The Fork in the Road

14 Sep 2025

To: All my friends on Reedsy, both met and unmet, both followed and unfollowed, both competitors and not.

Good morning, afternoon, evening, day, night, or whatever it happens to be if/when you read this.

I am Tamsin Liddell. I am fifty-three years of age. And I am an overly ethical person—ethical enough to admit that my name is not really Tamsin Liddell.

When I was in the eighth grade, my honors English class had creative writing as part of it. I was often teased by the other students for how few of my words had more than two syllables. I earned the best grades in the class, but I didn't consider myself a writer.

When I was in the ninth grade, my honors English class had a weekly creative writing essay due on Tuesdays. Again, I was often teased by the other students for my oddball subjects and outlandish points of view. I got the best grades in the class, but I didn't consider myself a writer.

When I was in my second attempt at college, I took a creative writing class. I stuttered and stumbled my way through presentations because I developed a phobia over the years. I got the best grades in class, but I still didn't consider myself a writer.

In the early years of the Internet, before there was Hypertext Transfer Protocol or a World-Wide Web, I played MUDs—Multi-User Dimensions. They were text-only at the time, mostly involving role-play (my favorites recreated the Pern series, though I also played World of Darkness stuff). I had fun and made friends but never considered myself a writer.

Years later, when I wanted to roleplay again, I did so on message boards dedicated to play-by-post. I often ran as the Storyteller/Dungeonmaster, but I also played characters that I loved to develop backstories for. Once again, I never considered myself a writer.

Last October, an idea crept into my head. Characters—three in particular—who wouldn’t leave me alone. So in secret, I started writing the ideas into stories. For six months, I showed nobody, because I wasn’t a writer.

Eventually, I let a loved one read it and was encouraged to keep at it. I looked for a writing program to use other than Google Docs. And I discovered Reedsy’s app. And thus I discovered Reedsy Prompts.

From June through the beginning of August, I wrote an original story for each contest. In each one, I saw only the flaws, the errors, and the mistakes. I’m too OCD for my own good, probably. I spend way too much time developing backgrounds for characters who get mentioned maybe once, at most.

But there were people who liked them. People whose work I’ve enjoyed reading. People whose opinions I respect greatly.

And for the first time ever in my life, I believed it: I was a writer.

In August, I had another character take over my head. I started writing her stories as responses to the prompts. Instead of once a week, I wrote thirteen over five weeks (including a week off). I managed to write two unrelated stories, but most of what I wrote for the contests consisted of one main character’s stories.

I continued to submit them to contests. I even paid the $5 fee to submit them, because I thought I’d be supportive of Reedsy. There’s a line tucked into the competition rules that states that not only must your stories be original and entirely your own, they also need to be “stand-alone.” And while I wrote my stories in a fashion that was stand-alone, I had several readers read them in different orders and had no real complaints about it—I would understand if they might be ruled as not being so.

But I accidentally discovered another thing. There was a “bug” in the system, in that while the contest was being judged, any that the “judges” wanted to be considered for final judging would be marked as “short-listed,” which meant that they would show up in the Stories section as Short Listed. So if you had the inclination and the time, you could keep track of what stories were approved by judges as “long-listed” (that’s what someone else called it), and then as they got pared and whittled down, the final twelve or seven or even three well before they were announced on Friday.

I, being ethical (as aforementioned), figured that they didn’t intend that to happen. So I notified the people running the competition of the bug. And as of this past Monday (9/8), the “bug” was fixed. So it can’t be seen anymore. My apologies to anyone else who misses it; it was my fault.

However, I, being OCD (as aforementioned), started keeping track of which stories got “long-listed” (it tended to be about fifty or so each contest) and, more importantly to me, which ones didn’t. I don’t have the lists here with me now, but I have a list for #314 through #317.

This means that I saw the stories that got approved. The ones with switching tenses. The ones with cut-off submissions. The ones with one sentence per paragraph, or one paragraph per page. The ones with poor grammar, spelling, and punctuation.

It means that I also saw the stories that did not get approved. The ones with beautiful character development, with extreme amounts of thought put into them, with evidence of the love and effort that had been put into them.

And while there were occasional times when good ones were approved, more often they weren’t.

