Menu

Prompts

Directory Contests Magazine FAQ

Apps

reedsymarketplace

Hire professionals for your project

reedsyblog

Advice, insights and news

reedsylearning

Online publishing courses

reedsylive

Free publishing webinars

reedsydiscovery

Launch your book in style

Bestseller Podcast Book Cover Art Success Stories

Tools

Book Promotion Sites Book Review Blogs Booktube Channel Guide Book Title Generator Character Name Generator Independent Publishers Literary Agents Literary Magazines Pen Name Generator Plot Generator Publishers Directory Short Story Ideas Writing Contests Writing Exercises Writing Scholarships

Menu

Prompts

Contests

Stories

Blog

Directory

Contests

Magazine

FAQ

Wesley Tinney

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2020

Stories (3)

Comments

Library

1 Followers

0 Following

3 Stories

31 karma pts

?

The Castoff House

Submitted to Contest #38

The house was a rambling thrown together affair, with many oddly placed rooms and 17 doors. This house had been built back in the early 1930’s and then added on to innumerable times over the years. Originally the house was built in stone but many of the additions were not. This gave the house a rather mottled outside appearance. On the inside some of the exterior stone walls had become interior walls adding to the strange appearance of the house. The house was filled with the remnants of other households. When old family ...

6 likes

“That” Train Ride

Submitted to Contest #27

The morning sun was warming the platform where Steve stood. On the wall behind him the name of the station was positively glowing. Black letters on a white background. A name that contained all of the special characters used by the local language which rendered it comprehensively unpronounceable. Lucky for Steve he did not have to pronounce it, he merely lived nearby and this was the train station he used. The trains thankfully had numbers of which he could read. And when his number train came along, he boarded it.&...

1 like

The Busker

Submitted to Contest #26

Carlos stood in the sun of that Parisian street corner wreathed in music. The notes that sprang from his violin were the purest magic he could conjure. The strangers that walked past paid him little heed. A few would glance at him. Fewer still would drop a sou or two into the open case at his feet. The war had caused all the purse strings to be tightened. Very few of the music loving Parisians would part with money so frivolously. But on he played despite the pitiful remuneration he received. Life...

3 likes