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
Writing Beyond Your "Brand"
March 16, 2026
Publishing in Audio: What You Need to Know in 2026
February 10, 2026
What's in a Name? Naming Characters, Places & Titles
February 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 Feb, 2022
Submitted to Contest #270
The private dining room of Zann’s Gastronomy was opulent in the kind of timeless way that only money can make look trendy in a decade. A lone business-man sat at the massive live oak table, thoughtlessly popping a canape into his mouth from a silver tray as he scrolled through a text message on his smartwatch. He smiled as he turned to the singular entryway, a mahogany door stained black on the opposite side of the room, seconds before it burst open to the sight of flailing converse. A burly man came into the room, man-handling a much smalle...
Submitted to Contest #269
Warning: contains themes of body horror. “We don’t want you in town, Mr. Watson,” the waitress said. Gar jumped, more at the prefix than the hostility in the tone of the woman scowling at him from across the aging diner’s bar. “What?” Gar asked. “How do you know who I am?” “Because you can tell. You have the look,” she said. “The look?” Gar asked. “We can tell,” she said. Gar blinked. “Blood finds its level. We remember what your family did,” she said. “If you don’t want to serve me, you can just say so. I’m only here to clean out my...
Submitted to Contest #268
The Reed name should not have been one of particular note in New England, despite an established lineage from before the revolutionary war. By the time the tendrils of iron rails had radiated industry between every hamlet and township, the family was of only modest means and of no particular standing outside of the local Elk lodge. Such dour thoughts on the history of my dwindling family tree were as inescapable as the curse on the Reed name as I crossed over the twin iron lines of modernity and headed into the woods. Foster Reed, my uncle, ...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
6 likes
