If you love dark fantasy with a haunting touch of the paranormal, then listen closely—the gates to the enigmatic Shadow Realm are officially wide open, and an adventure awaits you! 🌑✨
I am absolutely thrilled and ecstatic to announce that my complete series, The Shadow Realm Chronicles, is a featured part of the massive Smashwords Read an Ebook Week sale! This is your golden opportunity to immerse yourself in a world brimming with ancient secrets, powerful magic, and compelling, flawed characters.
Whether you’re:
Meeting Maeve for the very first time and beginning her perilous journey from the start, or
Catching up on the latest twists and turns before the highly anticipated final book, Carillon, officially drops tomorrow, March 1st—
…now is unequivocally the perfect and most affordable time to dive headfirst into the gripping narrative. Prepare to lose yourself in a story where shadows hold more than just darkness and every choice has a supernatural consequence. Don’t miss this chance to grab the entire series at an incredible discount! 📖Sale ends soon! Find your next dark fantasy obsession today!
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.
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 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.
📝 The Quiet Count The words escape them, fleeting, quick and slight, A casual “friend,” a breath upon the air. A convenient emblem, shining in the light, But utterly vacant when true burdens bear.
The sun-drenched moments made the title easy, A fashionable accessory for all to don, But in the silence, when the world grew hazy, The fragile tie that held them proved undone.
When the harsh fever gripped me, cold and deep, And a thick curtain of despair descended low, While the wide world was safely fast asleep, The names they boasted felt like phantom snow.
The multitude of vows they’d freely made Were exposed for what they truly were: mere trade. A cruel calculation, bought and then resold, For only the barest fraction cared to call.
A digital whisper, a short text, faint and few, A brief, uncertain spark against the gathering night. The many voices that asserted that they knew Simply vanished, eclipsed by shadows’ might.
My makeshift sickroom was a lonely tomb, And they, the vibrant ghosts who wouldn’t share the gloom. I picture them now, the laughter bright and strong, Their glossy images emblazoned everywhere,
And the harsh, clear truth of where I don’t belong Strikes with the certainty of chilled, vacant air. They spin their narratives, both dazzling and loud, And in their hurried chronicles, a mention flits,
A distant, chilling resonance within the crowd, As my memory into the past slowly transmits. The fast, unforgiving current of their days Sweeps them onward, leaving me a fading haze.
I was a footnote, a forgotten, minor scene, Now pushed aside by brighter, more compelling sheen. The intimacy they claimed was but a lie, A simple piece of scenery they let drift by.
So let the vast machinery of life turn on, Let them find pleasure in their bustling, self-made world. My period of painful self-deception is now gone; The flag of my true solitude has been unfurled.
I’ve met the piercing truth, and there’s no turning back: I am the one who isn’t here, a silent, missing track. I have been edited out, a frame cut from the reel, A ghost inhabiting the spaces where they feel.
And in this quiet haven, this deserted room, Where the walls listen and the shadows softly creep, I sit and learn the texture of my newfound bloom, The quiet dignity the deeply wounded keep.
For in the harsh, raw landscape of this fading light, Where vanity and false pretense cannot remain, I’ve sculpted out a solitary space, pure and white, A quiet harbor safe from any transient pain.
I stand alone, a fact I must completely face, The few dear souls who checked, I hold them close and tight. But for the bulk, the swiftly passing, loud-mouthed race, The thunder of their grand claim is hard to hear in the night.
Their grand pronouncements of unwavering devotion Are stripped of substance, a hollow, mocking notion. The silence speaks louder than their fleeting sound, And in that silence, genuine peace is found.
She was a mother. A wife. A fairy. Then a vampire’s bite turned her into a monster. Her husband betrayed her. Her town tried to burn her alive. Now, she has returned. She’s sealed the town under a dome of darkness, and this time, she won’t be the one who burns.
The Three Lenses: The Influence of Literacy Coaches and Observations
When Literacy Coaches observe teachers, most of the time they use set rubrics to determine what the teacher needs to work on and what they are doing well. “Our analysis of the coaches’ discussion about their ratings on the rubrics led us to identify three lenses- or ways of looking- that influences their observations: the pedagogy lens, the responsiveness lens, and the relevancy lens,” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007). What do these lenses mean and how do they affect our teaching and our ability to coach?
