creative writing

Once Upon a Superhero

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

❄️ 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!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/onceuponasuperhero

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Curtain’s Cost

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/mask-in-theater-explained-77455

The Curtain’s Cost

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:

Nothing matters.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Sponges and the Soul

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
silhouette of man at daytime
Photo by Prasanth Inturi on Pexels.com

Sponges and the Soul

Some people are like sponges.
They soak up whatever is around them,
And then pour it out on others.

When they are with good people,
They absorb your goodness,
And then pour it out on others.

When they are around toxic people,
They become like them,
And then pour it out on others.

Don’t be a sponge.
Know who you are.
Beware of sponges and always be the good person
So the sponges can soak up your goodness.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Weary Crown of Morning

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

aerial photography of city buildings during golden hour
Photo by Eric Goverde on Pexels.com

The jarring, insistent shriek,
An alarm clock’s metallic cry,
Assaults the fragile morning’s peace,
A painful echo in the sky
Of my dark skull. I groan, a sound
Instantly swallowed by the deep,
Heavy silence all around,
I try to meld back into sleep.

A cruel hand pulls, a rhythmic beat,
From sleep’s warm, velvet, soft embrace,
It snatches me, with sudden heat,
And leaves my heart against my face.
My eyes fly open, dark and blank,
Staring up at the ceiling’s shade,
My body, safe within the bank
Of blankets, a fortress I have made.

But now the cold kiss starts to creep,
A sharp, unwelcome morning chill,
That pricks the skin I cannot keep
Beneath the covers, lying still.
With weariness, I fight the day,
The first act: pull the fabric high,
To hide, to make the light away,
And plunge into a private sky.

No. It can’t possibly be now,
Time is a thief that steals the night,
I want to vanish, somehow,
From all the expectations of the light.
Just lie here, a statue, breathing low,
Letting my mind drift, free and wide,
Back to the quiet dreams I know,
A ghost the sheets completely hide.

This is my refuge, warm and deep,
A sanctuary I’ll not leave,
While outside, light and noises sleep.
I am a vessel that will receive
A torrent of chaotic thought,
The doubt, the list, the sudden spark,
In this brief silence, dearly bought,
Before the world steps from the dark.

But then, the quiet starts to fade,
A deep, weary settling down:
Alas, the rising must be made.
Each day, a loop, a weary crown.
I run a race that has no end,
Against the clock, against demands,
A weight that bends, and still must bend.
I shove the covers with both hands.

The only prize, the only true
Reprieve, is time, unscheduled, pure:
To take a day, a week or two,
With only my children, to be sure.
No emails, bosses, or cruel stress,
Just me and my kids, simple, slow,
Wrapped in the light of quietness.
That is the only finish line I know.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Tapestry of Poison

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
person holding red heart shaped ornament
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

The Tapestry of Poison


The tapestry of life has threads of gloom,
Where toxic darkness drains the spirit’s bloom.
Some things in life are toxic, subtly sly,
Environments that stifle, habits that deny
Our health, or institutions built on lies—
The silent poisons that before us rise.

As harmful are the ties that bring us pain,
Some people in life who are toxic, they remain
Emotional vampires, constant critics cold,
Passive aggressors, stories to be told
Of manipulation, thriving on the storm,
Suffocating potential, leaving us worn.

Beyond the things and people we may face,
Some activities are toxic in this space.
The compulsions offering distraction’s grace,
But long-term regret we cannot erase:
The relentless pursuit, the endless scroll,
The cycles that entrap and take their toll.

So why do we still use these things we know?
Is it comfort, fear, or letting inertia grow?
And why do we still talk to these people too?
Is it guilt, obligation, hope that’s often through?
Why on the altar of connection’s name,
Do we sacrifice our peace to feed their flame?

If the outcome’s negative, why do we stay?
Why do we still do these activities every day?
The self-sabotage, the deeply set-in need,
Why do we torment ourselves by doing the same things repeatedly indeed?
A closed, agonizing loop of self-inflicted harm,
Where inertia holds us in its harmful arm.

But the moment of reckoning demands its due,
A crystallizing truth, unflinching, strong, and new:
Enough! I am done! a line across the sand,
The absolute refusal, a sovereign command.
To the source of the poison, the message is clear,
Take your toxicity and your self-righteous attitude and leave me here.

Leave me be, so I can move on and find my peace,
Grant me the space for wounds to heal and cease.
Leave me be and stop pretending you ever cared,
The charade of concern, its hollow core laid bare.
Leave me be and let me live my life as it should be,
Unburdened by your shadow, finally free.

My future is my own, not for your design,
Leave me be and stop pretending that you ever cared is the final sign.
Severing the chains of a love that was a lie,
Walking into freedom beneath a clear, blue sky.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

I am Broken

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
shallow focus photo of woman s reflection on broken mirror
Photo by Ismael Sánchez on Pexels.com

I am broken.

The words, sharp and unwarranted,
slice through the fragile shell I built.
Tiny, invisible blades, their power immense,
carving my heart into scattered, irreparable pieces.

My carefully constructed dreams,
ambitious plans, vital goals—
all crumble before this onslaught,
a lifetime of building reduced to dust.
My essence, fractured, lies on the cold floor.

Why do these ephemeral sounds,
mere vibrations in the air, hurt so?
Why grant them such devastating power,
to tear the fabric of our being,
to leave us utterly immobilized?

