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#294 Words, Words, Words

Even as a longtime writer, I still experience moments when I don’t quite know what to say. It’s strange, isn’t it? We rely on words to express our thoughts, yet sometimes there just aren’t enough of them — or the right ones — to truly capture what we mean. One of my favorite lines from Shakespeare’s Hamlet is “Words, words, words”: a reminder that, at times, words can fall short.

This week, I’m inviting you to explore the power (and limitations) of language. Whether you spin a story of silence, miscommunication, or ambiguity, let’s see how far you can push language to create something new. (Tip: If you’re struggling to find inspiration, use our Title Generator to help spark your creativity!)

🥇 Winner

Unspoken Orders

Winner of Weekly Contest #294 🏆

"I've said too much," Jack muttered, watching the maître d's smile fade like a dimmer switch. The restaurant fell silent, conversations halting as heads swiveled in his direction. Jack tugged at his waiter's collar. "Occupational hazard of being British. We're supposed to communicate exclusively through weather observations and apologizing."The woman at table seven stared, her Botoxed forehead struggling to register offense."Mr. Harmon, a word." Marcel, the maître d', beckoned him toward the kitchen with a manicured finger.Jack followed, sho...

39 likes 135 comments 135
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⭐️ Shortlisted

Palimpsest

Weekly Contest #294

The sentence remains the same. Five words capturing today's writing exercise, in Eleanor's precise handwriting. Cobalt ink bleeding slightly into the cream-colored pages of her handmade Italian notebook—an occupational vanity she permitted herself despite her modest origins, a rebellion against her mother who whispered such luxuries weren't meant for "people like us." The vibrant Florentine cover, with its swirling marbled pattern of indigo and gold, had cost nearly a week's grocery money when she was still an Adjunct Professor. Profess...

30 likes 24 comments 24
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This week's prompts

Write a story in which the first and last sentence are the same.

– 113 stories

Create a title with Reedsy’s Title Generator, then write a story inspired by it.

– 53 stories

Write a story in the form of a letter, or several letters sent back and forth.

– 84 stories

Center your story around someone who’s at a loss for words, or unable to speak.

– 74 stories

Write a story with the line "I didn’t mean that” or “I’ve said too much.”

– 35 stories

Stories

Being the Chosen One is Highly Overrated

Weekly Contest #294

I'm looking for someone to tell me if I am the chosen one. So far, I've asked a knight, a wise man, and a wizard. I got nowhere with the first two, but the wizard pointed me to Mordrone, an old dragon who might know. Unfortunately, Mordrone was just as likely to eat me as tell me what I wanted to know; it mattered which side of the horde he woke up on. No matter the risk, I had to find out. If I discover I am the chosen one, I need to save whoever I'm supposed to be saving. So I trekked to the dragon's cave and asked my question. "Excuse me,...

63 likes 44 comments 44
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In the Silence of Ashes

Weekly Contest #294

Jakob’s fingers trembled against the dented tin cup, water sloshing perilously close to the rim. The November air carved his lungs raw, bitter with smoke from chimneys that transformed flesh to ash. His worn shoes navigated the mud between barracks, sidestepping puddles that mirrored a colorless sky.At thirteen, Jakob had perfected invisibility. Three years of silence—not by choice but necessity after witnessing his father’s execution—had rendered him a ghost among the living dead that shuffled through the camp. While other boys his age had ...

54 likes 35 comments 35
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Picture Purrsephone

Weekly Contest #294

**TW: SUGGESTION OF CHILDHOOD S.A**I was happy to see her again. Happy to be held by her, happy to hear her news, to be opened up with the bicycle repair kit she brought from her other home, the one she shares with her mother, and have my inactive bluetooth module replaced. That was a surprise. How she had found a replacement for something so old, the means by which I used to share my pictures. How she had learned how to install it. She told me her teacher Mr. Frayne had helped, Mr. Frayne who knew about old tech. Mr. Frayne from the pl...

45 likes 45 comments 45
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A letter to no one

Weekly Contest #294

19th March 2025Dear Younger Me,I am currently sitting down at the wooden desk, on a very uncomfortable dining chair, hoping to take some things off my mind. There is a lot I need to tell you and I wish I could go back in time to give this letter to you.Right now you are about 15 years old, going through hormones, emotions, changes and frustrations. Your home isn’t your safe space, school gives you anxiety, your friends don’t seem like friends anymore. It is hard. Really hard.You are probably looking at yourself in the mirror, hating every pa...

43 likes 37 comments 37
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Unspoken Orders

Winner of Weekly Contest #294 🏆

"I've said too much," Jack muttered, watching the maître d's smile fade like a dimmer switch. The restaurant fell silent, conversations halting as heads swiveled in his direction. Jack tugged at his waiter's collar. "Occupational hazard of being British. We're supposed to communicate exclusively through weather observations and apologizing."The woman at table seven stared, her Botoxed forehead struggling to register offense."Mr. Harmon, a word." Marcel, the maître d', beckoned him toward the kitchen with a manicured finger.Jack followed, sho...

