Nancy Ann Creed

  Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash To My 4 Readers: You Are My Ultimate Motivation Every now and then, people look at the analytics of a small blog, and I read the report, and it says, “4” next to the blog. But to me? That doesn’t matter at all. The point isn't about massive, viral numbers. The point is that someone out there is genuinely interested in my work. When I look at those numbers, I don't see a small statistic—I see real individuals who chose to take a few minutes out of their busy days to step into my world. Whether you came for the poetry or the stories, you took the time to read it. And from the bottom of my heart, I pray that you truly enjoyed it and that you want to read more. The Reality of the Writing Dream We’ve all heard the complaints in the writing community: "I'm just not making a lot of money doing this." And sure, of course I want to sell books! Writing is an investment. Between hiring professional ed...

  Photo by Valentin Lacoste on Unsplash 📝 The Echo in the Well We walked the same path, pen in hand, Mind alight, a shared commitment's sign. Pilgrims in a lonely, distant land, Chasing the same bright star, divine. Our bond, once firm, was forged by toil, Ink-smudged paper, the screen's harsh glow, A hopeful process on a hungry soil, A private weight the outside doesn't know. But when the harvest comes, a sudden wrench, The seed you sow brings fruit upon my ground. The garden blooms, across a mutual bench, But only your name is on the flowers found. My careful work, the agonizing hours, My every effort, tragically the same, Is rendered Invisible, stripped of all its powers, Swallowed whole by an eclipsing fame. They gather 'round your posts, a swelling tide, A deluge of bright approvals, warm and fast. Endorsements flow, they cannot seem to hide The joy they feel that you have made it last. I am a shadow in this scene so bright, An old contact they vaguely knew,...

  Photo by Mike González on Pexels.com The Echo of Regret: A Vow Against Futility The shadow falls, a failure in my sight, Disappointment's echo, haunting day and night. Regret's cold hand upon my waking thought, A hollow dream, the battle that we fought. A profound, persistent ache resides within, A deep, visceral wound where grief begins. Each time the news arrives, a soul has gone, The numbers climb, yet tragedy lives on. For those now lost within the heavy fog, This deep despair, no fleeting shadow slog, It raises questions that torment the soul: How could we shield them, how regain control? What could I, personally, have done to reach, To pull them back, beyond the final beach? Why do such vibrant lives, with potential vast, End in this final, devastating, broken blast? The pain, a sickening, immediate jolt, A punch that leaves me breathless and unbolt. Another one lost, a cycle we can't cease, The repetition numbs, yet sharp remains the piece. A desperate cry...