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
Book Proposals, Demystified
April 07, 2026
From Submission to Publication
March 19, 2026
Writing Beyond Your "Brand"
March 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 Jul, 2020
Weekly Contest #52
The thing about death is that it takes a very long time. There’s planning to be done. There’s the wake and the funeral and the food and the gifts. There’s phone calls and texts to be answered. First there are sleepless nights. Then you have the days spent staring at the ceiling. Then afternoons clearing out the house. All of this turning into weeks in your planner that you never bothered to fill out. You knew there was someone in charge of watching you. There was always someone to usher you to the church or the house or the grief counselor. ...
Weekly Contest #51
The toaster popped. Jessica, dressed in her bathrobe, hair in a messy bun, bunny slippers adorning her feet, reached for it, but Alex was faster. “Can you not do that?” “You snooze, you lose! Good morning, dearheart.” “Alex, what are you going to do with that? You can’t eat.” “Touché.” Alex was already dressed because Alex was always dressed. The same jeans and sweater she had borrowed from Jessica. She would never get that sweater back. Her nails were chipped and her converse were tearing a bit where the rubber met fabric. Jessic...
There was a distinct smell of wetness. The place hadn’t been boarded up tightly enough in the winters lately. The panelling on the walls was warped and discolored around the edges. The green shag carpet felt too stiff under her feet. When was the last time he’d had guests? Samantha had stopped coming probably fifteen years ago. She’d stopped receiving the invitation after ten of those. She had paced around the little house before landing here. Stepping through the tiny kitchen, still dark wood and yellows and greens and linoleum. Pyr...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
5 likes
