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
Live Editing #4 with Noah Charney
January 26, 2026
Previous events
Raising the Stakes: Build Tension on Every Page
January 19, 2026
Level Up Your Writing in 2026
January 18, 2026
First Impressions: Rocking the First Line and Paragraph
January 12, 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 Aug, 2024
Submitted to Contest #272
This story contains themes of grief, loss, and trauma. Mentions a car accident, death, physical injuries, and emotional pain.Early Sunday morning, the bus station is quiet with just the remains of last night's takeaway wrappers rolling around the stands, like dirty greasy passengers who’ve disembarked but have nowhere to go. The November chill turns my breath into little lost clouds and the slight breeze carries the scent of autumn, tickling my nostrils. Of all the places to be on a Sunday morning, this isn’t what I’d choose. ...
Submitted to Contest #271
I can’t express how wonderful it is to be with you again, and to see you looking so well. Time has truly been kind to you. After all these years apart, I had almost lost hope of ever seeing your face again. So much time has passed, yet now, here we are, together, reunited at last.I remember those early years well, watching as your mother raised you from the crib to those first stumbling steps of a boundless child. Your energy and sense of adventure was enthralling, and to watch you laugh and play, your much cherished toys...
Submitted to Contest #270
The autumn day dawned bleak, filthy with festering matter and half-lived souls clinging to existence. A patchwork of rotting leaves, long strewn by wind and time, formed a sodden carpet over the silent dank streets, where an unnameable void hung in the air, an emptiness seeking to be filled, waiting for what it sought unknown. Nothing was there on that hollow, thinly veiled November morning, looming in the cracks and crevices, dour and rotten. Nothing had been there the day before, in the unoccupied corners filled only with shad...
Submitted to Contest #269
Agnes Jenkins, chin slightly raised, smart woollen coat neatly buttoned and black leather handbag tucked firmly over her arm, strode purposefully down the street towards the town museum. It was grey and quiet that misty September morning, and on reaching the museum, Agnes found the cafe there quiet too. The summer rush was over and a more sedate atmosphere had been reinstated, as visiting tourists and their easily distracted children were returned to their right and proper places. Agnes smiled. She avoided the museum ...
Submitted to Contest #268
A week after Hilda Button passed away, a notice was placed in the window of the village post office, it read: The funeral of Miss Hilda Button,loved and cherished member of this parish, will be held at 2:00pm on Friday 27th June at St Michael’s parish church. All are welcome. “Oh, thank goodness for that,” Betty Draper commented to her friend Edith Mahon as they joined the small group of people gathered around the notice, “I was so worried that her daughter wouldn’t bother with a proper service, you know how people are ...
Submitted to Contest #267
The rabbit lies outstretched at the roadside, one eye open, the other, mangled with blood and fur. Through the drizzle, a solitary crow cries a mournful ‘caw’ whilst across the landscape, the moorland sheep utter a low bleat of remembrance. The rabbit, a harlequin of soft brown fur and blood smeared tarmac, gazes up at me with its one dead eye. I pick up a stick from the side of the road and attempt to move it, to give it a more dignified resting place, amongst the ferns and bracken. Failure greets me, with half the d...
Submitted to Contest #266
I hang up the phone and sigh. Calls with Lionel, my agent, always have that effect. Lionel, the man who got me my first break - I owe him for that, and now I owe him my third novel, the third instalment of the lives and loves of Lottie Summers and her trivial adventures in the land of passion and romance. But it sells, and the first two books were a hit in the airports, with thousands of copies making their way to sun-soaked beaches and swimming pools. Whether they’ll ever get nominated for a Booker prize is debatable...
Submitted to Contest #265
Sophia waited anxiously in the damp dusk of the bus stop. She longed for the warmth of home, but first she had to face her brother, a brother she hadn’t spoken to for almost four decades. The thought was repugnant, but the visit was unavoidable. Her day, like the day before and those before that, had been spent working through the papery remnants of her recently deceased parents. The drawers and boxes of policies and documents from a lifetime of signatures, agreements and purchases. The trinkets and memories of ...
Submitted to Contest #264
The silver Porsche tore along sun-soaked country lanes, passing farmhouses and fields, Eva couldn’t believe this turn of events. She shot a glance across at her companion as he guided the car, his profile set against the countryside as it flashed by, his dark blue suit, immaculate shirt and cuff-links, she felt as though she were in a film. Eva smoothed out her skirt and took a deep breath. That morning, She’d been at the local market shopping for supplies for the meal she was cooking for Jordan that evening. In her late tw...
Submitted to Contest #262
Work finally over, Molly scrambled her belongings together, aimed a fleeting goodbye in the direction of her colleagues, and left the office. She’d forgotten her girlfriend Grace’s birthday and though Grace hadn’t said anything that morning, Molly wanted to make it up to her with a special evening. Molly spiralled down the stairs, out of the building and practically tumbled into the street, pulling her tote bag over her right shoulder as she managed to get her left arm into her coat sleeve. She checked her watch, determined...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
29 likes
