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
Writing Beyond Your "Brand"
March 16, 2026
What's in a Name? Naming Characters, Places & Titles
February 09, 2026
Previous events
From Book to Screen (And Everything in Between)
February 02, 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 Dec, 2020
Submitted to Contest #206
‘She’s really not doing so well honey. Are you sure you want to see her?’ ‘I’m sure’ The young blond nurse leads me into my younger sister’s room. Her name, Rita, is written on a chart at the foot of her bed. The nurse pats my shoulder and asks if I need anything. I shake my head. I flop into a chair beside Rita’s head, and hear the nurse close the door as she leaves. ‘Oh Rita.’ The respirator puffs, and the heart monitor beeps out a steady rhythm. Rita’s covered in bandages, and what isn’t bandaged is burned a bright ugly red. But I can sti...
Submitted to Contest #203
“Hi honey.” Mom says. “Hi mom.” I drop my backpack on a dining room chair How did you mess it all up this time? You always find a way. My head whispers. “How was your day?” “Alright I guess. I’m tired.” I yawn, feeling the weight of the day in my arms, my legs. You’re always tired. Lazy piece of crap. I tell myself it's just depression speaking, and if I ignore it, it will go away. “How’s Amelia?” Mom asks. “She’s okay” She hates you. No she doesn’t, I insist internally. “How’s her painting coming along?”...
Submitted to Contest #71
Crap. She stares down at the last handmade recipe book on her shelf. She could have sworn she had transcribed the recipe for her grandmother’s brownies somewhere. But it’s not here; she’s checked all her books. She’ll just have to make them from memory. She sighs. She can do this, she knows she can. She just has to remember. It’s a family tradition, this recipe. Passed down through her mother’s side of the family for generations. And her daughter loves them. No interest in baking them herself, but she says they’re to die for. Her wor...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email: