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
Query with Confidence: How to Write and Submit a Query Letter
April 14, 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 Jun, 2020
Weekly Contest #53
Trigger warning: depictions of suicide It is August and everything is changing. Fireflies and first loves, all must come to an end. Cherries dangle from a tree. Our hands touch as I reach for them, a mindless fumble that ends with our hands intertwined. Her touch feels like home but I do not know what home is. I open my mouth but no words escape. Hold me. ‘’A day in a heatwave is much more different than any other day. The high heat steals our capacity for walls and barriers and locking up our feelings in a tight, tight box - t...
Not sure if this qualifies as a story but it's what I came up with! can't believe u really did it. parents think it was an accident. we know it wasnt. xx We found the popsicle near the train tracks, almost melted. It was a fine treat for the ants nearby who had taken the job of not wasting a sickly-sweet drop. For us it meant the end of the world. It meant you were gone. Gone is not the same as lost. If we lose our way, it is possible for us to find a home once more - when we are gone, there is no home for us anymore. Point blank. Illu...
Weekly Contest #44
Twelve is blue. I love you, my mother says, almost as an afterthought, as she is heading out the door. I have waited 12 years for these words. The savouring feeling comes with a certain kind of bittersweetness, a feeling I had become accustomed to. Begging and scraping for any kind of affection has made me hard. I do not respond. The next years pass in a haze with only glimpses of memories in-between. Thirteen is a numbing sea, all ragged greys, no colour in sight. Hovering through life a few feet above my head, I am the ghost of a...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
9 likes
