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
Unreliable Narrators: When Your Storyteller Gets It Wrong
November 02, 2026
Beyond Book One: Writing a Bingeable Series
November 03, 2026
5 Ways to Write More Creative Sex
November 09, 2026
People on the Page: Crafting Characters Readers Care About
November 10, 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, 2026
Weekly Contest #379
The Train Today is my eighteenth birthday, and my mum and dad were shouting at each other again. My thoughts turn to an old photograph, full of promise on the mantelpiece. My mother in her wedding dress, simple and white. Father holds her arm. The sunlight surrounds them. Happiness glowed from his unwrinkled face. That was before the drink took over, and the battles to keep the roof over our heads and food on the table began. They make so much noise I can’t sleep, meaning there’s no point in staying in bed. If I could leave, I would, but w...
Weekly Contest #378
Home Sweet Home The afternoon sunlight faded when I arrived at Rose Cottage. I gazed at the once beautiful home and tried to visualise the day its builders laid the foundation. From the outside, it looked like the others I had visited. If a path existed, it lay slumbering under dead grass and weeds. The black paint on the front door had been stripped by the sun and rain. The once white window frames hung rotten on their hinges. A shiver ran through me as I studied the estate agent’s brochure, then looked at what could be my perfect home. R...
Weekly Contest #377
The Empty Room The taxi driver helped Hannah out of the car. He lifted his head towards the darkening sky. “The snow will be heavy.” Hannah glanced around. Even through the falling snow, she recognised the outline of the cattle cars. She nodded, handed him the fare, and held up a fifty-zloty note. “Come back. Two hours. Tak?” He went to take the note. “Two hours.” She returned it to her purse. Aaron, her grandson, jumped out and turned up his coat collar. “Will he return Booba?” She smiled. “He wants the money.” A flurry of snow drifted on ...
Weekly Contest #376
Grandma’s. Charlie stared at his mother, but she took no notice. “Grandma will soon be here to collect you, and it’s only for the summer holidays. You’ll love it once you’re there.” “Her house smells funny, she’s deaf, and I have scary dreams.” “But you love grandma.” He gazed into her eyes. “I love her when she visits us.” “Charlie, your father and I have a few things to sort out. You should stay with Grandma. I’ll come for you when I can.” The doorbell chimed. “Grandma’s arrived. Put your coat on and pick up your case.” Charlie smiled whe...
Weekly Contest #375
The Woman with the Lamp The subject includes the loss of children. My childhood was like most of the kids in the East End of London after World War Two. We had bomb sites to play in, and after a hard day searching for shrapnel, we could return home, eat supper, and go to bed. I lived with my aunt and uncle and their fifteen children. Although the house had six bedrooms, we had to top and tail us in bed. One of my aunt’s peculiarities was to appear at the bedroom door each night holding a lantern, stand there for a few moments, then leave. ...
The Housekeeper I lived with Mary for ten years. Her pale oval face was highlighted by wonderful green eyes that sparkled with life. She was young at heart, though I suspected she was older than she appeared. From her accent, I guessed she came from southern Ireland. She was tall, almost my height, and carried herself with quiet dignity. Her manner was firm but gentle, and she spoke with an old-world precision that is rare today. I loved her, but Mary didn’t know she was dead. I’ll start at the beginning so it makes sense. My world changed ...
Weekly Contest #374
The Fare. Charlie, a middle-aged Cockney cab driver, dozed in his cab and dreamt of a different life. Years of dealing with the public had left him indifferent to most fares. Unlike many cabbies, he didn’t mind waiting. Fishing had taught him patience. As he sat, his mind empty, peace enveloped him. In another world, he jumped when his radio blasted into life. “Charlie, it’s collect and deliver. Mrs Page, Chester Road. Drop off at Sunny Bay Rest Home.” “Tell her I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes.” While he drove, the traffic snaked along two l...
