The views expressed here are my own, based on personal experience and publicly available information.
***
To Whom It May Concern,
From May 08, 2025 through September 12, 2025, I submitted dozens of stories to Reedsy’s weekly writing contest. I entered with hope, creative energy, and a belief in the value of literary community.
I believed that contests could offer more than prizes—they could offer connection, growth, and a sense of belonging.
But over time, I grew increasingly uncomfortable with certain patterns and practices I observed—based solely on publicly available information and my personal experience as a participant.
This letter is NOT intended to accuse or defame, but to explain why I can no longer engage with the contest in good faith.
I’ve removed ALL of my stories from this platform.
What remains is this—a reflection, a cessation of my writing here, and a call for transparency.
I hope it makes other entrants pause and think.
***
Concerns That Have Prompted My Walking Away:
1. Judging Panel Transparency
The website lists HUNDREDS of judges; at least 200 of those appear to lack bios, credentials, or any visible writing experience.
https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/judges/
This absence of editorial background makes it difficult to assess the integrity of the selection process.
I recently chatted with a Reedsy representative who, in response to my query, stated: “Bios aren't required, it's totally fine for judges to be new to Reedsy.”
This response confirmed that a lack of public credentials is an intentional part of the selection process, which further reinforces my concern about the experience of the judging panel.
I will provide screenshots of this correspondence for transparency, upon request.
2. Lack of Conflict-of-Interest Policy
I did locate that judges are STILL able to participate in contests.
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScfRGgl_B1Go1KPDvbQzy6EHR0FIoF1icXrHnkZYMJHkYUDCQ/viewform
“As a judge, you'll get the following perks:
- You’ll have a hand in shaping Prompts community of over 640,000 writers.
- You'll be featured on the Reedsy Prompts judges page, allowing you to introduce yourself to other writers and readers.
- YOU'LL STILL BE ABLE TO PARTICIPATE IN OUR WEEKLY CONTEST.”
THIS IS A CLEAR CONFLICT OF INTEREST!
Having judges, who are supposed to be impartial, entering the same contest they are adjudicating is akin to the fox guarding the henhouse—a setup that undermines trust in impartiality.
3. Compressed Judging Timeline
Entries are “screened” and then hopefully “accepted” up until the day before a winner and short-listed stories are announced.
With the volume of weekly submissions, this turnaround seems far too short for meaningful editorial review.
It raises questions about whether stories are being read with care, or simply skimmed for surface-level appeal.
4. Winner Trends
I’ve noticed a recurring pattern of first-time entrants winning and then disappearing from the platform.
While this may be coincidental, the frequency raises questions about continuity and community engagement.
It’s hard to build a literary culture when winners vanish and long-time contributors are rarely acknowledged, beyond being short-listed.
5. Broad Licensing Terms
The submission agreement includes a “non-exclusive, irrevocable, perpetual, transferable, sub-licensable, worldwide, royalty-free license.”
While I understand the need for publication rights, the scope of this clause feels disproportionate to the lack of ANY compensation.
Writers are asked to pay to submit, and in return, they surrender broad usage rights—often without knowing how, where, or when their work will be reused, translated, or edited.
6. Marketing Emails
Whether submitting stories or not—I receive promotional emails offering paid coaching, masterclasses, and publishing packages.
While these services may be helpful to some, their timing and tone felt more like sales outreach than literary support.
The contest began to feel less like a celebration of craft and more like a funnel into paid services.
7. Lack of Feedback
Despite submitting dozens of entries, I NEVER received ANY editorial feedback or constructive critique from ANY of the HUNDREDS of judges.
The absence of engagement made the process feel transactional rather than communal.
For emerging writers, feedback is often more valuable than a prize—and its absence is deeply felt.
8. Shared Concerns Among Entrants
I’ve spoken with numerous other writers who have noticed the same patterns—opaque judging, disappearing winners, and aggressive upselling.
These shared experiences have reinforced my decision to step away.
9. Legal and Ethical Implications
While this letter DOES NOT accuse Reedsy of violating consumer laws, it raises legitimate questions that could be relevant under certain jurisdictions:
• Conflict of Interest: Allowing judges to participate in the same contest they help adjudicate could be seen as deceptive or unfair under consumer protection standards—especially since entrants are required to pay to participate.
• Licensing Terms vs. Compensation: The broad rights granted to Reedsy, combined with the lack of compensation, might raise concerns under unfair contract provisions—particularly if writers are unaware of how their work could be reused.
• Marketing Practices: If promotional emails are triggered by contest submissions and framed as literary support, but function primarily as sales funnels, that could be viewed as misleading advertising.
***
WHEN A COMMUNITY BEGINS TO FEEL LIKE A MARKETPLACE, SOMETHING ESSENTIAL IS LOST.
***
I’m a veteran, a writer, and a lifelong storyteller.
I do not outline—I improvise.
My mind is a whirlwind of wild ideas, shaped by years as a Dungeon Master and a relentless “What if...?” mindset.
I’ve written with joy, with grief, and with the hope that my words might resonate.
I also believe that creative labor deserves respect.
Contests SHOULD be transparent.
Writers should know who’s reading their work, what their qualifications are, how it’s being judged, and what rights they’re surrendering.
I’ve invested time, creativity, and trust—and I’m choosing now to invest those things elsewhere.
I DO NOT regret the stories I wrote.
I regret the silence that surrounded them. I regret the absence of dialogue, the lack of editorial presence, and the feeling that my work was being used to fuel a system I no longer believe in.
I hope other writers will read this and ask questions. That they protect their work, seek platforms that honor their labor, and remember that their voice matters. That they find spaces where feedback is given freely, where judges are interactive, and where winning doesn’t come with a sales pitch.
For me, this letter marks a turning point.
I’m out of the wilderness—not because everything is resolved, but because I’ve stopped pretending the path was safe.
I’ve reclaimed my stories, my time, and my voice.
But I haven’t stopped caring. I’ll continue reading stories from fellow writers and offering constructive, meaningful feedback—because community doesn’t require a contest. It requires connection, honesty, and mutual respect.
I wish the organizers well. I hope future iterations of the contest will prioritize transparency, editorial integrity, and meaningful support for writers. I won’t be participating again unless things change.
I’ve spent weeks reflecting on this decision. It wasn’t made lightly, nor in haste.
What I had hoped for was a literary community built on mutual respect and editorial integrity.
What I experienced instead was a system that felt increasingly opaque, transactional, and misaligned with the values I hold as a writer and as a veteran.
I believe in storytelling as a form of service—one that honors truth, invites dialogue, and builds connection.
When those principles are compromised, stepping away becomes not just a choice, but a necessity.
This is my belief. This is who I am.
This is my line in the sand.
Sincerely,
Rhed Flagg (Writer, Veteran, and Storyteller—on his own terms)
