www.annemoore.net

 

 

 

 

 

About

I’m a Chicago-based writer and reporter. I’ve reviewed books for People, vacation spots for Outside and spent more than two years eating my way in and around the Loop for Crain’s Chicago Business, where I was chief restaurant reviewer. I started my journalism career at the Bergen Record, in Hackensack, N.J., where I wrote about business and contributed to the travel and book review sections. (I loved writing for a daily newspaper.) In Chicago, I contributed front-page stories and inside-the-book news and features to Business Week, Crain’s Chicago Business, Chicago Tribune, Chicago, Time Out Chicago and the Chicago Reader. I have three signed entries in the Encyclopedia of Chicago History.

I grew up in a loving family in idyllic Demarest, N.J. I became an urbanite during high school, where I attended and graduated from Marymount School of New York. I began writing professionally while I was a student at Barnard College, Columbia University.

A collection of poems I wrote during college won the Lenore Marshall Prize for Poetry. When I talked to my advisor about careers, she paused and said, “Well, of course, you’ll be a poet. That seemed too solitary. I wanted to find and tell stories, to explore! So, I took a job at a newspaper. I’ve been writing daily ever since.

A note about this site. I’ve posted about 10 clips, from mini reviews to multipage profiles. Also “The Bicycle Poem,” which won the prize that started my career.

In the blog

I’ve written earlier about reading on a device: sure it’s great for travel (endless titles, one gadget!) but holding a book in hand, in a public place, creates the opportunity for conversation. Earlier this week I was on a city bus midday, going to a doctor’s appointment. I was finishing Harper Lee’s Go Set a

(...)

Last spring, I was to join my friend JM in Rome. I was unable to go, because my mother died, and I traveled to Scottsdale to be with her during her last hours. Months later I realized I had a voucher from American Airlines, which I need to use or lose. At the same time,

(...)

Living in a city beside an inland sea, my morning walk sometimes yields trash, or an odd hello: a washed up, desiccated raccoon, its teeth bared. Dried vomit. Charging geese. Our harmless resident crazy, who mistakes me for Hillary Clinton, and asks after Bill. Why keep walking? Because there’s treasure to be found: a mother

(...)