🎉 Our next novel writing master class starts in –! Claim your spot →
Advice, insights and news
Free 10-day publishing courses
Free publishing webinars
Free EPUB & PDF typesetting tool
Launch your book in style
Assemble a team of pros
A weekly short story contest
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2021
There is the sea and there are the waves and the winds and there are the specks on the far shore never to be touched. In the warm time, the winds blow from the west and we stretch the skins of our skins on the rocks and stretch our bodies there, too. In the cold time, the winds blow from the north, and we wrap our skins around our skins and hold each other in the caves and hope the hidden god se...
On the morning of the longest day of the year, a fog swept into the Rhine valley and choked off the morning sunlight. Only hints of the rooftops and dim squares of light across the street from Anna’s kitchen window poked through the dark and it felt like Phaeton had died a second time and the sun was in mourning for his son, leaving it to the incendiaries to light the world again. Anna set aside the Kahlua she’d planned ...
The definition of a guest room: a bedroom in a house for visitors to sleep in. I am not, however, sleeping here. It is four in the morning, and I have not slept. Also, it is unclear if I am still a visitor or if I ever was. Two of the four criteria, then, are not fulfilled. It is a bedroom, and this bedroom is in a house, specifically Grandmother’s house. A short description...
I did not want to be obvious American in Germany, but I also wanted a sausage egg sandwich from that ubiquitous red-and-gold giant and right there in the Stuttgart train station was a stand-alone poster offering, with a ten-times life-size image dripping with unnatural color, just that. There was little I missed about living in the States, as I now called it. I did not miss driving everywhere, I did...
The younger one without the new ears stopped pushing her broom when we got too loud. One of the echoes was relaying how Sheryl always ate garlic-infused hummus at her desk with kale chips—oblivious, it seemed, to the smell—and one of us exclaimed that a former co-worker, likewise named Sheryl, always re-heated leftover Tilapia in the office microwave and then the dam broke because everyone had a Sheryl story, even if the...
They couldn’t catch him in the library. It was against the rules. No dragging anyone from class, no dragging anyone from the library. Five minutes to closing time they paced around the only exit, inspecting every face that passed as if he might have disguised himself. They no longer looked like they were having fun. When they’d chased him to class that morning smiles had cracked their faces. They th...
writer/poet/translator born: Texas lived: Kentucky/Indiana/Philly/Boston living: Basel I write. I ride my bike. Sometimes I run.
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email: