Hannah Moore
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I wanted to title this something different, but worried that my chosen title might cause problems entering the United States in the future so this is the new title. It's the greatest title. No one has ever written a title better than this. (All titles unrelated to content).. Top Story - March 2026.
Let me be honest. I am finding this difficult. Now, I like a challenge, a stretch, a bit of an obstacle course. “Write about the decline of the British Empire in the form of a narrative poem in which your protagonist is an artichoke” I read, and flex my fingers. “Write a haiku to evoke the sensation of sibilance using only the first half of the alphabet.” “Well”, I think to myself, “this should be fun.” But “write about a system that isn’t working”? A system that isn’t working? Now? In 2026? ONE system? My favourite system that isn’t working? The sexiest system that isn’t working? The one giving me the most angst day to day? The one giving me the most existential dread? I am, as I say, finding this difficult. I will own that I have contemplated writing a thousand words on why the steady “all on” setting on my fairy lights is the EIGHTH of seven options which must be sequentially activated to get there, because that is a system that some fool came up with and it definitely doesn’t work, and now who is paying the price, eh? But how can I write about my fairy lights when…. When…. When….
By Hannah Moore4 days ago in Humans
New Day no. 5642. Honorable Mention in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
She feels him rolling out of bed. Hears his footsteps on the stairs, quietly down, then, some time later, sometimes waking her a second time, steadily back up. She hears him approach the door, prepares herself to shrug off the shawl of darkness and softness and open ended wonderings, breathes out the musty night-time closeting of her self, and turns her face to the ingress.
By Hannah Moore17 days ago in Fiction
No-one learns to sail without first lifting the anchor. Runner-Up in Instructions for a Feeling Challenge. Top Story - February 2026.
I know, you want to turn away, For me to teach you how To make walls so thick that pain accumulates Like leaves, decomposing in the external shadow.
By Hannah Moore19 days ago in Poets
The Spell
Something stank, and Dominic couldn’t be entirely certain it wasn’t himself. He was aware of a certain moistness beneath his jacket, but then the amber infusion quietly steaming from the teacup in front of him raised questions too, and just beyond that, the woman gently caressing her own chin wrinkles with a blunt, grimy looking finger seemed as plausible a candidate as any. In fact, looking around the dimly lit room, plants and jars and objects that may or may not have been of animal origin cluttering almost every surface available, the smell seemed inevitable, though no more appealing for it.
By Hannah Moore24 days ago in Fiction
Some Assembly Required
It would have made more sense to start at the beginning, he knew, but the beginning had seemed too thick with other people, and he feared merging into the crowd. They hadn’t known each other long enough, she might pick up a candle, or table runner, and present them to the wrong blue-jeans white-t-shirt frame, and never even notice. They might go home together, with the candle, and the table runner, and lay out knives and forks and steak and potatoes, and in the dimness of the candle light she might wonder that she hadn’t noticed how handsome he was before, and years later they might argue about where they first met, and she might say “it was at that party, in the hotel” and he might say “no, it was at Ikea, I remember” and she would never be convinced she was wrong. No, he thought, safer to head for the middle, where the crowds had spread out and the lighting was brighter and he might be more easily seen. Besides, he could impress her, maybe, with the breezy way he could navigate the shortcuts.
By Hannah Moore24 days ago in Fiction
Trouble at the Tea Leafing Café. Honorable Mention in Mismatch Challenge. Top Story - January 2026.
The rain had started right around the time that Annie was buttering her second thick slice of homemade toast for breakfast, and hadn’t paused since. Not that anyone could tell. The windows of the café were fogged over, and with every seat filled with happy customers munching on fresh baked pastries or steaming bowls of the delicious soup of the day, it was hardly surprising. Annie looked around the room, finally taking a moment to breathe after the lunch time rush. Her old life already felt like a bad memory, a part of her history, always, but just that. History.
By Hannah Mooreabout a month ago in Fiction
Mrs Lydia Osgood’s “Practical Advice for my Daughter”, Chapter 2, How to grow a Spring Garden.
There are times in one’s life when one feels frightfully unhappy and all seems rather dreary. Forewarned is forearmed however, and one must lay the ground for recovering one’s joie de vivre as soon as such a circumstance might be anticipated. Bleak midwinter is such an occasion, and after dark months, nothing is more pleasing to a soul than watching the nodding heads of narcissi on a bright spring day. A spring garden heralds the renewal of light and the coming of summer’s abundance, whatever has been lost to the winter.
By Hannah Moore2 months ago in Fiction
