I built a bridge of patient, weary years, A silent span of quiet, chosen words, The mortar set with dried and vanished tears, A testament to battles, not rewards. My hands I offered, strong and open wide, To hold the weight of your erratic sphere, To stabilize the chaos you supplied, Yet only met a storm, a boundless fear. My effort was but dust upon the breeze, Against the wind of your profound unease.
When your world tilts and loses all its grace, The guttural cry of “holy hell” defines The atmosphere of this abandoned place, No longer haven, but a field of mines. A sudden, unexpected fire starts, Consuming fragile things that stood its test, Leaving behind a jagged, broken heart. With cruelty, you push me to the crest, The edge of sanity, my failing might, Expecting me to hold while you ignite.
I tried, desperately, to be the ground, The immovable foundation in the shake. I absorbed the shocks where steady peace was found, Withstood the tremors for your troubled sake. But now the space between us is a void, A profound, echoing, desolate expanse, Where kindness’s tender seed has been destroyed, And understanding lost its saving chance. Now only the choked vine of unyielding rage, And your consuming need across this stage.
I’ve studied your map of pain for far too long, Memorized the texture of each emotional scar, Anticipating where the wound would throng, An unwilling cartographer of your war. But in that process, I forgot my name, Eclipsed by roles I was compelled to fill: Your punching bag, the target of your flame, Your safe harbor, your shore against the chill. But that era’s ended, clarity now bright, I won’t be your refuse, your emotional blight.
The door to this shared history is heavy now, Weighted by expectation and old despair, But it is closed, with a final, solemn vow. The work I poured is starkly laid out there— Not as a failure of a loving mind, But as an investment that was misguided, deep. I failed no duty, I was not unkind, I simply chose myself, the promises to keep To me. I recognized the point of no return, And in that closure, finally, I learn.
Stuck Inside? Escape into the World of Make-Believe!
Writer’s ever have writer’s block. RP is a great way to keep being creative and writing. It has helped me come up with ideas, create characters and really see what they are like. And of course, no writer’s block.
The snow might be piling up outside, but the stories are just heating up in our Roleplay & Writing Group. Whether you are a seasoned writer or just looking for a new way to express yourself, there is a seat at the table for you.
Why Join Us?
Creative Escape: Leave the cold behind and enter worlds of your own making.
Build Your Craft: Practice your writing, character development, and world-building with a supportive community.
Make New Friends: Connect with fellow writers and roleplayers who share your passion for storytelling.
Total Freedom: From epic fantasy to cozy modern life, the only limit is your imagination.
What We’re All About
We believe that writing is better together. Our group is a space to collaborate, forge new friendships, and turn “being stuck inside” into an adventure. Let’s turn those blank pages into breathtaking stories!
Stay safe and warm inside today! ❄️ If you’re trapped by the snow, it’s the perfect time to dive into a world where the stakes are even higher.
In Zombie, by Nancy Ann Creed, the world changes overnight when a relentless virus sweeps the globe. While the snow piles up outside your window, follow the harrowing journey of Selda, Edmond, Edith, and a group of resilient survivors as they navigate a landscape where the dead have begun to walk.
From the eerie silence of a high-rise apartment to a fortified middle school sanctuary, these survivors must band together to face a nightmare that feels all too real.
Why you’ll love it:
High-Stakes Survival: Watch a group of students and adults transform a school into a fortress.
Unforgettable Characters: Experience the apocalypse through the eyes of those who have lost everything but refused to give up hope.
A New Kind of Terror: These aren’t your typical movie monsters—they carry fragments of their former lives and memories.
Bundle up with a blanket, grab a hot drink, and get lost in a story of grit and resilience.
The snow is officially on its way, and it looks like it’s going to be a big one! We are expecting a significant accumulation that will likely turn our town into a real-life winter wonderland (or a very cozy fortress) for the next few days.
As a fairy, I’ll be staying close to the fireplace—my wings definitely aren’t fans of the freezing temperatures! Whether you’re a human, a witch, or just someone who hates shoveling, now is the perfect time to hunker down and get cozy.
If you’re looking for the perfect companion while you’re stuck inside, don’t forget you can still order the e-book of The Shadow Realm Chronicles: Maurelle. Dive into the mystery of the Marks family and the secrets of the Faye while the storm passes by outside.
The silent, turning tide of life Has stretched the maps we knew, The seasons shifted, ground gave way, The ties between us drew
Slowly apart, a creeping drift. Demands attention, energy, Like water through the sand, Leaching the solid ground of time.
