ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)
Bio
~ American feminist living in Sweden ~ SHE/HER
Admin. Vocal Social Society
Find me: @andreapolla63.bsky.social
Achievements (1)
Stories (197)
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Go On, I Dare You. Top Story - December 2023.
Eggnog. Nope, allergic to dairy. Hot buttered rum? What did I say? Ecologically cool gift exchange? Nope. Santa is thinking COAL. Being naughty is a true contradiction of Santa's nature; huh? You don't believe? Look in your stocking that was passed down to you from great Who & Who and if you find coal, you AND Santa are guilty.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
Plugging Sheepishly
Hi all, I am now taking the leap to share my first YA novel; " Tea With Nanny". Promoting others is always easier than promoting myself. It's available on under my previous surname, Andrea Simmons. My grandmother urged me to complete this story which I began years ago in a creative writing course. Years later, after she passed on, I gave it a go. It's a piece from my heart; I learned a whole lot about writing and hiding under my bed waiting for feedback. Like fine wine, our writing improves with age, ( unless it's from a box), of course.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Writers
Don't Cry. Content Warning.
She sank deeper within herself, plugging into the Lo-Fi that soothed her heartbreak via her new earbuds. -If I don't hear it it isn't real-. Constance, a name she hated from her girlhood was now someone she no longer knew. She could be anyone, "Maria", "Patricia", "Helen"; but she knew she would not be "Hope".
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
Theo's Sweet-tooth
Chapter One Miss Ulla, despite needing help, refused it. She had lived in her small Swedish village for ninety-two years and wasn't about to leave the house she was born in for an elderly care facility; in fact she would only allow people to leave notes or food on her back porch. The postwoman made one exception for Ulla, that being leaving her mail just inside the mud room door under a weighty stone. The trash collector often skipped her as she rarely threw anything away. In fact, other than a local hunter, Theo, she had not been seen by anyone is the last five or so years.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Chapters
Mr. Sandman
- Damn, it's been a long night. Mr. Sandman laid back within his own shadow and sighed. Every dreamer needs a reminder that he has visited; he did feel his delicate touch was underestimated by some of the deeper dreamers. Each night he placed a bit of small, yellowish grain in the inner corners of well closed eyes. He always stood back and had a good look before moving on to the next sleeper. Over the years he had split up the planet with some, let's just say, sand workers, to be sure everyone was covered. The art of placing sand near a human's eye was not easily learned yet although immortal he actually grew tired of doing the work solo. There was one thing weighing quite heavily upon this legend. Mr. Sandman never had the time for romance, dancing, or any thrill seeking and he began to find his work dull. The world had depended on him for far too long and not with one thank you, just moaning complaints he overheard. Mothers told children to wash the sand out of their eyes before school and in old folks homes nursing aides carefully wiped their patients eyes with moist clothes to freshen them up. What was the point? Mr. Sandman was long, lean and his skin was burnt sienna, like the infamous Crayola crayon. He had seen all the world's deserts from the Sahara to the Patagonian, he had even attended "Burning Man" twice. Funny thing is, no one truly believed him when they asked who he was and what he did and all. Immortality sounds quite intriguing to the fragile, human mind but Mr. Sandman swears it's a curse. No one put sand in his eyes, checked on him to see if he was feeling alright and other than with his understudies, he didn't have anyone to communicate with. One dusky evening, just around Christmas he had what one might call an epiphany. A muse fell into his hands and he felt driven, almost manically so, to become more decorative when leaving his trademark; perhaps then he would at least hear some praise or be the recipient of a much longed for cognisant recognition that would lend some status to his trade. Thus the tale of Mr. Sandman's artistic endeavours begins.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
Long Island Thanksgiving. Top Story - November 2023.
He was cute, cocky, and approached me with an irresistible smile. He'd moved to Vermont to get out of New York, specifically Long Island, and I never knew what he actually was studying. I knew he worked in the city auditorium; was it with lights and sound?
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Journal