Weekly Contest #373
This story relates to a rescue at sea. Many lives were lost. Night Passage - Uneventful While my crew went about their duties, I sat in my cabin and tried my hardest to write my report. Two days ago, I sailed into an event best forgotten. Truth is stranger than fiction, but I do not expect a living soul to believe it. I now understand that strange things can happen for no logical reason. On 6 September 1983, I was the Commanding Officer of Her Majesty’s minor warship ‘Brave’ on passage from Rosyth Naval Base to Hull. It was a three-day eve...
Weekly Contest #372
CW: References to violence and child death What Remains. I’ll never say I hated the town I lived in, but the din from streets jammed with cars crawling towards a full car park, shoppers never looking where they were going, harassed mothers with strollers and toddlers, and market stalls crammed into every corner wore me down. I needed space to breathe and think. After visiting numerous estate agents, I found a cottage deep in the countryside. It wasn’t large, but it was old, full of dark wood furniture, much of it covered in mould. Like any...
Weekly Contest #371
Janes Song. I love children, preferably other people's, but many years ago, one young lady changed my life. I set my goal of being a millionaire by forty. Keevil House was one more step on the path. I purchased this old house at auction in London. I should have realised that, as the only bidder, something was not right. Overjoyed at my good fortune, I ignored the warnings. From the literature supplied, it seemed it had been empty since the end of World War II, when it had been used as a children's home and school. However, according to the ...
Daffodil Yellow I hate shopping, and Saturdays are the worst. B&Q at four-thirty feels like purgatory: stale warm air, fluorescent lights humming like they’re about to give up, and couples arguing over lampshades or the colour of paint for the garden shed. I suppose for some it is a matter of anything for a quiet life. Mary wants the kitchen painted, and we need to choose the colour. She has a bad back, so I’m the designated lifter and shifter. I trail behind her like a condemned man on his way to the gallows. We’ve already been to Homebase...
Weekly Contest #370
This story contains love and death. Rosewater and Ink Soaked by constant rain, Phoebe Bayliss stared at the mud‑spattered coffin as it settled at the bottom of the water-filled grave. The priest’s words had already dissolved into the downpour, leaving only the thud of earth and the cold ache in her chest. She wiped her eyes, though the tears and rain had long since merged, and walked away. With her father gone, she was penniless, and more alone than she had ever expected to be. Phoebe, thirty-six, pushed her wet black hair from her face. S...
Weekly Contest #369
Hands Off Dark humour. Fun with words. Harry cast his eyes over the darkening sky, rumbling with warning. Rain came hard, soaking the two men as they wandered the back streets of town. Bert glanced up. “Told you it was going to rain. We should’ve stayed in the car.” Harry’s coat clung to him like a wet dog. “It can’t get any worse,” he shouted. Bert’s hair stuck to his forehead in greasy strands. As they crossed a street junction, the rain beat them as they lost the meagre shelter of the buildings. Eventually they found the seedy hotel th...
Weekly Contest #368
THE STAR Kate heard the sharp knocking and opened the door of her sleeping compartment. “Fifteen minutes to King’s Cross,” said the car attendant. “Thank you.” She closed the door, drank the last of her coffee, and packed her washing bag into her backpack. The sleeper from Aberdeen had been her father’s gift. A long journey to Portsmouth, and Kate could do no wrong. “Get a taxi,” he’d said. “Far easier than the underground.” She was his angel. With ten minutes to go, she wondered what her future held. From a pocket on her rucksack, she remo...
Weekly Contest #367
This story contains domestic abuse and death. The War is Over I can’t remember who said it, but someone once claimed the choices we make define us. If that’s true, then I’m a monster. I loved my mum and respected my dad, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve hated Friday nights. Mum worked in the sweet factory when she met Dad. He was the works engineer. The man who fixed everything. He fixed my mum good and proper. She was five months pregnant when they married, but then it takes two to tango. Mum kept the house spotless, and from the no...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
2 likes
