draft2digital

Finding My Voice Amidst Rejection in the Writing World

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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I am at a crossroads, and for the first time in a decade, I am unsure of the way forward. I have dedicated myself to the craft of storytelling with a persistence that should have borne fruit by now, yet despite my efforts, the “breakthrough” remains elusive.

My journey began in the days of CreateSpace, eventually transitioning into Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP). However, that transition led to a devastating setback. In an attempt to protect my professional reputation as an educator from a third-party publisher’s threats, I updated my metadata and pen name. Amazon flagged these changes as a violation of their guidelines and terminated my account on July 6, 2025. Despite a year of formal appeals and my commitment to publish exclusively as Nancy Ann Creed, the decision remains firm. After a decade of building a presence there, I am forced to accept that it may be time to let that platform go.

The pursuit of traditional representation has been equally exhausting. I have queried numerous agents for my fantasy series, The Shadow Realm Chronicles, my memoir, Birth After Miscarriage, and my poetry collection, Echoes and Whispers. The result has been hundreds of rejections and a haunting silence. The industry is notoriously risk-averse toward previously published material—especially work tied to a terminated account—leaving me caught in a professional limbo.

I recently moved my catalog to Draft2Digital, and while the platform is functional, it hasn’t yet bridged the gap between my dreams and my reality. For ten years, I’ve told anyone who asks that I’m “just waiting for my books to take off.” I find myself wondering if that moment will ever arrive.

The frustration is compounded by a marketing conundrum that feels like a foreign language. While I am confident in my writing and production skills, the world of SEO, platform-building, and social media engagement is a constant hurdle. I had hoped a traditional agent would shift this burden to a marketing department; instead, I am left to navigate it alone. Even high-effort attempts, like engaging on TikTok, have resulted in views but zero sales.

Despite the exhaustion of teaching 7th-grade math and raising a large family, I continue to explore new avenues. I’ve launched Patreon and Buy Me a Coffee to share “unpolished” drafts and short stories, hoping to find a community that appreciates the raw creative process. My primary motivation has never been purely financial—it is the desire for readers to lose themselves in the worlds I’ve built. Yet, I cannot ignore the financial reality: revenue would allow me to hire the professional editors and designers my work deserves.

Currently, I am struggling to find my creative spark. My goal of 3,000 words per week—tracked via Pacemaker—has become a source of guilt rather than motivation. Every time I fall behind the schedule, it deepens my exhaustion. I have poured my soul into six volumes of The Shadow Realm Chronicles, subjecting them to years of revision until every word gleamed. To meet that effort with soul-crushing silence is a heavy burden to carry. Some days, the temptation to retire my keyboard feels almost irresistible.

I am a teacher by day, but in my soul, I am an author. I am simply waiting for the world to hear my voice.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

https://nancyanncreed.com/2026/04/18/etched-upon-my-heart/
https://nancyanncreed.com/2026/04/18/why-i-deleted-my-goodreads-challenge/

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Unspoken Question of Worth

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
woman in white shirt wearing eyeglasses
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

The Unspoken Question of Worth

Am I a difficult person to be friends with?
The question echoes in the lonely silence,
A heavy query, weighted by repeated pain.
I dissect each word, each passing glance,
Seeking the flaw so visible to others’ eyes,
Yet stubbornly opaque, a shadow on my own stain.

Am I too awkward, my presence a strain?
Does nervousness stilt the practiced conversation?
I rehearse the words, the balance I must find,
To hold the moment, a calculated equation.
But the words tumble out, a chaotic, hurried rush,
Leaving the perfect moment behind.

Am I too anxious, a constant, worrying hum?
A fear of saying too much, of taking up space,
Of simply being a burden, too large, too loud.
This anxiety, palpable, a barrier I can’t erase,
A repellent field that pushes people away,
Before a true connection is allowed.

Do I forget to hold my tongue’s sharp edge?
I value honesty, perhaps too stark and free.
I speak without the varnish of social grace,
And the truth, though gently offered, can still be
Mistaken for bluntness, a candor that drives them out.
What is it? A flaw I cannot place.

I don’t have many friends; the truth is stark.
My circle’s small, fragile, and often transient.
I don’t know what’s wrong, the fundamental divide.
While others form bonds, lasting and resilient,
Mine disintegrate like paper submerged in water,
With nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide.

I am a friend until a better one appears.
I serve a purpose, a stand-in for the interim,
A convenient stop until a brighter option’s found.
I am never good enough, always on the rim;
The comparison is the moment of my replacement.
I am the waiting room, not the desired ground.

I hold on too long, clinging to the frayed thread,
Stretching the inevitable goodbye, a profound fear.
My loyalty, my constancy, becomes a weight,
A burden they let go, holding nothing dear.
Sometimes I must be the one to let go first,
A painful, self-preserving, final tear.

It is lonely at times, profoundly I miss
The shared laughter, the feeling of belonging, deep inside.
But is it real, or the memory idealized?
A performance they gave, while they stood by my side,
Waiting for the true cast, the better friends to arrive.
In the lie of the past, there’s no place left to confide.

I will be there for those who need me to be.
My nature unchanged, I offer care freely,
A reliable constant, though never the primary light.
If you want me to go, tell me honestly.
Spare me the slow fade, the ghosting, the agonizing fight.
But if you call again, I’ll return without demanding right.

Cherish the friends who remain by your side.
Focus on the true constants, the precious, small few.
If some want to leave, let them walk away;
Their departure speaks of their needs, not a judgment on you.
Accept the impermanence, hold the good memories fast,
And keep the door open for the few who are true.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Tie Is Severed

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
seil
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The Tie Is Severed

I lost a friend today,
A simple, heavy line
That should descend like sorrow’s shroud,
A grief for what was mine.
I waited for the cutting edge,
The sting of sudden pain,
But found instead a strange relief,
No shadow of a chain.

I should be sad, should mourn the end,
The history we knew,
Yet in my chest a lightness wakes,
Defiant, strong, and new.
The truth is stark, the choice is clear,
I look upon the past:
I am not sorry that it broke,
I am simply glad at last.

The severing was not a hush,
But clash of will and word,
A necessary, cleansing fire
Where my own truth was heard.
I stood firm in the tempest’s heart,
Refused to be denied,
And drew a boundary, sharp and deep,
With nothing left to hide.

The lesson’s hard, but vital known:
Respect must be the core.
A friend should cheer the victory,
And lift you from the floor.
Your champions, they must remain,
To hold your spirit high,
But when support becomes resentment,
The basic contract dies.

When ally turns to critic’s shade,
A drain upon your soul,
They’ve breached the terms of fundamental trust,
And lost their rightful role.
The choice is not of cruelty,
But self-preserving might,
To cast the anchor from the boat,
And step back toward the light.

Assess the ones within your ship,
As you begin to rise;
Not all are rowing for your cause,
Some paddle with disguise.
Your soaring ambition reveals their truth,
Their loyalty gives way,
As jealousy’s shadow clips your wings,
And clouds your brighter day.

So now I mourn the anchor lost,
The friend who pulled me down.
The feeling is no sad despair,
But freedom’s joyful crown.
A paradoxical, weary joy,
A wish that bonds would hold,
Yet still the weight is wholly gone,
A future to unfold.

The boat is lighter now it sails,
The struggle set aside.
I’m rowing, finally, alone,
With nothing left to hide.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd