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
Making a Living as an Indie Author
October 12, 2026
Say it Right: How to Write Good Dialogue
October 13, 2026
Mastering Pacing: When to Speed Up and When to Slow Down
October 19, 2026
Write Stunning Sentences
October 26, 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, 2024
Weekly Contest #375
There are certain superstitions which a reasonable man may dismiss without difficulty, provided he has never been given sufficient cause to believe them. Reason is an agreeable privilege. I have often envied those who possess it in abundance. They are generally the same men who have never been required to watch another die. Such experiences do not always make a man particularly religious. Quite the contrary, really. I found myself less inclined to believe in the divine with each passing day. If God existed, He had evidently abandoned His dut...
Weekly Contest #336
On the last morning, the fog lifted early. At the fork where the old coastal road split- one arm curving slightly inland toward the lighthouse, the other thinning into a ribbon that led to the ferry dock- Mara turned left and Jonah turned right. Their shoulders nearly touched when they stopped, close enough that Jonah could feel the fabric of her sleeve through his jacket, close enough that Mara could smell the salt and oil on his skin. For a moment they stood like that, facing opposite horizons Neither of them said goodbye. A goodbye implie...
Weekly Contest #328
The first raven came on a cold, winter morning. The air was dry and frigid, and the wind whipped at the barren tree branches that hung over the small village from the forest beyond. Sera trudged up the winding dirt path that snaked out of the village and up the steep slope of the foot of the mountain. Her house —a small hut made of stacked stones and layered hay —peeked through the first few tree trunks. A mere panel of bark acted as her door. She prayed to the gods above that she would last through the winter. It would be a miracle. She kn...
Weekly Contest #319
I had always despised the corporate world. I mocked the fancy suits and silk ties, and I scorned the people who poured themselves into boardrooms and spreadsheets as if it meant something. Cubicles seemed more like a cage of gray and lifelessness. To me, nothing reeked of failure more than someone who had traded passion for a paycheck. I was an artist. A painter. Back in my twenties, I thrived off cheap wine and even cheaper acclaim. My paintings graced small galleries in rundown museums, but I saw myself as the next Van Gogh. My work wasn’t...
Weekly Contest #318
The zipper jams halfway up my back. Of course it does. I exhale slowly, careful not to let the sound turn into a groan. I hold my breath there, like I'm accustomed to — in my chest, under my ribs, behind my teeth — and try again. The navy bridesmaid dress bunches at the waist, stubborn tulle clinging desperately to itself. Even the dress can sense my nerves. There's a knock on the bedroom door, three fluttering taps against the dark oak. Wendy. "Almost ready?" comes my little sister's airy voice. "I'll be right out," I reply. My own voice so...
Weekly Contest #236
Grandpa’s funeral was what I like to call a shitshow. The old man couldn’t even get an hour of peace before he had family members bombarding his casket, desperate to get a glimpse of him, maybe see if the rumors surrounding his death were true. The thick bandages still wrapped around his neck proved that they were. I think the main issue with the funeral was its publicity. The guest list was too long, and few names had any objective relation to Grandpa. I opted for a smaller, more private event. They outvoted me. “He would’ve wanted the wor...
Weekly Contest #234
The city is silent tonight. It always is these days. My mom used to have photographs of Atlanta all over our apartment. They showcased a street full of cars, bright lights, and crowded sidewalks. As I cross Piedmont Avenue, I realize the city looks exactly like one of my mom’s old photographs. Cars still litter the roads, and pedestrians still gather at crosswalks and shop doors. The lights on the billboards continue to advertise the newest movie release or the next model of truck. The city’s night sky is just as bright as in the picture, an...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #232 ⭐️
I duck behind a crumbling wall, dropping to my knees on cold dirt. The sharp edge catches my shoulder, the jagged brick ripping open my skin. Burning pain shoots through my arm, a silent cry squeezing its way through my throat. And that’s all it is: a soundless echo of pain, a reverberation that I refuse to give voice to. I clamp my mouth shut, hoping my moment of shock was inaudible in the night air. The taste of metal– of copper– coats my mouth and I realize I’ve bitten my tongue in the frenzy. I open my mouth again and spit crimson onto t...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
0 likes
