Hannah Moore
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Achievements (31)
Stories (267)
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All Our Yesterdays. Runner-up in L*pogram Challenge. Top Story - August 2024.
Count them out, the absent, the departed. Hear the smooth sound waves where once laughter laced the undulate larynxes of lovers, where gentle tones of care were heard before. Count them out. The numbers mount to those we do not comprehend, cannot comprehend, hope not to comprehend. We hope we understand a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand, as poorly as we understand the past. Count them out. The men and women who do not return, lost to a hunger for power, a struggle for a concept, a need for resource. Count them out, for they no longer take up the scythe, the spanner or the pen. They no longer take a seat at your table, hold your sadness or your joy between the muscles of fleshed arms, no longer touch you, palm to palm, or guard your heart as you rest. No longer breathe beneath the heavens. Count them out.
By Hannah Mooreabout a year ago in Fiction
The Opus. Top Story - July 2024.
My fervent dream, for as long as breath has expanded my lungs, has been to be the creator of works of rapturous resonance. My early work, rendered by means of the effluence of felt crowned tubes of coloured dye, offered no assurance that the avenue best matched to my talent would be the ocular arts. Rather than the tears of pathos my youthful heart yearned to see, those who gave themselves over to subsume personal responses to the world and apply themselves wholly to understand my own commentary through the lens offered by my art, would often express tears of humour that could not be countenanced by my thus wounded ego for long. By the age of eleven my pens, brushes and paper, as well as my many drawn works, were put away and my parents, made only too aware of my angst at the loss of my route to my expected elevated status of “great maker of art”, placed me before the church organ. Here, an elderly man named Mr Manners sat such that the shoulders of our polyester jumpers rubbed together as we reached for the keys, week upon week, as my lack of natural rhythm became an untenable blockage to the perusal of aural excellence.
By Hannah Mooreabout a year ago in Fiction
Hannah's Challenge Results. Top Story - July 2024.
It has been a quiet busy week here in at Chez Hannah. No, not quite a busy week. A quiet busy week. One where none of us had too much on individually, but together, it added up to a lot. On Monday, July commenced, marking the end of Hannah's challenge, quite before I was ready to take action to judge it, because on Tuesday, after working day was over, my daughter returned to school to give guided tours into the evening on their open day, and on Wednesday, we all got up at half past four to pack my son onto the school minibus to travel 160 miles up the country and 160 miles back down to represent his school in a Warhammer tournament. On Thursday, the UK went to the voting booths in near record breaking numbers, with only one lower turnout since 1885, and on Friday my parents, who live an hour away, phoned to say they thought they would come to visit for the weekend. "That's lovely," I said, "what time will I expect you?" It was 10.16 in the morning of my day off, and in the spirit of mutual accountability, my partner and I had not long sat down side by side, he to do an urgent piece of administrative work for his paid employment, and I to read a couple of dozen pieces of uplifting writing.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Writers
Balloons and a parade and shit
They say things happen when you're not looking for them. Falling in love, making a new friend, finding a new opportunity, conceiving a baby. It's not been my experience, in general. Indeed generally I have found that when I am looking for nothing, that is what I get, but this week, while I was busy not looking for it, I crossed that golden threshold of 5000 Vocal reads. Why this is the golden threshold I do not know, only I remember quite some time ago a rash of people I had subscribed to all posting this landmark at a similar time, and thinking how utterly unlikely 5000 reads seemed for me.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Poets
A letter to our queer youth
My Dear Queer Youth, It has been a long time since I could be described as young by anyone born after the Civil Rights Act was passed. My own parents were their early teens when that law was passed in the United States, making discrimination on the basis of race, religion, sex or skin colour illegal. I would be the same age as they were then before apartheid was ended in South Africa, and my own son was four years old when the first same sex marriage contracts were signed in the UK. We have come a long way, in three generations, and pockets of backwards slippage notwithstanding, I believe we continue to move past tolerance of difference and towards celebration of humanity.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Pride
