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

My sister Mary Beth settled into the porch hammock each day, steadily making her way through Michael Ondaatje’s “The Cat’s Table,” a book I’d loved and given her earlier in the year. Ah, Pythonga: There’s nowhere better to give yourself over to a book. It’s quiet, the lake shimmers, there’s few chores. Breakfast and dinner

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I admit to putting down Lauren Groff’s Matrix months ago; I liked the writing but didn’t cotton to the 12th century story of an ungainly French girl sent from the royal court of Eleanor to prop up a failing nunnery in England. It seemed dreary. Later, my friend Deborah mentioned the book as a study

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In Chicago, we savor every warm sunny day in September. Last gasps of summer happen all over the globe, of course, but in Chicago each day of warmth and sun is one we soak up and store within ourselves. We’re like Lionni’s Frederick, who uses those rays to soothe his fellow mice during the bleak,

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