Increasingly evident, the winning stories may have been the best of the “long-listed,” but they were often not the best submitted. The best submissions were left on the cutting-room floor.

The final straw, for me, was a story that had more grammar and punctuation mistakes than my high school work. And I read others by that author, so I know that’s not usual for her. But this time? It was egregious.

Because of the fix of the bug, I don’t know the full list of stories that got long-listed. But I do know a handful of worthies that got passed over, each better than others I know to have been considered, including the ultimate winners.

I cannot continue to pay money to support these competitions.

* * * * *

But that should be fine, because here’s the second part of my story.

I am a numbers person in my non-Tamsin life. I love numbers. I dream of numbers. (And I apologize to the Chicago Manual worshippers, but I won’t be writing my numbers out now.)

Recently, I realized that each actual contest submission costs $5. Which isn’t much until you start submitting 3–5 a week. Remember, some submissions aren't approved or are withdrawn; in neither case do they reimburse the author.

I first joined contest #306. So I worked the numbers listed from #306 to #318 and found that there were 4,439 known entries (in other words, not including withdrawals or declined ones). That’s an average of a touch over 341 per contest. At $5 per entry, that’s a minimum of $22,195, about $1707 per contest. The prizes for that same period were $250 per contest, or $3250 in cash, and $650 in Reedsy Marketplace credits. But what are credits worth? Because if you’re not paying on something from Reedsy Marketplace—which most of us probably are not—that amounts to little more than a pat on the back.

So Reedsy made at least $18,295 in net revenue off the back of mostly amateur authors. Not including those of us who pay for the upgrades to Studio. Not including those who pay for classes. Not including those who actually use Marketplace and thus pay 10% of your fees each to Reedsy for the pleasure of doing business.

There is no transparency in these numbers. There are hundreds of Judges listed on the website; are any of them getting paid? For what? Is there any oversight to the system? Is there any integrity at all?

Like I said, I’m ethical. And Reedsy’s Prompts contest is not. So I shall no longer participate in it. At least not as a paying author.

* * * * *

Since I’ve addressed the disparity in the contest prizes, let me address one other disparity. Feedback.

Not necessarily feedback from the other authors (though there are methods for improving it, which other sites use, but that’s another story).

I’m talking about feedback from the judges.

Every couple of weeks, there’s a contest held in conjunction with an "outside" person, either another site or someone in the business.

And the prize listed is as follows:

The winner of this contest will not only be awarded $250 — they’ll also receive a special bonus prize: personal feedback from John or Jane Doe themselves.

Think about it. They consider it a special prize for someone to explain why they chose one story over the other.

That’s all it is. It’s the only time they ever explain why they chose a particular story.

And it’s not exactly helpful, is it? I mean, go back and look at what they actually say.

If I want special feedback, I want it on a particular story I’m already working on, or my next major submission for a big contest, or something meaningful. Not on a story that, by the rules of every single other competition, I can never ever submit again.

Besides, this is the sort of feedback they should give us each and every time. To explain why they chose a story proofread by an eighth-grader as opposed to one of the ones that got tossed to the side.

* * * * *

Thus, I have come to a fork in the road. And I am choosing to go through the door marked “Exit,” at least in part.

I am not abandoning Reedsy. As I mentioned before, I came for Studio; I pay for Studio; I use Studio; I love Studio.

But I’m not paying for the contests. And I increasingly support y’all to not do so either.

To this end, I have withdrawn all of my actual submissions, paid and not, from this website.

For the fans of Joan Dark, I apologize, but I have reposted them (don’t worry, Reedsy, I gave the proper credit as per your instructions, in full) elsewhere, and I invite you to join me elsewhere to read them and my other works and to post your works in places where there’s actual feedback and actual support and we can actually improve our writing. Which is what this place is supposed to be, but isn’t.

If Reedsy addresses the issues and inequities in the system and increases the transparency, I will consider returning.

If Reedsy approaches me directly, I will communicate politely and help.

I do not know who to blame for the way the system is—again, that whole lack of transparency thing. But it is a problem, and it needs to be addressed. I am not the first to withdraw; I will not be the last to withdraw. However, I will probably become one of the most vocal, as I will be submitting these as I can.

Please share.

Thank you for reading.

- Tamsin Liddell