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
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
Writing Short Stories with Manuel Gonzales
July 20, 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 #285
I remember the smell of the old pine cabin, its wood panels soaked with decades of campfire smoke, spilled coffee, and the faint mustiness of forgotten summers. It always hits me the second I step inside, like the ghost of a memory I didn’t know I missed. That cabin, tucked away in the woods by Pine Lake, has been in our family for generations, though calling it "family-owned" feels a bit formal for a structure that barely clings to its foundation. The summer I’m thinking about—probably the most important summer of my life—was the year my d...
Weekly Contest #280
Did you hear what happened to the old house on Birch Street?No, what?It burned down.Burned down? How?Nobody knows for sure. People are saying it was arson.Arson? That place was empty for years. Who would bother?That’s what everyone’s asking. But there were lights on the night before.Lights? You’re serious?As a heart attack. I saw it myself.You were there?Well, I was passing by. Took a shortcut through the park.And you didn’t think to tell anyone?I didn’t think it mattered. Thought maybe the city finally sent someone to clear it out.The city?...
Weekly Contest #277
It’s always the same. Folks hear “wolf,” and their minds conjure fangs and fury. Big, bad, savage. No one ever asks why I do what I do. No one cares about the facts. That’s fine. Facts don’t matter to most people. But they matter to me. This is my side. ***I found the first pig in a meadow, not far from the edge of the woods. A pathetic excuse for a house sat in the clearing—a pile of straw barely held together by a breeze. I crouched in the brush, stomach growling loud enough to shame me. It had been days since my last mea...
Weekly Contest #273
Don’t tell anyone. I look at her. My hands sweat. They always sweat when I lie. “I won’t,” I say, too soft. Too weak. She doesn’t notice. Her eyes dart around the room. “You swear?” she asks, stepping closer. I can feel her breath on my face. Minty. Clean. Like she isn’t hiding anything. “I swear.” It comes out too fast. Almost a whisper. She narrows her eyes at me but says nothing. “I shouldn’t have told you,” she says. “I just… I didn’t know who else to go to.” I nod. My mouth is dry, and my heart’s too loud in my chest. “If anyone finds o...
Suri pulled her coat tighter as she hurried down the dark, rain-slicked street. The chill October wind whipped through her hair, carrying the musty scent of wet leaves. Streetlights cast eerie yellow pools on the glistening sidewalk. Suri's heels clicked rapidly as she walked, echoing off the brick buildings lining the narrow street. She couldn't shake the feeling of being followed. Suri glanced over her shoulder for the hundredth time, seeing only shadows and empty storefronts. Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She quicken...
Weekly Contest #272
The moment I died, I knew something was wrong. It wasn't the fact of dying itself—though choking on a piece of brie at my own book launch party was hardly the exit I had imagined for Alexandra Blackwood, bestselling mystery author.No, it was the sudden eerie silence that engulfed Oakwood Manor, my beloved Victorian monstrosity of a home.Hovering near the ornate crystal chandelier in the grand foyer, I gazed down at my lifeless body sprawled rather gracelessly across the antique Persian rug. I felt an odd weightlessness, like I had been freed...
Weekly Contest #259
Jake pulled his beat-up Ford Taurus into Millbrook, the engine sputtering as he parked on Main Street. He got out and stretched, his back cracking after the long drive. He looked around, taking in the quaint storefronts with faded awnings and American flags hanging limply in the still summer air. An old man sitting on a bench outside the general store eyed Jake suspiciously. "You lost, son?" the old timer called out. Jake shook his head. "Nope. Just got into town. Looking for a place to stay." The old man jerked his thumb down the street. "...
Weekly Contest #229
In the heart of bustling New York City, amid skyscrapers that touched the clouds and fashionistas who ruled the urban streets, Tabitha O’Malley, a renowned fashion designer, craved an escape from her relentless cosmopolitan life as the holiday season approached.Amidst the glimmering city lights, her mind wandered to her hometown, Harbor Cove, and nostalgia swept over her. It had been twelve long years since she last visited, her parents long gone.Despite lacking family connections, Harbor Cove still had a sense of home for her and she opted ...
Weekly Contest #227
The winter wind howled through the narrow streets of Sterling Falls, swirling snowflakes dancing in its icy embrace. Cedar Lane, lined with charming houses adorned in twinkling lights was draped in a pristine layer of snow, creating a picturesque sight. However, this idyllic scene concealed the chilly stillness that enveloped a solitary home. This was the residence of Simon Harrington, a middle-aged man with a perpetual scowl etched into his features. Simon, a man who despised the holidays with a passion that bordered on pathological, wa...
Weekly Contest #226
The bitter wind howled through the narrow alleyways of Stonehaven, a small town nestled between rolling hills and dark forests. As the first light of dawn broke, the townsfolk stirred, their breath visible in the frigid air. It was Black Friday, a day like no other in Stonehaven, a day when the Devil himself came to town. Legend had it that every Black Friday, the Devil opened a temporary shop, hidden in the heart of the town. The shop’s facade changed every year, blending seamlessly with its surroundings, making it nearly impossible to fin...
The snow fell gently outside, creating a serene world that stood in stark contrast to the tension inside the Anderson household. The aroma of roasting turkey and simmering gravy mingled with the thick, palpable atmosphere of familial discord. I sat at the head of the table, tapping my fingers against the polished surface as I surveyed my family. Each face bore the weight of years of unspoken resentments and simmering conflicts. This year, my goal was to keep a low profile and handle family conflicts like a seasoned diplomat. The dining roo...
Weekly Contest #225
The rain fell in steady sheets, painting the cobblestone streets of London with a glistening sheen. A chill wind whispered through the narrow alleyways, carrying the scent of damp brick and centuries-old secrets. Along the bustling lanes of Notting Hill, nestled between a forgotten bookshop and a dusty apothecary, stood the curious emporium of Mr. Abernathy—an antiquarian of the peculiar, the arcane, and the macabre. Sir Reginald Harcourt, a man of wealth and a connoisseur of oddities, found himself drawn to Mr. Abernathy’s establishment ...
The abandoned carnival, embraced by the radiant light of the sun, stood as a somber testament to a bygone era. Its once-vibrant face, now cloaked in faded, peeling paint, whispered melancholic tales of laughter and joy that had long since faded into the echoes of the past. Amidst the skeletal remains of dilapidated rides and crumbling booths, one structure stood as a solitary monument untouched by the relentless hands of time — the House of Mirrors. Towering and foreboding, the House of Mirrors wore a cloak of twisted metal vines, their s...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
7 likes
