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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2022
Submitted to Contest #306
How to Make Sourdough from a Discard This easy no-fail sourdough discard bread is mixed together the night before, fermented overnight, and baked in the morning. It has a soft, chewy interior with a crusty exterior, and that delicious sourdough taste – without all the work! What is the difference between active sourdough and discard? Active sourdough starter has been well fed and allowed to sit until it is bubbly and almost doubled in size. Sourdough discard is what is left over after it has peaked and has started to come down. If you prefer...
Submitted to Contest #208
Cyberbullying: the new catchphrase for our day. Mabel was a pioneer in this regard, although in our case, I’d offer a twist: reverse cyberbullying. I’m not sure if that makes sense. Contrived bullying, fake bullying, I don’t know. We were cyberbullying Mabel. We put scantily clad pictures of her on the internet, circling her cellulite, her soft and vulnerable places. If it’s attention she craved, she got it in spades. Public opinion can be ruthless, scathing. We were prototypes, the three of us- myself, Shaye, and Phoebe- placed squarel...
Submitted to Contest #204
"Welcome to the Wild West, young pardners! After striking gold, you and your band of prospectors were robbed and taken hostage. You managed to escape but the robber rigged the saloon with all sorts of tricks to keep his loot secure. Your mission: break in and steal back your gold. Yee haw!" I usually spoke that part with gusto- my shoot-em-up not-too-hokey Western accent, grazing my hand against my pretend holster, tilting back my head just so, a machismo wink- this time to a group of young boys- while I drawled, “You got it, pardners?”...
Submitted to Contest #198
It was a foggy November day when a car maneuvered its way into an empty parking spot, seeking cover underneath a maple tree, which only a few days before had been a fiery red; for weeks had burnished, torch-like, but faded now, having shed its glory, a creature shaking loose its scales. The morning was busy- buses gasping open its doors, students emerging: feet sluggish, heads down, fingers swiping and tapping, smiling and giggling. An old man walked purposefully through the front doors, went directly to the front office and ...
Submitted to Contest #193
“A Film Crew in Kichener” A documentary crew is currently filming in areas around Kichener, revealed to be in connection to events occurring six years ago, involving four former students from Northwood High School: Andrea Abramson, Phoebe Doon, Shaye Brooks, and the victim, Mabel Briggs. City officials wouldn’t confirm but ...
Submitted to Contest #180
What is it like to be under the glare of a sociopath? A real one; a dark triad of malignant psychopathy, narcissism, and Machiavellianism. Here’s the thing: sociopaths aren’t wearing trench coats and creeping around playgrounds. (Well, some of them are.) You know them. Or perhaps you don’t really know them. They’re utterly charming. They can gaze into your soul; they know parts of yourself that remain in shadowy corridors. They find your weaknesses; they anticipate your joys. Eve knew him as the Beguiler. A shapeshifter, a snake, a temp...
Submitted to Contest #176
Jane was bored. She and her sisters, Lizzie and Flora, stayed with their grandparents every summer while her parents went on vacation. She’d spent the day moping about until she discovered the attic up on the third floor and toiled away looking through old boxes. There wasn’t a window and it felt airless and hot, and she was about to leave when she noticed out of the corner of her eye a small door. A door for a child! She had to tug and pull at it until it opened, and she sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and then decided it was to ...
Submitted to Contest #172
The man in the suit, that's how Ethan thought of him. He’d told them his name after a cursory introduction, but he seemed sexless, devoid of personality. The man didn’t try to sell them a product; he wasn’t engaging them; he wasn’t dynamic or persuasive. One by one they’d been narrowed down from thirty or so, to fifteen, and now, after almost a week, to just the five of them. They’d been encouraged- not prohibited- from speaking about their personal lives, but they wondered, were they being recorded? They’d had such little down time, aw...
Submitted to Contest #171
Her name was Eileen. And she talked with a smile. If you were blindfolded, or even blind, you’d still hear it- the sparkle in her words, the lilting cadence. Mesmerizing, you could say; hypnotic. She held out a lacquered cherry wood box; on the top it had a swirl of yellow characters- Chinese perhaps, something Eastern, something profound. But Mara dared not ask this. All she needed to know was that the box was important. It was a keeper of secrets, of unwanted things. Eileen opened the lid. Mara wanted to lean in and inhale ...
Submitted to Contest #170
When Anne walks into the lecture hall, at first she doesn’t see him, so intent is she trying to navigate her way up the stadium seating. There's a deluge of backpacks and denim-clad legs, the room buzzing with first day jitters. In her experience, the class will remain bloated until the hopefuls- the ones with the add-on cards- will be sent away by the professor. He's the popular one (hence the overfilled hall), and she's relieved she has him and not the other one- the curmudgeonly type, set in his ways.And then she sees him. Will Durham. On...
Shortlisted for Contest #169 ⭐️
Monster Under My Bed The exact details are hazy. I was in college, my junior or senior year, and it was a creative writing class. We were in the computer lab that day, working on our personal essays, but many of us were stuck. “Take a snapshot from your life,” our professor told us. “Select a good one- a hard one, a happy one. Take your pick. And then write about it. How hard can it be?” Behind the glib tone, however, a smile; he was heckling us, and we returned it with equal fervor. Mock fervor; pretend outrage. Our relationship with him...
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