Good to be alive!   Leave a comment

Blue sky outside. Cat sitting on the windowsill miaowing at me for no good reason. Peace and quiet indoors. Words flowing – in all the right order. Wonderful husband, family and friends.  Nice one,  God!


Alzheimer’s   Leave a comment

There’s a peculiar tint in the sky tonight, a darkish lavender, thin spread like damson jam between two thick-cut gloom-laden evening clouds. I used to know the name for them once – all the different clouds. I won a prize at school.  A book. Now all I remember is that they are called clouds, the clouds of evening. I turn away from the window, from the clouds and the lavender tint that brings to mind vague recollections of a dress I once had. It matched my eyes, someone said. I don’t recall his name, no more than I recall the name of the book or the name of the clouds.

“Excuse me,” I say politely to the man sitting reading a newspaper at the table. “May I have a pen and paper?” His head is bent low, glasses perched on the end of his nose. Light bounces off the metal frames. Daddy? The word hovers on my lips as I try to place him in my life, his white hair and tired, lined face.  He feels my confusion, rises, catches me gently by the arm and leads me to a seat beside his own, pats my hand. His own hand is warm, capable, clean nails cut square across the top. I have the urge to kiss them.

“What do you want a pen for?” His voice echoes up from the past, tugs at a loose seam and memories spill out. Summer, a picnic, laughter, ham sandwiches with curling edges. A lavender dress. He is my husband.

“To write,” I tell him. “I need to write it all down. Now, whilst I still remember.”

He straightens up and the light glints off his glasses once more and the wet sheen that has gathered beneath. I rise and go to stand once more by the window. The lavender is all gone now. Night has come.

(c) Tara Moore 2009

I love your hands   Leave a comment

I Love Your Hands

I love your hands
Your fingers as they stroke your love
Across my face
And linger on my lips
For a kiss
I love your hands
The way they trace
A path along my body
Gentle, thrilling, setting me on fire
With desire
With grace
I love your hands
The strength, the tenderness
The way you turn a page
Or make a point
Or simply hold a cup
I love your hands
At rest, so calm
And, oh, my love
You’ve caught me in your palm

© Tara Moore 2009

Are Writers Born or Made?   Leave a comment

People often ask me that, but it’s not a question I can answer – maybe a little of both.  Can adversity breed creativity? Perhaps, or is it just that it gives you more to write about? Are writers happy little bunnies or miserable introspective navel gazers? Now that I can answer! We’re joyful little bunnies when the words are flowing and miserable introspective navel gazers when we hit a dry spell or our latest masterpiece is rejected,  scorned and pooh pooh’d (not a technical term, but you’ll know what I mean). My own life has been fairly eventful, a bit of a roller coaster ride really and I suppose my writing was often a form of escapism.  I do know that I don’t write as well when all is going smoothly, so maybe I am one of those people who needs the angst to drive me on.  I wonder if subconsciously I’ve sometimes sabotaged my own happiness for that very reason.  I certainly made bad choices sometimes, even when I knew they were bad choices.  But enough musing.  I’m feeling suffiiciently miserable again and, hallelujah, the muse is back! Theory proved.

Bloggy Hell Fellow Writers – I’ve given up and jumped on board!   Leave a comment


Okay, so this is my first attempt at a blog – reckon I must be mad making more work for myself, but everyone keeps telling me I should have one. I should have a million quid too, but that’s another story.

Anyway, I’m struggling with writer’s block at the moment and looking for displacement activities and this strikes me as as good a displacement activity as any – well, maybe not quite as good as some I can think of, but they’re not on offer.

Okay, time’s up – back to the manuscript for some more blank staring – I’m working (correction – trying to work) on VIP, which is the second book of a two-book contract for Orion. RSVP, the first, is out at present – I had writer’s block when I was doing that too, but got there in the end. Hopefully, I’ll get there in the end with this one too. Or someone will come up with that million quid and I won’t need to. Stop sniggering at the back!