About Me

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Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Wild Card, 2006. Winner of "best oral sex scene" - Scarlet Magazine. Amanda's Young Men, 2009. Excerpted in Scarlet Magazine; Juicy Bits. Sarah's Education, 2009. Hit the #1 spots on Amazon.co.uk adult fiction & adult romance best seller lists. Jade Magazine bestowed the best cover art, 2009 award on Sarah's Education. "Get Up, Stand Up!" which appeared in The Cougar Book (Logical-Lust) won me the title 'Story Teller of the Year 2011' at The Erotic Awards, London, UK. Sarah's Education took the #3 spot on a list of the 30 most titillating titles of all time, as reported in English Daily Mail ;Female; Nov. 12, 2012. Debutante, a petite novel for e-publisher Imprint Mischief, (Harper-Collins) pubbed in 2012. I tutor writing students and am a member of the WGC. D.M. Thomas said: Madeline Moore writes great sex without metaphor and that's not easy to do. Kris Saknussemm said: You're a good egg, Madeline Moore. I am a good egg who writes great sex without metaphor! Yippee!

Thursday, 30 December 2010

Into the New Decade

And sayonara to the naughts. 2010 was a great year for Felix and me, financially. Once he stopped dying in hospital and came home we mutually recovered for most of the rest of the winter and then kicked into gear, creating a fabulous screenwriting course which we will soon be teaching.

That and the proofing etcetera of our crime novel kept us busy into November and then we were free to get ready for Christmas without a Jan.1 deadline over our heads. First time in years, but I can't say it made Christmas all that much better.

I'm ready to take a stand against Christmas. Next year I'm going AWOL for Dec. 24,25,26. Hear me now! I swear, I love the family get-togethers but the pressure and cost and crowded living conditions add up to me - shouting. I don't like it when I shout at Christmas, but I invariably do. Next year, I won't be shouting because I will be AWOL. If I shout, it will be where no one can hear me. In a forest, perhaps, where there is just the sound of me shouting and the trees falling. Or is there?
I'd like to say my goal of becoming a really healthy, vibrant, happening woman in her fifties has not been accomplished yet. I hope it doesn't take another decade to complete, because then I'll be in my sixties and that, I'm sure, will be a fresh hell.

As faithful readers of my blog (and you both know who you are) already know, I suffered some over the holidays. In truth, two friends are gone. It's strangely peaceful. I want one of them back, but I can wait. I can wait a decade, if I have to. I think we'll see each other again. The other can stay gone. I need this peace.

Like the phoenix rising from its own ash, a band of authors
declared their understanding of and affection for me. I realized
I'm part of a community of writers who will stand up for one of their members. Wow. I think that might have been the very best thing that
happened in 2010. I will pay that forward, friends. I promise.

As we slouch toward the end of the year, I consider and reject a number of New Year's Resolutions, in favour of this one: Be More Productive, Mad.
Less suffering and more writing.

I love writing. So why procrastinate? It's a huge question for me and a lot of other writers as well. I'm going to bash down that barrier and write all the time, as Felix does. I think it'll be great.

Happy New Year!

xoxo Mad.

Once Upon a Time: Photobucket
Writing life illustration from: hsc.csu.edu.au
AWOL: investmentpostcards.com
New Year's Celebration photo: muzixworld.wordpress.com

Sunday, 19 December 2010

It Takes A Village to Raise the Spirits of a Writer

If you're new to my blog you might want to read the post that came directly before this one: Kind Family and Friends . . . From this post you will likely ascertain that Madeline got her feelings hurt, out there in the real world.
That's correct. A week ago, at right about the time I'm writing this, I was shunned by women at Christmas Event.

As I'm hypersensitive and prone to malingering, I imagined I'd ruined my Christmas at the party that was supposed to launch the Festive Season. Bummer, for someone who had a very bad Christmas last year (let's see: sold jewellery and borrowed money from ex-husband to buy gifts for the kids, Deadline for delivery of book was late December, and, oh that's right, Felix went into the hospital with Swine Flu on Dec. 29 and fought for his life for 9 full days. dear God, deliver me from evil . . .)

