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
Book Proposals, Demystified
April 07, 2026
From Submission to Publication
March 19, 2026
Writing Beyond Your "Brand"
March 16, 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, 2023
Weekly Contest #319
THE PROTECTORby Diane L. Goodman I am small but powerful. I am just 5.8 inches long and 1 inch wide. I weigh just 17 ounces. But inserting a 10-round magazine boosts my weight to a hefty 24 ounces. I’m handsome, too. Sleek silver stainless steel slide. Shiny black barrel. Stippled grip. Day/night sights. I am a Sig Sauer P365 semi-automatic pistol. I lie on a glass shelf in a large glass case. I am the middle one in a row of seven, a Sig P226 on my left and a Browning 1911-22 A1 on my right. There is a card in front of each of us, stating o...
Weekly Contest #315
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEby Diane L. Goodman I am jolted awake by a squeeze. The squeezing has been happening for a few days, but it is getting harder and more frequent. It doesn’t hurt, but the walls of my little cell are closing in. As if it hadn’t been getting tighter and tighter in here already.I stretch both legs and arms as far as I can. I can touch all the walls of my cell now. I remember when I had so much room in here that I could do jumps and rolls back and forth. Now there isn’t enough room to play like that.I can still kick, though. I...
Weekly Contest #314
PERCHANCE TO SLEEPBy Diane L. Goodman I can’t sleep. I open my eyes. Streetlights slither though the blinds, casting black shadows like prison bars across the pocked ceiling. The sheet under me is soaked with sweat. My skin is glowing. August in New York City. No air conditioning. Not for a rent-stabilized place on the Lower East Side. So an anemic fan cranks out a slow breeze across the foot of the bed. I glance over at my bed partner. Sweat glistens on his forehead, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He’s peacefully asleep. I slide out of...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
6 likes
