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
Writing Sprint Session #2
February 18, 2026
Crafting Cinematic Characters
February 16, 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 May, 2024
Shortlisted for Contest #339 ⭐️
THE SHROUD Lancaster Lane was always cool in the summer, giant elms shielding it from the hot glaring light, an impenetrable shroud arching over the street like a cathedral ceiling of green, leaving it in semi-darkness.We’d sometimes sit under one of the elms at our end, watching Kevin Plummer carress his Vette with an old chamois cloth, watching him rub its glossy red skin to a mirror finish so it reflected the lush dome of leaves overhead. And we would talk, the way men forgot that boys talk. That summer, like the summer before and summe...
Weekly Contest #296
ENTRE NOUS Everyone remembers that night Lester LeClair slid into the icy lot, motor still running, snowsuit half-zipped, slurring “somebody just fired both barrels at my Arctic Cat! While I was still on it!” Most didn’t believe him. Les is a less than honest man and usually liquored up. But the buckshot nicks on the back of his helmet backed up his story.We all passed it around the bar, into the dining room, even to us in the kitchen — some noting how lucky he was, what a narrow miss it had been. Others whispering “should have aimed lower....
Weekly Contest #248
WIND IN THE WILLOWS Let me tell you about Willow City. It’s neither. Oh, there were more trees once. Along with ten churches, eight bars and the VFW. Now scarred and scraped bare after the mines closed, there’s little left but bleak black coal hills and ghosts of gone businesses. Except for the “Outsider Inn” out on the lake— our only place left to get a beer, get lucky, and lately, get shot at. Or so the conspiracy goes if you listened to Lester LaClair that night he slid in, motor still running, snowsuit half-zipped, slurring “somebo...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
24 likes
