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 (199)
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My Aspirations With The Vocal
As much as I love to write, be challenged and to have deadlines which generate motivation, (ummm, usually), my goals are very focused regarding The Vocal this year. I want to read each and every entry. Why? Writers who do not read others creations become stale, stagnant and self absorbed. Getting one's story listed as "Top Story" or included in " Writers We Are Loving" has been the sort of a place I find myself wallowing about, wondering too often why my piece didn't make it and it leads to me not writing. Challenges can be fun, however, in the last year those who won first prize or had honourable mentions got my attention right away. Now I am digging in and like a determined detective I am going to unravel each and every gem, study it, read and re-read and pull those who are in the wild depths of The Vocal up and out them for review. I do have books I need to read and books I need to continue to write, but as Barbara King wrote, " Writing a Novel is a Marathon, Not a Sprint. We who are driven to write more than short stories need to sit back and breathe, look for other angles and most of all ask for and get some feedback. That is my primary goal. If I submit a story or poem I'd like to see more members commenting on it's substance, word choice, or hear how it might have been bettered by a simple comma. I want real feedback not just someone writing " good job!". I have read plenty of my own writing and know without a doubt it was not a good job, it was pathetic and lifeless, congealed from some brain cells on their way out of town. Learning from others is critical. We all know that our art form is one that is under valued; very few of us make it to the screenplay of our dreams, much less find ourselves discovered by a writing scout from The New Yorker or are even reshared here, in this very platform we are so devoted to. The character it takes to hit and miss repeatedly and not give up is astounding. In the old days rejection slips were stuffed in shoe boxes and hidden in the back of the wardrobe; now no one bothers to even thank us for our submissions. That says everything about being a writer's writer. May I persevere to be encouraging, supportive, candid and devoted to my fellow Salinger's, Keats, Angelou's and Pratchett's. Your work, your gift and drive are just as integral to the process as my own and it should be no other way. I will admit there is a lot of catching up to do; new genres to delve into, stories from years ago that are growing dusty in The Vocal's silver lined cellar, and to boot more submissions are coming in every day. It is probable I will not meet my own standards as I have been known to slip and slide on resolutions and aspirations previously, yet I frankly have been in an impermeable rut; I admit to staring at pens, pencils, paper, keyboards, the ceiling, the dead birch tree out my kitchen window, napping, scanning the cupboards for something to snack on, trying to read my palms, stoking the fire, watching Britbox, and just about everything one can do but write. Is it just January? I asked myself. Myself highly doubts the month is responsible for my fiddling and fuddling. So now at five hundred and ninety words, (almost), I write to all of you who are following your dreams, creating masterpieces and honestly some real bombs as well, I announce with fervour, without further delay I will be reading YOU, watching for your next publication and as often as the sun rises and sets, ( that might be a slight exaggeration), I will try very much indeed to comment, be real, plunge into the miles and mountains of words you put forth and give you the read you deserve. If you are looking for quickies like "Excellent", "Well done", or "Amazing" might I remind you this is not a blind-fold taste test but my real thoughts and meanderings regarding your portfolio of nouns, adjectives, synonyms and imagination. Hail to all creators out there, make sure to watch your P's and Q's! Cheers to another year around The Vocal!
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Writers
The Dragon in Me
Swelling, smouldering, burnt beginnings, casting amber forms rendering, Warnings, smoking, inner soot, charring breaster, basting, cooked, Creation, never tasting, sucking, stealing, cell by cell, wrathful, raging, Always stewing, pushing, scheming, slashing dreamers, queendom's sun Rising, grasping, determined, done, brave beast birthed, conquering life, Challenged one, cracking strife, bloody thirst beckons, persevering reckons, Feminine fiasco, unleashes mountains of memories buried yet still known, Decades, eons, castrated centuries, cultivated screams, hatching ashes, life Unseen, doubt stripped, re-equipped, repossessed, enough tests, ancient Wisdom never rests, pride buds, tongues hot, breathe in, it's time, she's Done, first inhale cold, sweet air, exhale flames, dare not scare, stand tall, Face oppressor, retreated place, tiny dragon needs fertile space, fiery eyes, Look into thine, bowing, owning, gently, ne'er toiling, hand to hand, chain Disbanded, links, unlinked, chains fall, then sink, back to Mother where Life begins, in the womb of the Dragon's den
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
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