39 likes 135 comments 135
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The Jinxing Hour: Teddy's Version

Weekly Contest #294

It started with an Eggo waffle.A perfect toaster waffle. Golden, crisp, flawless.The last frozen Eggo in the box, rescued from the depths of an icy, neglected freezer drawer—beneath the abandoned bag of tater tots and the mystery Tupperware no one dared open.A syrupy masterpiece, steaming on a silver platter—aka a well-worn, plastic Toy Story plate. Buzz and Woody—barely visible now—scraped thin by years of utensil scratches and dishwasher cycles.Across the table, Annie and Grace readied for battle.Twin tornadoes in glitter scrunchies.Forks ...

37 likes 37 comments 37
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No Destination No Journey

Weekly Contest #294

Jon Henry was a multimodal man.Two, to be precise.The e-scooters and communal bikes had vanished a few years back -- that is, kept vanishing until the city tired of scouring alleys and vacant lots and culverts and shrubs and decided to stick to bulkier if pale greener macro-mobility. But “bimodal” is one or six modes short of optimal commercial curb appeal, and thus Millington Multimodal Hub contented itself with shuffling commuters and students and shopper/tourists and senior charters and drafting new and exotic bus routes and building a fr...

35 likes 18 comments 18
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The Mayhem on West Broome Street

Weekly Contest #294

I remember the day that Jenny moved into the first floor of the 5-story apartment building where I lived in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, in the summer of 1998. School had just let out a week before and I had no real responsibilities, other than finding ways to entertain myself while staying out of trouble. It was always the second part that was difficult.Me and two of my friends who lived on the second floor - Josh and Nathan Cohen - were playing stickball out in the street, using the wall near the corner of our building as a backstop. We used a t...

34 likes 41 comments 41
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When Words Don't Work, Stop Talking

Weekly Contest #294

If Birdie Lomax had paid any heed to her appearance, she would, in the music hall vernacular, scrub up well. But she’s tossing chicken scratch in the air, and the light of dawn is at the cruel end of the spectrum. Her hair, still more brown than grey, escapes a poorly-drawn knot at the back and flies in all manner of directions, as if in a mood to fall out with its neighbours. The farmhouse behind her is long and low, full of rooms she never looks in or clears out. Beneath these timbered beams lie cricket bats and exercise books, beds s...

32 likes 37 comments 37
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Once Upon an Us

Weekly Contest #294

It’s a typical Thursday night. The after-school madness and whirlwind of dinner, baths, and bedtime stories is complete, and finally the house is quiet. I’m snuggled in my corner of the sofa, the aroma of chamomile wafting from a hot cup of tea, my e-reader in my lap. Patrick sits on the other sofa, intently listening to a podcast, his headphones creating a barrier between us. Most evenings, we may sit like this for an hour or more before it’s late enough to get ready for bed.  Instead of the tension from the we...

31 likes 15 comments 15
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Palimpsest

Weekly Contest #294

The sentence remains the same. Five words capturing today's writing exercise, in Eleanor's precise handwriting. Cobalt ink bleeding slightly into the cream-colored pages of her handmade Italian notebook—an occupational vanity she permitted herself despite her modest origins, a rebellion against her mother who whispered such luxuries weren't meant for "people like us." The vibrant Florentine cover, with its swirling marbled pattern of indigo and gold, had cost nearly a week's grocery money when she was still an Adjunct Professor. Profess...

30 likes 24 comments 24
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I've Said Too Much

Weekly Contest #294

(Note: This story does include the finding of a deceased body; reader discretion is advised) I noticed him the first time at the coffee shop on 3rd Street. He sat two tables over, stirring a cup of tea he never drank. He wasn’t looking at me, not directly, but there was something in the way his head tilted, the way his eyes flickered over the rim of his cup, that made me feel observed. Every so often, he would blow on his mug, and eventually, this act became unsettling, as I knew the tea must have grown cold in the hour he sat unmoving. This...

30 likes 23 comments 23
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Well, that's what she said...

Weekly Contest #294

“At least she’s got big bangers.” “Who’s ‘she’ then?  The cat’s mother?” “Oh, you know Len.  Her down the road.  Thinks herself something special like.  All tits and lipstick.  You know the one.” I’m not sure that I do.  From what Jim tells me, the girl that’s got him riled could be any one of a number living on our street. “So anyway,” Jim takes a gulp of his pint, “she… her from down the road.  Someone’s said that she’s up the flaming duff.  And get this, right.  This is the stupid part.  T...

29 likes 25 comments 25
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The Åströms' Chronicles: Before

Weekly Contest #294

Varg had always known that training had no endpoint, and that the moment you decide you’re good at something is the moment you stop being good at it.The day was dawning, with the sun slowly rising from behind the horizon, its first rays carefully examining the area, as if wondering if there was anyone to appreciate how beautiful the sunrise was.There was—Varg Åström stood in a clearing, Fiske’s sword strapped to his waist, watching several Arctic willow bushes without moving.Today's practice was fairly easy, as there was only a light breeze....

28 likes 12 comments 12
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Human Resources

Weekly Contest #294

[Follow up to Submission to Contest #193: The midnight ride] People are paid to do their job, no matter how much they say they like it. If the salary factor were removed, no one would stay at their desk, no matter how much they like what they do, their colleagues, or the work environment. That’s a fact; if anyone says otherwise, they lie. Still, to me, at that point, salary was the least of my concerns. Since I had had my promotion, I had spent a fair amount of time trying to understand what I was supposed to do about my job and how I was su...

28 likes 6 comments 6
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