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
From Submission to Publication
March 19, 2026
Writing Beyond Your "Brand"
March 16, 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 Jan, 2021
Weekly Contest #343
The kids’ table waned by the day. I remembered when we played musical chairs just to earn a seat, and the losers would circle us, merging into a squealing dog-pile. For the little ones who stood no chance, that was the game unto itself. We didn’t hear them anymore. I raised my voice, but I still felt them on their tippy toes, dragging me down with their tiny hands, telling me to make my next move. The tall man was watching, too. His brown overcoat trailed down the trunk of his body, sweeping the floor; it made him featureless, except for his...
Weekly Contest #306
#include <iostream> #include <string> #include <thread> #include <chrono> using namespace std; /*************************************************************************** HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? ***************************************************************************/ int main() { char letter1, letter2; string answer1, answer2; cout << "I WANT TO ASK YOU SOMETHING.\n"; this_thread::sleep_for(chrono::seconds(2)); cout << "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?\n"; cin >> answer1; if (answer1 == "Yes" || answer1 ==...
Weekly Contest #273
September 12th Sometimes I curl up in the bathtub just to feel closer to her. I scrub her down here, once every two days or so, all the humps and knobs of her spine where sickness has spread, gray skin flaying right off the bone. Without any teeth or muscle to speak, her wails are just baby cries, nothing but garbled vowels: Awh-ee, awh-ee, like a door on broken hinges. Sets my damn teeth on edge. She knows it, too. She always knew what her voice did to me. That’s why she screams, even now. Even like this. I don’t think anyone wants to...
Weekly Contest #196
She’s fussing over me like good women do, smoothing down the lapels of my jacket. It’s the one gifted to me by the best woman there ever was: my mother. She parts my hair down the middle with her long-tipped nails, while I fidget under her thumb. Hawk’s eyes, she has; they change colors in the sun, first yellowish, then somehow greenish by late afternoon. Healing bruises, those eyes are. If she is displeased with you, her eyes become nothing but black holes. Her pupils swallow the rest of her, the way animal mothers cannibalize their young. ...
Weekly Contest #150
I died again yesterday. Or it felt that way, at least. It always does. A man caught me in the elevator. He got on at the second floor, when I was busy wheeling Mrs. Denborough out of the way. Something was on the tip of my tongue—Sorry, sir, I think—but by the time the doors opened for the third floor, there were three bullets in my head, and no words at all. I suppose my split-second kindness was to blame. If I had looked up sooner, hadn’t moved her aside, perhaps I’d still be alive. But I’m alive either way, so it wasn’t a matter of ...
Weekly Contest #142
(TW for miscarriage and child death.)Maybe we should play a game. That’s immersive enough, right?A game?Monopoly. Scrabble? Something—I don’t know!Yeah, let’s introduce him to social constructs. He’ll surely understand that.Do you have any better ideas?Well…Oh wow, I love that game!Shut up.Oh! I got it!What—ow! Stop slapping me!What about a guessing game?That could work. Like twenty questions?Right! I’ll go first. Okay, I’m thinking of a person.Um… are they alive?Of course!Are they older than me?I don’t think an age older than you has been r...
Winner of Weekly Contest #105 🏆
TW: suicideDr. Delaney visits every Tuesday, at eight o’clock sharp. It goes like this: she knocks three times, in succession, but with no particular rhythm; she calls out our name through the door, softly, and only once; she leaves. Though she intrudes on our treasured evenings together, we admire her persistence, her punctuality. Still, we cannot comply with her wishes—even if we begin to listen for the staccato of her feet outside the door. Tonight is no different. She arrives, she knocks, she waits, and so do we.“Levi? It’s Jan,” sh...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
1 like
