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
People on the Page: Crafting Characters Readers Care About
November 10, 2026
Write Stunning Sentences
November 12, 2026
The Art of Trope Marketing
November 16, 2026
Landing Your Literary Agent
November 22, 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, 2026
Weekly Contest #372
“Did you check the closet, Daddy? I mean, did you really check it?” Patricia squeezed Mr. Rabbit, her favorite talisman, and searched her father's eyes. She didn't think her Daddy would lie, not really. But part of her knew that sometimes grownups didn't pay attention to the most important things, especially on days like today. Her Daddy smiled at her and walked toward the closet, but Patricia saw it fade just before his back was turned. She could see the back of his black suit was wrinkled. There were light water marks on the shoulders from...
Weekly Contest #368
Once upon a time, a time not so long ago, lived a thirteen-year-old boy called Shakir, and his best friend Asim. Both were from a beautiful little village in Hwt-ka-Ptpt. This was before all the pyramids and other tourist traps littered the land, so “not so long ago” is, admittedly, relative. If you are one of the old gods, like me, it feels like only yesterday. If you are human, unlike me, it was a very, very long time ago. Asim was only two years old when he lost his best friend. But that is fourteen in dog years and, as Asim was only the ...
Weekly Contest #364
My name is Splinker. D.H. Splinker. I’m a private eye. I wanted to be a piano player, but that’s another story. A better story. It was a dark and stormy night when I arrived at the Northern Bates hunting lodge. Later, the rain would let up, and a fog would roll in. A fog full of mist and mystery. The kind of fog that made it hard to see. But by the time that happened, someone would be dead. The lodge was built in the late sixties by an eccentric banker who was obsessed with Alfred Hitchock and and old-fashioned corsets. The obsession with Hi...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
32 likes