There was a time, not long ago, We were each other’s stay, The anchors holding fast and sure In storm of early day. We held the secrets, deep and bright, The wisdom time had wrought, Our days marked by the shared, full laugh, The tapestry we caught—
Before the world turned bright to cold. I feel the sharp ache of the miss, The ease we used to share, Where we could simply be, no need For any word or care. That ease is gone; the quiet now, The profound, long silence cast, Has tragically become the sound Our relationship held fast. When air grows thin with struggle’s breath, I seek those mirrored faces still.
I’m reaching back through the gray blur The passing years have made, Refusing that demanding life Will keep the things that fade. The miles that stand between us now Are lines on charts that lie, Meaningless compared to the depth Our history lifts high. Our memories, no fading echoes— But brilliant, fixed stars in the night.
With will and concentrated hand, I clear the tangled brush, Desperate to find the path again Beyond the isolating hush. A clear, resounding call I send
Into the lonely void. My friends, I want you now to know: I’m here, steadfast, unalloyed. I want us back—the kind of bond That bends but will not break, No matter what the wind may bring. It is the time our circle wakes.
The Shadow Realm Chronicles Maeve 🩸🧚♀️ New Read Alert! Dive into “The Shadow Re alm Chronicles: Maeve” by Nancy Ann Creed!
If you’re looking for a dark, compelling story about love, betrayal, and the fight for your soul, this book is for you. Meet Maeve, once a loving mother and fairy , whose life is shattered when she is turned into a vampire by Marius. The story follows her journey from desperate mother to a formidable figure entangled in the plots of the rulers of the realms.
What Awaits You: A World Torn by War:
The story is set against the backdrop of the devastating Great War, involving all the realms. A Twisted Love Triangle (and more!): Maeve is the wife of Hunter Marks, who turns on her when she becomes a vampire. She is later given to the mysterious Shadow King (Jonathan) as payment for an undead army, and he is deeply in love with her. Family Secrets and Betrayal: The narrative delves deep into the complicated Marks family, including Maeve and Hunter’s son, Alexander, and their grandson, Matthew. Hidden dangers lurk, including the mad king Julian Fairchild and the secrets surrounding Matthew and Maurelle’s son, Shawn (Justin). Darkness vs. Light: Maeve struggles with the monster she has become and the persistent light of her former self, especially in her connection to Hunter and her children. She amasses her own army of forgotten souls, led by her trusted friend, General Maxwell Lincoln.
Will Maeve succumb to the darkness or reclaim the light and her family? Which side will win? You’ll have to read to find out!
The empty space of connection, the gathering, Pulses with a vibrant energy I only observe. It hums with plans already made, A detailed itinerary, a map of places where I do not go. My position is fixed: outside. I don’t move; I only watch the colors of the evening fade From my window, a slow drain of warmth and light. My world is contained, defined by sitting in the light of what I know.
The knowledge I possess is isolating, sharp: That laughter sounds much louder through a wall— Magnified by the barrier that separates their joy, A painful noise. And conversely, Silence is a heavy thing to wear, A cloak woven from unsaid words. It presses down, making breathing difficult. So, I maintain a silent vigil. I wait for pings, for any word at all, A simple notification, an anchor thrown, To prove that, in their minds, I’m standing there.
The name of “friend,” I embraced fully; We call them friends; I gave the name with pride, A sacred title for those to whom I opened life. I shared my secrets, listened to their own, Believing in a mutual exchange, a balanced scale. But now I wonder, standing on the side, A silent observer of their motion, If that foundation was solid. The crucial question takes root: If I am liked, or simply “loosely known.”
A chilling suspicion whispers of self-doubt: Is there a secret vote I didn’t see? A quiet pact to leave the chair unfilled? Or is the truth more passive, more insidious? Or is the lack of room inside the spree The consequence of slow emotional detachment? It feels like The way a dying fire is slowly stilled, The warmth receding until only ash remains. The question I need to ask is too large, too sharp to utter; It stays in my mind, a burning inscription in the dark: Do I have friends, or people I just know? Did I misjudge the reality of the bond? Did I mistake a flicker for a spark? The uncertainty is exhausting, forcing a decision: Is it my cue to turn around and go?
The core of the issue is heartbreaking simplicity: For if they wanted me, they’d find the space, They’d actively rearrange the elements of their plan. They’d reach across the gap to pull me through. This is the ultimate loneliness I face: There’s nothing lonelier than a familiar face— A face I thought knew me— That looks at everything—but never you.