He's feeling much better now, thank you.


As a writer I know exactly how to move the evil out of my head - just spew it into the world. Happily as a writer I also know, post-spew, that the resulting piece of prose needs rewriting before posting. So up went the blog post referred to in the above paragraph.

OMG. You - you - you Brilliant Beasts of A Feather! You flocked to my defence! Don't try to deny it, you know you did. THANK YOU.

(Okay fine, I just wanted an excuse to post Fabulangel at Christmastime.
He's so beautiful!)

You circled me with your wagons and protected me from the volley of poison-tipped arrows pointed my way.

You offered me your Shun Shield, to keep for as long as I need it.

By which I mean, you linked to my post and commented on my post and signed up to follow my blog.

Great Muskie fuggin' freaky deaky freakout, you healed me.

Christopher! I feel better! I do, I feel better and it's thanks to you. I want to round you all up in a padded room and lick your beautiful faces until my tongue doethent work anymorth (except for Demi and Mary T, my sisters, and Kim, my stepdaughter. I do not want to lick your faces, I want to buy you ice cream.)

I feel like making out with someone who is not supposed to make out with other women

I feel like creating a 'bangatar' and winning the CTV.ca contest prize, which is a trip to LA to watch a taping of The Big Bang Theory.

Sayyyyyy, how about voting for my bangatar right here? It'll only take a moment and if I win, I'll be able to give you the inside scoop on *Sheldon* when I return.

Any takers? yes or no, dear writer pals, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for cheering me up in time to enjoy the holidays.

I adore you all.

xoxo Mad

Tuesday, 14 December 2010

Kind Friends and Family, at Christmas Time, We Want You to Know . . .

...that we, your writer friends or relatives, are grateful for you love and your acceptance.

We know that while you slog it out in public, working hard to earn a buck, we are keeping our own hours, often working in our bathrobes, if we are not still fast asleep in our warm little beds. We know how much that must rankle as you sit in your cars at the break of dawn, waiting for the heater to defrost your already numb extremities. What you might not know is that we work hard, too, often late into the night and sometimes, while you are sick to death of your co-workers and the stupidity of many members of the public sector, we wish we had co-workers. Sometimes we wish we knew how to manoeuvre among the people. Some of us even wish we had an office Christmas party to attend.

You see, sometimes we wish that our work were not quite so solitary.

While you are guaranteed 10 dollars an hour, at minimum, for your labour, we are guaranteed nothing for ours. We must compete with each other for every story we submit in hopes of publication. And if one of our stories is accepted, for an anthology, the pay rate is, quite simply, poor. The most we can hope for is $100.00 and 2 copies of the anthology our stories appear in. More often, these days, the payment is $50.00 with one complementary copy. Did you know that? Likely not, because it isn't a fact we're eager to share.

Your teenager makes more than that for a Saturday shift at a variety store, and it take a lot longer than 7 hours to write a 4,500 word short story that is good enough, first of all, to be chosen from the hundreds of submissions and secondly, to make us proud of our work.

Many writers are divorced. Often, even if our spouses understood what we hoped for and how we felt, their families didn't. Writers are sensitive people and eventually, if treated poorly, will either stop writing and toe the line in order to be accepted or, more likely, get out.

In some cases, the children live with the parent who offers stability and a decent standard of living. In other words, sometimes when we give up our marriages we give up our children, too.

That is a hurt that never fades.

We are so often alone. Our success depends upon our own willingness to put in the time, the many, many hours, it takes to get good at what we do and then keep on producing quality work. But it also depends on the most ethereal, damnably ungraspable things, things like inspiration and ideas. We must find a new way to work an old theme. The muse, if you will, must be courted successfully or, if you won't, then the dawning of 'the idea' must somehow occur and then be properly nursed to fruition. This one needs to simmer or it'll boil away to nothing, while that one must be squeezed like a sponge or it will do nothing but drip, drip, drip in our brains like a leaky faucet, at best, or the Chinese water torture, at worst. All of that happens before our fingers even touch the keys.