Each time the Literacy Coach watches a lesson and observes how a teacher teaches; they think about how they would have taught that lesson. “Adrian conceptualized a mechanism called a pedagogical lens to help understand how the same teaching might be viewed and interpreted differently by different people (A. Rogers, 2002),” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007). In other words, an English teacher may observe a teacher teaching a lesson on Shakespeare. The observer might have already taught a lesson like this and comes to the observation with their own ideas on how this subject should be taught.
The observer is analyzing the lesson by seeing how they would have taught it.
Another lens observers use is called the Responsiveness Lens. “When the coaches in our study discussed rationales for their ratings, they often referred to what we call the responsiveness of teaching as a factor in their analysis,” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007). This means how well the teacher is responding to students. If the subject is too difficult, can the teacher adjust her lesson while teaching to help those students?
One coach summed up the responsiveness lens nicely, ‘What you’re really looking for is, is she meeting the needs of those kids?” Sometimes the teacher must adjust the lesson to help students. What are the students getting from this lesson? Is the teacher matching what she is reaching to how her students are responding?
When I started teaching Social Studies, I didn’t realize that some of the terms in the book that were known to most students, were not known to my particular group of students. I had to stop the lesson and go over some vocabulary that I thought was common knowledge.
Finally, the last lens is called the relevancy lens. Are the students learning from what is being taught? “Their reflections on their retains also dealt with whether they thought students could profit form the teaching; this could only happen if what the teacher was teaching matched what students could use to learn,” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007). The observer questions when teachers are teaching something that is “not meaningful or useful for students, and notes missed opportunities for learning,” Rodgers & Rodgers, (2007).
Literacy specialist must collaborate with others in their schools. “To be successful, literacy specialist must be able to work collaboratively and cooperatively with teachers, administrators, families and community agencies,” Bean and Goatley (2021). For example, just as I assumed when I started teaching Social Studies that my students should have already known certain vocabulary, Literacy Specialists come equipped with experiences from previous jobs and life experiences. They must also understand the different lens that they observe with and understand how to use those lenses to help teachers and others to becomes the best they can be.
References
Bean, R. M., Goatley, V.J. (2021). The Literacy Specialist. Leadership and coaching for the classroom, school, and community. 4th ed (374 pgs) Guildford Press.
Rodgers, A., & Rodgers, E. M. (2007). The Effective Literacy Coach: Using Inquiry to Support Teaching and Learning. Teachers College, Columbia University.
Fall in love with the Shadow Realm Chronicles Her love was her light. Her transformation, her curse. Her revenge, a looming shadow. Before the Great War shattered the realms, Maeve was a fairy, wife to Hunter, and mother to baby Alexander. But a brutal attack by the vampire Marius rips her from her life, turning her into a creature of the night. Desperate and alone, she falls into the clutches of Jonathan, the enigmatic Shadow King, becoming his queen in a realm of perpetual darkness. Years pass, and the quiet town of Rivers Peak is unknowingly in the crosshairs of Maeve’s monstrous ambition-and the Shadow King’s grand design. Her human family, including a fiercely loyal Hunter and a son, Alexander, now grappling with his own magical heritage, are drawn into a conflict far beyond their understanding. As Maeve’s grandson, Justin (Shawn), uncovers the truth of his lineage, he becomes a pawn in a larger game. Torn between the monster she’s become and the vestiges of her former self, Maeve must choose: succumb to the bloodlust and orchestrate the destruction of those who wronged her, or fight for the fractured family she left behind. But in the Shadow Realm, even love can be a weapon, and the cost of freedom might be her very soul.
Her love was her light. Her transformation, her curse. Her revenge, a looming shadow. Before the Great War shattered the realms, Maeve was a fairy, wife to Hunter, and mother to baby Alexander. But a brutal attack by the vampire Marius rips her from her life, turning her into a creature of the night. Desperate and alone, she falls into the clutches of Jonathan, the enigmatic Shadow King, becoming his queen in a realm of perpetual darkness. Years pass, and the quiet town of Rivers Peak is unknowingly in the crosshairs of Maeve’s monstrous ambition-and the Shadow King’s grand design. Her human family, including a fiercely loyal Hunter and a son, Alexander, now grappling with his own magical heritage, are drawn into a conflict far beyond their understanding. As Maeve’s grandson, Justin (Shawn), uncovers the truth of his lineage, he becomes a pawn in a larger game. Torn between the monster she’s become and the vestiges of her former self, Maeve must choose: succumb to the bloodlust and orchestrate the destruction of those who wronged her, or fight for the fractured family she left behind. But in the Shadow Realm, even love can be a weapon, and the cost of freedom might be her very soul.