Two years ago, the entire leadership team from my school embarked on a profoundly transformative professional development expedition to Atlanta, Georgia. The core objective of this significant journey was to visit and conduct intensive, first-hand observation of The Ron Clark Academy (RCA), a globally recognized non-profit middle school renowned for its innovative and dynamic teaching methodologies, its high student engagement, and its distinctly unique, vibrant school culture. Located in a renovated red brick warehouse in southeast Atlanta, RCA serves students in grades four through eight from a wide range of economic backgrounds. The school’s co-founder, Kim Bearden, along with its namesake, Ron Clark, have cultivated an educational model that has inspired educators worldwide.
It is a source of personal regret that I have not yet been able to participate in this impactful trip. Initially, my exclusion was purely due to my not being a member of the official school leadership team, which was the sole group invited in the first year of the opportunity. However, in the subsequent year, as the possibility arose again, I remember earnestly praying that I would somehow be afforded the chance to go. The powerful, albeit painful, lesson I learned from this experience has now become my personal motto: “Ask and you shall receive,” because, unfortunately, I never vocalized my strong desire to attend to anyone. I had kept that deep-seated wish entirely to myself, a silent aspiration that went unheard.
This observation trip proved to be a pivotal and eye-opening experience for our school’s leadership, furnishing them with a wealth of concrete insights, immediately practical classroom strategies, and a deeper philosophical understanding of student-centric education. Upon their return, they commenced the diligent and focused work of implementing a substantial number of the learned techniques, philosophical underpinnings, and cultural elements into our own school environment. This was not a superficial adoption, but a committed, authentic integration of RCA’s successful and proven models into our own unique context.
While I have not yet had the supreme opportunity to visit the physical school itself, I have taken every chance to extensively view a multitude of high-quality videos and photographs of The Ron Clark Academy. From this media, its vibrant, dynamic atmosphere truly appears remarkable and immensely inspiring. The school itself is distinctively and innovatively set up in a former warehouse facility located in downtown Atlanta, Georgia, which contributes profoundly to its unique, non-traditional identity and provides a wonderfully inspiring learning space far removed from the sterile, typical school setting. The environment itself is a powerful testament to the belief that the learning space should inspire creativity and passion.The Impact of the House System.
One of the most significant, visible, and universally successful cultural changes we implemented was the “House System,” a structure famously utilized and perfected by RCA. This system is powerfully reminiscent of the house divisions found in the Harry Potter series, which instantly resonated with our students, injecting an immediate element of magic and fun. Our entire student body was strategically and purposefully divided into various houses, and the subsequent impact of this initiative has been nothing short of profound. The House System has skillfully fostered a powerful and deep-seated sense of belonging and community, ensuring that every single student feels like an integral and valued part of a larger, supportive group, thereby powerfully combating feelings of isolation and disconnection.
This increased sense of connection, camaraderie, and purpose has yielded tangible, measurable, and overwhelmingly positive results, most notably in student attendance. I have personally observed a noticeable and sustained increase in daily student attendance rates across all grade levels. In fact, the demonstrable success of this system was a direct factor contributing to our school proudly winning the district-wide high attendance award for all ten months of the previous school year. Furthermore, I am incredibly proud to report that we have continued this impressive and positive streak, successfully winning the award for every single month so far this current school year. The House System has not only been instrumental in boosting attendance but has also injected a completely new level of energy, excitement, positive peer competition, and overall enthusiasm into our daily school life.
Our school is currently organized into four distinct houses, which we named Amistad, Isibindi, Altruismo, and Rêveur—adopting the exact names used at The Ron Clark Academy. I have the honor of being one of the proud house leaders for Rêveur. The entire staff was asked to thoughtfully choose a house they felt they best aligned with, based on the core values.The Ron Clark Academy House System Values The Ron Clark Academy (RCA) houses are all themed around fundamental, positive character traits and deep multicultural connections. Their original names and associated values are:
Rêveur (Dreamers): This name is derived from French, meaning dreamers or idealists. It represents students who are passionate, imaginative visionaries who pursue their goals fearlessly, encouraging them to think big and challenge the status quo.
Amistad (Friendship): Rooted in Spanish and Mexican culture, this name signifies friendship. It strongly emphasizes kindness, unity, and an unconquered, resilient spirit, promoting collaboration and mutual respect.
Isibindi (Courage): Hailing from the Zulu language, this word means courageous. It focuses on strength and bravery, and is particularly helpful in encouraging shy or hesitant students to grow, find their voice, and take calculated risks.
Altruismo (Giving): Originating from Portuguese and Spanish, this name means the givers. It profoundly highlights the philosophy that the greatest rewards in life come from giving selflessly to others, fostering a culture of service and empathy.