To measure the rewards of writing in terms of dollars would be foolish. The name "J.K. Rowling" is bandied about, a lot, by non-writers, as proof of the riches that writers may enjoy. She is 1 person. There are others, of course, but I promise you, the vast majority of writers are not making much money.

Many of us have never had a book launch. So please, if we're guests at your dinner party or Christmas Cookie Bake and produce our new novels and announce, "Hey look, everybody, I have a new book out!" understand that we're not bragging or preening or begging for praise. We're just happy about the outcome of all that work and think you might like to see what we've accomplished. That's all. You might even recall that we heartily congratulated you on your latest promotion, completed renovation, or new baby. It's the same thing. Honest.

If we give you a copy of that new book please read it. Then tell us this: "I really enjoyed your novel." If the prose is wooden or the story thin, believe me, we'll hear about it. But please don't make us hear about it from you.

And you know what's really great? If your writer relative or friend has recently published a new book, buy it. When she asks if you'd like a copy of her latest, tell her "It's on order," or "I already have one, thank you." I think you'll find the pure gratitude she expresses, however haltingly, (because some writers don't speak as well as they write) will be worth the money. And if someone asks you, "Who do you read?" and your author friend is there, try giving a variation of this answer, which I once heard my good friend say. "I'm a fan of Madeline Moore."

My heart sang.

Please don't see this as a list of complaints. It's not meant to be that at all. Writers are among the most privileged of people. We are people whose job is to do that which we most love to do. We are,whether we are willing to admit it or not, artists. We too have had lousy jobs and we know they suck. Many of us have turned down good jobs, too, jobs that didn't suck in the least, because we knew that we wouldn't be happy for long, though the job was interesting, the co-workers intelligent, and the opportunity for advancement great. In fact I suppose I'm not talking about a job at all, I'm talking about a career. But, in truth, we had no choice. We have to write.

When we come to your house to hang out with you and your friends,some of us are far too loud or excited or oblivious. That's because we spend most of our time alone and being with others turns us on. Or we're in a corner, not speaking, not listening, possibly with an expression of fear or idiotic blankness on our faces. Be patient. We're not really boors or morons. Most of us are hypersensitive and many of us are probably somewhat agoraphobic, so it's hard to be with a gang but we're there because we really, really wanted to try and the more obvious it becomes that we're failing the more desperate our flailing attempts become.

We don't have "a face to meet the people that we meet". We don't own corporate masks. There's just this, the naked, stunned face of a writer out of her element. Forgive us. If you love us, keep loving us. We're sorry if our behaviour is unacceptable or just plain stupid or, on the other side of the coin, seemingly arrogant or painfully intellectual. We really just wanted, if only for a few hours, to be 'one of the gang'. Even if we never say so, we are really, really sorry we failed.

So, on behalf of writers everywhere, during this season of generosity and forgiveness, we ask that you believe this, dear friends and family:
We need you. We love you.

We thank you.

xoxo Madeline Moore

Saturday, 11 December 2010

We Have A Winner!

Sarah Glenn, oh Sarah Glenn, guess what! You are the winner of the telltale.ca
website launch contest!

Oh you have some goodies coming your way!

A copy of Sarah's Education by Madeline Moore
A copy of The Persian Girl by Felix Baron
A copy of The Women's Club by Michael Crawley and Laurie Clayton

WOW. Reading material to get you through the holidays and into 2011.

E-me, girl, with your snail mail address and these three books will come winging your way, pronto.

And THANK YOU to everyone who entered. This was the best contest ever, with lots of people visiting the site and signing up for a chance to win. Thank You again. But this one is all about:

Sarah Glenn.

