Your Storyteller Gets It Wrong
November 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 Jan, 2025
‘To whom it may concern; I am so sorry.’ Nine words in and already, a tear slides down my cheek, dripping onto the red wooden desk that has been the fulcrum of my ambition. ‘Someone must know what has been done. Whether this is document is a warning, or a deathrattle, or an email that never makes it to your inbox, I cannot go silently. We were doing it for the best of reasons, I promise. Why would you want to split an atom, to wield the power of the sun itself, when you can wield the power of a God?’ My hand shakes as it reaches those final...
The evening sun is gleaming through the glass door as it makes its slow descent to sunset, and the shopkeep takes a moment to soak in its rays, like a warm bath. The store smells of coffee beans and steamed milk and, faintly, cleaning products. The shopkeep flips the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, but he doesn’t touch the lock just yet – he's still expecting one last guest. He turns around. The coffee shop is more like a bar – one long , dark, swirling wooden counter, with several stools comfortably spaced along the length. On the other side...
Weekly Contest #295
My sleep was not a peaceful one. Images of vicious sights danced through my mind, walking up and down my memories and revisiting them with a cruel imagination. Youthful birthday parties became blood-soaked massacres. Graduations became graveyards. Moving out became running away. Through it all, was that man – that thing. Standing, far back: in the treeline of my childhood house, in a faraway window of my college campus, across the street from my parents home as I waved goodbye. Shadowy, distorted, inconsistent, but always there, like an o...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email: