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
Writing a Memoir Readers Will Love
May 17, 2026
How to Write a Winning Short Story
May 05, 2026
The Secret to Writing Memorable Characters
May 04, 2026
Independent vs. Traditional Publishing
April 27, 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 Apr, 2024
Weekly Contest #324
January 30 The stars are out tonight. I’m looking at them now. So small, so dim, so frail, but there are so many of them. I can see them through the inky silhouettes of the nearby trees. They peek out like they’re playing hide-and-seek, like if they pop out and back enough times, they’ll make me smile. My head hurts. A numb kind of pain. Not sure why, but I think I’m dehydrated. Yeah, that’s probably it. I’d give anything for a cup of cold water right now. A clear, frosty glass of water, topped off with ice? I can feel it now, wet in my pa...
Weekly Contest #312
Two weeks after she died, Clarisse arrived at our doorstep in a cardboard box. My dad was the one who brought her into the living room, while my mother reached into her curly hair and pulled out a bobby pin to rip the tape open, since getting scissors would require too much time, apparently. And before I could ask what they’d ordered, and why the box was so big, the flaps had been opened and there she was. It looked nothing like my sister. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, at first. An assorted bundle of delicate-looking metal pieces was ...
Weekly Contest #292
Sensitive Content Warning: grief, death of a childYou were in love with color.I could see it in your eyes. We all could, I think. Even though you couldn’t tell us how you felt with words, we could see it–the way your little brown eyes would widen, would take in the light, the way your whole face would grow brighter. I always thought your eyes looked just like Dad’s. Is it wrong to speak of you in the past tense? You wore bright orange shorts. They hung loosely about your little legs. Tell me why I can still see that flash of n...
Weekly Contest #276
My sister would laugh if she read this. I can see it now–her eyes crinkling up, her mouth wide, her white teeth showing. She would snort at the humor in it all. “Milly, that’s so dumb,” she might say, forgetting the number of unsent letters she’s written to boy after boy.I can’t say I blame her; she’s simply not in my head. She doesn’t know what you meant to me, once. It’s impossible for her to know.You might laugh, too, if you knew. Awkwardly, maybe, desperately trying to find a way out of the conversation, desperately trying to regain...
Weekly Contest #261
~May, 1946~When Mother sent me to deliver gifts to Mr. Kent, I didn’t reckon I’d bother. I’d take the basket, sure. Fine. Then maybe I’d walk a half-mile up the road and dump the stuff–maybe eat it, actually–sit awhile in the dust, and head back home.After all, new residents shouldn’t be the ones delivering presents. That’s the town’s job, isn’t it? You know, all the welcoming old villagers and their shiny smiling faces, coming to bear gifts to the newcomers? That’...
Weekly Contest #255
This story contains references to violence and mental health issues, and mentions of blood. I take my mother's axe from beside the door.It's heavy in my hands, the wood smoothed from use and yet still rough enough to cause blisters. The blade is dulled, like my reason. We’re about the same age, this axe and I. It makes sense that we would be a little worse for wear. I'm not used to the idea of weapons, especially in my own hands. It's not a thought that's crossed my mind until recently.Momma would not have categorized this as a weapon. ...
Weekly Contest #250
This story mentions violence and death. May 1, 1902In retrospect, it would have been safer for me not to investigate the case.I was bold–perhaps too bold. Years of being nicknamed the Invincible Clementine Finch had softened my reserve, probably. Or perhaps I wasn’t born with any. The name didn’t come without reason–not that I’m one to boast. I fell off a train as a girl with hardly so much as a scratched knee. I chased down an armed robber once with nothing but a hat-pin as a weapon. No need to fret, of course; he was just fine.&n...
Katharine dangled from the apple tree, her golden hair sweeping against the grass. The rough bark would have been painful against the inside of her knees if she hadn’t been wearing her denim overalls, the ones embroidered with colorful little flowers at the hems. The breeze tossed her hair and the branches of the trees, showering white blossoms to the ground. On the branch beside her, a boy twirled on the rope swing, kicking up dirt. Spring, the most glorious time of year. The perfect time for frolicking outside, breathing in the fresh wind....
Shortlisted for Contest #247 ⭐️
Winnie didn’t know what a city was like. She asked me about them, one night, her voice floating up from the bottom bunk in the darkness, drowning in the sea of cricket song. The windows were open, like they were every evening. We might as well have been sleeping out in the swamp for all the noise. Leaves rustled as frogs trilled to one another, and the heavy air vibrated with the wings of moths and mosquitos–but we were safe from them. The screens were closed. The sounds of the marsh were our lullaby. They also hid conver...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
17 likes
