Hannah Moore
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Achievements (39)
Stories (282)
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Didn't see it Coming
Prompt 4 of 366! This is a very special story for me as it is my first to be rejected on vocal. My first detention! I am assuming that this due to a shortcoming on my part in the amount of waffling I did to reach a lower threshold of acceptable verbiage, and thus I am editing accordingly. However, I think I will take these otherwise hollow words and use them to lay out my position on the notion of submitting a microfiction per day for 2024. For the record, I do not intend to complete this undertaking. This is for several reasons, the first of which is that I am back in work next week. But beneath that is the fact that I don't think anyone, even me, needs 366 mini Hannah stories popping up in their feeds over the next year. I also think this would rob me of the opportunity to do other things, and has the potential for me to psychologically turn a pleasure into a chore to be completed, something I am very good at.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction
Communal Effort
The thing about living in a commune is that it seems to attract a lot of misanthropes. Janine had moved in after her husband had an affair with the neighbours. On both sides. Lonnie had read about what the FBI were up to on the web and didn’t like the way his neighbours looked at him at all. Andreas had left Greece because he couldn’t stand the people; his neighbours were prying busybodies who always asked him when he was getting a job or a girlfriend. Tina had taught in a comprehensive school for 45 years and could neither stand being around folk or away from them, and Tom and Marcus felt folk spurned them due to their free love lifestyle, and craved a more open-minded loving kinship with folk who weren’t ignorant wankers like most people.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Criminal
Questions with Rick Henry Christopher. Top Story - January 2024.
Thank you Rick Henry Christopher for this idea: 1. What type of writer do you feel you are? I’m a harlot. I’m anybody’s. That’s why I’m here. I’m an avid barn dancer; I love to dance but only when someone in a cowboy hat is calling the moves. In the freedom of the disco I will cling to the wall in the knowledge my moves are hopeless. Just give me the first foothold on the mountain, I will climb it, or have a go. With varying success. I have just attempted my first ever crime story, for example, which I would not have done without a little shove.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Interview
New beginnings.
All stories start small, and all start halfway through another, never really new beginnings so much as new developments. Even endings meld and merge into ongoings. Mine is no different. I was born afraid, as my ancestors learnt to be, and brave, as they needed to be, and one day I will die and leave a million ripples behind me. Some will reach a near shore, others will spread outwards, the peaks flattening until barely perceptible. None are likely to make waves, but I keep throwing out pebbles, searching for that little pushback, that lets me know that somewhere out there, my ripple came up against another thrower of pebbles. That no man is an island.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction
