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
Live Editing #6 with Noah Charney
March 23, 2026
Previous events
From Submission to Publication
March 19, 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 #335
(Please note that this was a last-minute submission just for fun. Not good writing nor a sensible plot! Simply uncertainty. Enjoy!) My mother wears an unfashionably long black cap-sleeved shift dress with lace at the cuffs. It’s from Zara, a store she sets above from the rest because it’s “hip,” yet the eighty dollar frock is 95% polyester. The boatneck collar settles uncomfortably on her collarbone, and she readjusts her appleseed diamond necklace every five seconds, a nervous tic. Her hair, styled in the same chin length bob and bangs tha...
Weekly Contest #287
This is a sequel to All You Need is a Cat (found on my page!) , but it can be read as a standalone. Winston never liked cats. He found himself irritated by their constant need for food, lack of affection towards him, and long, drawn out meows when he tried to interact with them. He and Rosemary had owned dogs, fish, guinea pigs, and even an iguana over the years, but no felines. If someone had told Winston six months ago where he would be now, he practically would have laughed, though no one would hear it; Winston Edward Grey laughs on...
Shortlisted for Contest #161 ⭐️
Winston never liked England in March. He didn't like the unreliable weather, constant dampness in the air, and the seemingly never-ending days. It held a dreariness in it that no other months did. But Rosemary loved March, and Winston loved Rosemary. She spent hours creating shamrock garlands, baking loaves of Irish soda bread, and singing the Prady song in her soft dulcet tones. She lit up during March, her lips quirking up into a smile that didn't fade until April 1. For Rosemary, March brought her back to a simpler time, a time ...
Weekly Contest #128
The doorbell chimed, announcing yet another customer. It seemed like everyone from the the island of Manhattan had come to Just a Cuppa to get a hot drink on that cold January day. “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift flooded the tea shop, setting a cozy mood. Fragrant blooms overflowed old tea cups used as vases set on each table. A sweet aroma filled the room, a mix of spicy chai tea and the famous Just a Cuppa lemon olive oil cake. Meredith Porter-Benoit balanced four tea cups and saucers, two dessert tiers, and a china tea po...
Weekly Contest #96
I look around the dark, completely furnished yet still empty bedroom of my childhood. It looks just the same as it did twenty-five years ago when the Bad Day happened. It looks as if the Bad Day never happened. As if time had just stood still and let this room stay on pause while the rest of the world changed. The top two drawers of the dresser in the corner are open, just as I had left them, clothes spewing out. My purple diary lies on the rickety old desk, the pink feather pen still lying next to it. A row of teddy bears stand on the floo...
June 14th, 1940, Paris, France Marie-Thérèse Bouc blew a blonde curl out of her face as she tried to capture the likeness of her cat, Toulouse, on her canvas. She started to paint Toulouse’s face, which is the hardest part, due to his large ears. Suddenly, the cat, who had been sitting on a pillow nearby with his paws tucked under his belly, jumped up and ran out of the room. Marie-Thérèse let out a long, annoyed groan. She had been working on the painting for days, and she wanted to have it ready as a present for her ma...
Weekly Contest #46
I crack an egg, careful not to let the yolk fall into the bowl. Just as I'm getting the last of the egg white out, the doorbell rings. I drop the egg in surprise, and the yolk completely splatters into the bowl, ruining my all-egg-white-meringue for my latest recipe: mini dark chocolate pavlovas with a light whipped cream and drizzled raspberry coulis on top. I grunt in frustration, then wipe my hands on a dish towel and answer the door. A mailman is there, holding a big package. “Hello, are you Mrs. Ella Ashby?” he asks. I nod,...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
11 likes
