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
Writing a Memoir Readers Will Love
May 17, 2026
How to Write a Winning Short Story
May 05, 2026
How to Write Irresistible Romantasy
April 19, 2026
The Bigger Picture: Writing with a Series in Mind
April 13, 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 Mar, 2020
Weekly Contest #68
"You think there's really a songbird that thinks it dies every time the sun goes down, Arden-Lea?" Roe asks me, their eyes shut tightly against the roaring sunrise before us. "No." I say, watching Roe carefully while shielding my eyes. Their expression, previously hopeful, falls flat and bursts open, like a water balloon on a sharp nail. "I mean," I add hurriedly, "I don't think so, but if there is one, then it's surely quite relieved right now." A small smile spreads over Roe's face, like butter on warm toast, and Roe turns onto their side ...
Weekly Contest #57
Writing a will is no funny business. There's the matter of who to leave what to, and who will be absolutely outraged at the fact that they are not included in the will. But I've chosen to disregard all that. I've been ticking off people for a long time, and I see no reason not to do so, even when I'm dead. I, Thomas Winsome, am so outrageously rich that I could write my will on the face of the moon in gold infused puffy paint homemade by the Queen of England herself, but alas, writing a will is a monotonous task, and I figured the last incre...
I hate dying. At the ripe old age of sixteen, I’ve managed to get myself killed fifty-seven times, and it all starts like this. I was wiping the many java stains off the tables of Gogo Café while the hot summer air battled the half-broken air conditioner. The cafe was mostly empty, save for a short kid in the corner reading a book with his headphones in, and I was one of only two baristas working the afternoon shift. My mouth watered as the smell of freshly baked chocolate scones wafted through the air from the kitchen. I stopped wiping the ...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email: