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
True Stories with Michael Finkel
September 14, 2026
The Final Frontier: Writing Science Fiction
September 15, 2026
The Long Haul: How to Build a Writing Career That Lasts
September 21, 2026
Better Villains, Stronger Stories
September 28, 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 Oct, 2025
Weekly Contest #335
I wasn’t supposed to open it.That’s the one rule everyone knows. You wait. You don’t peek. You don’t ruin the surprise with impatience. But when you’re twelve and the box isn’t wrapped like the others, the temptation is too great. It sat under the tree on December twentieth wrapped in plain brown paper. My name was written carefully in ink, in a way that didn’t match anyone in my family.I hurried upstairs to my room, curiosity overwhelming my fear.Inside was coal. Not the plastic, fake toy kind someone would buy as a prank. It was real – he...
Weekly Contest #332
“Why…Why does it always end in the rain?”The words slipped out of her before she even knew she was thinking them. The city around her blurred into streaks of silvers and neons. The rain fell like a curtain, closing over the final act, but there was no applause. Just the sound of water as it pattered off her coat, soaked through her gloves, slipped down the back of her neck. It never bothered her. She’d done all her work in weather like this.Rain blurred vision.’Rain blurred guilt.Rain washed away blood.Rain made it easier to not see her own ...
Weekly Contest #326
We were born two, but we only ever lived one life.We learned young how to pass the body back and forth — like trading a coat in a doorway. One of us wears it for the day; the other watches from behind the glass, a warm, dark pane where breath fogs but never marks. Sometimes we watch, sometimes we don't. The silence can be easier than seeing. At night, we hand over: memories, notes, the ache in the left ankle, the fact that the door sticks if you don't lift and pull. She can see what I see, but not what it feels like from the inside — not the...
Weekly Contest #325
(Recovered statement from the case files of Saint Dymphna Asylum, 1936)They say I am unwell.They whisper that grief has eaten my mind, that memory has spoiled and fermented in me. But they are wrong. I remember too much to be mad. The mad forget; I remember everything.The doctors think I’m crazy, but what do doctors know of appetite? Fools. They do not understand that hunger is not in the stomach – it is in the soul. Mine has been starving for years.So you understand – I had no choice.It began with the challenge: Recreate the flavor of a lon...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
19 likes