With a deep, shuddering breath, I rise.
Muscles protest, heavy with despair.
I kneel, picking mangled, bleeding pieces
from the unforgiving floor,
cradling the remnants, a silent cry.

I try, with feverish intensity, to mend—
reaching for glue, tape, harsh staples.
But none of them hold.
The cracks are too deep, the breaks too fundamental.
A heart shattered by words
cannot be fixed by physical objects

Again, the haunting question returns:
Why do I give words this power?
Why allow such deep, lingering pain?

Yet, the act of kneeling has shifted something.
I stand up, not whole, but resilient.
I place my broken, but still beating, heart
back into my chest,
and with a final act of defiance, I dust myself off.

The reality remains:
Words possess the power to tear us down,
to reduce us to rubble,
weapons that wound the soul.

But words are not solely destruction.
They possess the capacity to restore.
A single, well-placed phrase—
of kindness, encouragement, or understanding—
can be the foundation upon which we rebuild.

Love, in its purest expression,
is the ultimate healing force,
articulated through sincere, positive words,
what ultimately saves us all.

Words can tear you down.
Words can also lift you up.

Choose your words with the highest intention.
Strive always to lift a spirit,
to reinforce worth, to acknowledge a presence.

Never fail to be kind.
Kindness is the shield against the world’s harsh words,
the balm for its inflicted injuries.

Remember this immutable truth:
Words are a powerful, double-edged sword.
They can drag someone into the deepest pit of despair,
or elevate them to heights of strength and hope.

Use this profound tool with meticulous care.
Wield your words to heal, to encourage, and to restore.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Just a Ghost Upon the Hill

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

I have to assume all indie writers feel this way eventually. I’ve poured my life into writing—16 years just on novels—and for what? You write and write, and the silence on the other end is deafening. It makes you wonder if it was all just a dream, or if you’re just shouting into the void. At this point, I don’t even know what to feel.”

Just a Ghost Upon the Hill

The cursor blinks against the white,
A lonely pulse in fading light.
The file is open, saved, and clean,
The final chapter, final scene.
No agent waiting, no advance,
Just me, and this one fading chance.

I hit the “publish” button, bold,
A story waiting to be told.
I watched the dashboard, day by day,
And saw the numbers waste away.
A rank that sticks in seven figures,
The hopeful ache that slowly withers.

I tweaked the keywords, bought the ads,
One of a million hopeful fads.
I begged for reviews, a star or two,
From strangers who just skimmed it through.
I wrote the posts, I forced the smile,
And felt the burnout all the while.

The day job calls, the bills are due,
The time I stole to see this through
Feels wasted now, a foolish debt,
A heavy, deep, and cold regret.
The passion I mistook for skill

Is just a ghost upon the hill.
I close the file, I shut the screen.
The world I built remains unseen.
The ink is dry, the well is spent,
I don’t know where the magic went.
I’ll let the silence have the win,
And not pick up the pen again.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Bossoming of Our Friendship

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
red yellow and orange flower field
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Bossoming of Our Friendship

In the gentle unfolding of shared moments,
A delicate blossom emerges,
A bond nurtured with care.
Through whispered confidences, like a soothing rain,
We nourish each other’s hearts
And find solace from life’s inevitable pains.

With each interaction, we weave a tapestry of understanding,
Each thread a testament to the truths we’ve uncovered together.
Through moments of doubt and darkness,
As well as days bathed in sunlight,
We navigate the intricate labyrinth of human connection,
Learning to decipher its subtle, often hidden language.

In the silent communion of our eyes,
We convey a depth of knowing
That transcends mere words.
A shared glance, a synchronized heartbeat,
The echoing laughter that fills the air –
These are the hallmarks of a true empathetic bond.

As our friendship deepens,
The barriers that once separated us
Gradually dissolve,
Allowing for a greater intimacy and vulnerability.
We come to cherish each other’s imperfections,
Recognizing them as an integral part of who we are.
In this acceptance, we find a reflection of our own hearts.

Within the sanctuary of our connection,
There is no need for pretense or guardedness.
We create a space where our souls can find solace and understanding.
Here, we can be our authentic selves,
Knowing that we are met with compassion and acceptance.

True beauty lies in the depths of understanding,
In the unspoken secrets that our spirits hold.
With a gentle touch and an open heart,
We embrace the blossoming of our friendship,
Finding solace in the profound connection we share.

As time goes on, we weather life’s storms together,
Our bond strengthening with each challenge we overcome.
Through joy and sorrow, celebration and loss,
We remain steadfast,
A constant source of support and encouragement for one another.

In the twilight years, we look back
On a lifetime of shared experiences,
Our hearts filled with gratitude for the gift of our friendship.
And as the sun sets on our journey,
We find peace in the knowledge
That our bond will endure,
Transcending the boundaries of time and space.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

The Shadow Realm Chronicles

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

The Shadow Realm Chronicles

If you liked#twilight #ouat#onceuponatime#oncer you will like this series. #Maeve

#booktock #twilight #onceuponatime #oncer #ouat #werewolf #demons #Maeve #booktock #faye #dream #shadows #witches #urbanfanatasy #vampire

The Shadow Realm Chronicles

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

Sink your teeth into a great series.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm, where darkness reigns and the night is alive with magic.

If you liked Twilight and Once Upon a time then this series is for you.