These house names and their associated values are all strategically designed to foster a powerful sense of community, build strong leadership skills in all students, and promote healthy, positive competition through shared values and traditions, which are celebrated through ceremonies and house challenges.
When the staff was asked to choose their house, I thoroughly went through the core values of each, contemplating which house truly fit my personal and professional ethos the best. While I greatly admire the idea of friendship and the profound selflessness of giving, as a dedicated special education teacher, I frequently find myself deeply immersed in dreaming and wanting my students to reach for the stars—to aspire beyond their perceived limitations. I possess an unwavering passion and a resolute “never give up” attitude for my students’ potential.
There is a common and poignant saying that when people stop pushing you, it is because they have given up on you. I refuse to ever give up on a student, regardless of the challenges they face. I firmly believe that there is inherent talent, capability, and fundamental good in all students and, indeed, in all people. This passionate belief in the limitless potential of my students and my commitment to helping them visualize a future beyond their current circumstances made my choice clear, and I proudly became a leader for Rêveur, the House of the Dreamers.A Dream Realized
Though I could never visit the school, I never gave up on that quiet, deep-seated wish. My personal motto, born from the initial disappointment, finally paved the way for a remarkable opportunity. In early fall, my principal sent all of us an email from Sonic, the restaurant (not the hedgehog, as is often joked). It was a scholarship application to win a chance—an all-expenses-paid trip—to go and visit The Ron Clark Academy and participate in an intensive, two-day educators’ professional development workshop. I took about three days, working diligently on the application, meticulously crafting what I would say, how I would articulate my passion, and how I would convey my excitement and unwavering dedication to my students and their future.
On December 10th, I found out that I was chosen to go to this professional development session. I screamed with pure elation when I got the email. It felt like the universe had finally rewarded my silent, persistent dream. I have no idea exactly what I will learn, what new strategies I will bring back, or how my perspective will shift, but I am always incredibly excited to learn new things and bring best practices back to my school and my students. This is the fulfillment of a long-held aspiration.
The Ron Clark Academy, a non-profit middle school, is housed in a renovated red brick warehouse located in southeast Atlanta, Georgia, United States. Founded by Ron Clark and co-founder Kim Bearden, the school has students in fourth through eighth grades, from a wide range of economic backgrounds.
The world changed overnight… 🧟♀️ Are you ready for the fight for survival? Dive into “Zombie: The Survivors” by Nancy Ann Creed and see who makes it out alive. Tap the link in bio to grab your copy! What’s the first thing you’d grab in a zombie apocalypse?
I am utterly exhausted by this relentless play, The heavy curtain of performance drawn too long. I cannot hold the hollow smile another day, To mask the deep, the aching emptiness that’s wrong.
The burden of a self that isn’t mine to wear, To fit the mold you fashioned, cruel and tight, An agonizing stretch away from who I care To be—my own identity, eclipsed by your light. You see a project, a design that must be met, But tell me, why must the authentic me be cast aside?
I am finished fabricating reasons I have set, For every thought and every reaction I can’t hide. I’ve justified my nature to a vacant crowd, To people who, I now accept, simply don’t care.
The painful truth: my hope was spoken out loud, A unilateral effort lost on thin, cold air. I poured my heart to mend what broke between, But found no shared commitment, no reciprocal tide, A solitary swimmer in an apathetic scene.
The loneliness, a constant, heavy friend, A silent weight that settles on my weary chest. It is an awful life, but if this is the end— The price of being whole, of being finally blessed To be myself—then I will pay the cost, Choosing difficult solitude to rescue what was lost.
A burning, sharp anger now begins to rise, A desperate need to shatter this profound pain. But I know with bleak certainty in my own eyes, That fury would be wasted, dissipating like the rain.
This crushing truth has settled, stark and clear: Nothing I say, nothing I do or fail to be, Holds any weight for them, for those who stand so near. My voice is mute, my actions they refuse to see.
They are truly, utterly indifferent to my strife, They do not pause to question what my heart endures. My suffering, my struggle, the very pulse of life, Is an irrelevance that their coldness secures.
I feel the urge to weep the entire day away, To curl beneath the covers, let the sadness claim, But reason whispers of a temporary stay, No lasting remedy to solve this bitter game.
The torrent of resentment pleads to be set free, A physical demand I check with weary hand, Because the simple, crushing truth remains with me: It will not change a thing across this barren land.
A complete despair now chills me to the bone, In this cold context, in this life they have defined, The heartbreaking finality I stand upon alone, The truth that leaves no solace for the mind:
Stuck Inside? Escape into the World of Make-Believe! 