Thursday, 9 December 2010

Only Two Days Left

Only two days left until the telltale.ca website launch contest closes.
We've had a good response to the contest with plenty of entries, but there's still room for you!

Check it out!


Good luck everybody!

Monday, 29 November 2010

Telltale Takes Off, eh!

Yes, it's true. I've joined forces with Felix Baron and our good friends Laurie Clayton and Michael Crawley. telltale.ca rattled around my brain like loose Scrabble tiles until our webmaster, Kim Crawley, sat down to play. This is us, online.

To celebrate this momentous occasion we're having a contest. The winner will receive three autographed novels from the four authors. (I'm not being enumerate here, one of the novels was written by Laurie and Michael.)



to join in the fun.

It's taken a while to get to this point but it seems all four careers are taking off. So please try to swoop by the website and join in this auspicious occasion.

We're here!


We're here!

Tuesday, 23 November 2010

Am I Good or Am I Bad?

First, a little history: Felix and I moved a year ago. We moved down the hall in the same apartment building. We thought it would be an easy move. We thought we could just walk our stuff from one apartment to the other, without the need for all those pesky boxes. We thought wrong.

Our neighbours at the other end of the hall, Leslie and Joy, loaned us two dollies. Those dollies helped save our skins.

Leslie had a stroke a few years ago. He uses a walker and a scooter to get around. Joy seemed perfectly healthy.

So I was shocked to see Leslie, alone, in the elevator and to hear that Joy had gone into the hospital, been diagnosed with cancer, and freakin' DIED, all in a matter of six weeks.

I expressed my heartfelt condolences. Good.

He told me when and where the viewing was happening and asked if I would come. I said "Yes." Good.

He said he'd watch for me.

Friday night Felix and I headed over to the funeral parlour for the viewing.
We had another engagement at eight thirty, so we made sure to arrive at the funeral parlour by eight. Plenty of time, we thought. There were almost no cars in the parking lot. Inside, in Joy's viewing room, we found Leslie and his sister, son and daughter-in-law, and two pesky kids. Family only.
Family was absolutely thrilled to see us.

We viewed the body with Leslie. He had tears in his eyes. He's a Scotsman, so I wasn't surprised to hear that he'd visited her two or three times a day by riding his scooter to the hospital.
I said if I'd known we could have given him a ride. This was true.
Two goods. One for attending the viewing, one for saying we'd have driven him to the hospital. Actually, tack on another good for staying until nine, when the viewing ended. So, all good, score 5.

We did not go to the funeral, even though we knew there would be almost no one there. Bad.

Felix made a Shepherd's pie and we took it down the hall to Leslie's apartment. Good.

Leslie invited us in and we went in. Good.

We chatted for a few minutes. Turns out he's now driving himself around in the car. He seems to have eschewed the walker as well. My suspicion, that he worked poor Joy to death, grew. Bad?

I couldn't stand being in his apartment. It smelled of death. We left. We scurried down the hallway to our apartment, with me hissing about the stink of death. BAD!

Oh, also we gave him our phone number and took his and offered to help him in a jam. Good.

All the way back to our apartment I whispered fiercely about the stink of death and how I couldn't stand being in the apartment and if I'd stayed any longer I would have gagged, I tell you. Gagged. BAD!

I cry - not because Joy died or because Leslie is alone but - because Felix is 19 years older than me and I'm afraid he's going to work me to death or leave me all alone. Bad.

I confess to Felix that I cannot take on this old man. I can't do it! I can't I can't I can't! He points out that I don't have to. I moan about the way the apartment stank of death. He points out that Joy died in the hospital. Right. The apartment probably stinks of an old man who can't take care of himself. I relate to his tragedy only in terms of what it means to me. Bad.

When my mother was diagnosed with cancer I was her primary care giver for an anticipated death at home. We were entirely successful in that endeavour. She was very grateful to me. I was grateful to her, too. It was a success, and so we will give me a Permanent Good for that.

When I returned to my home after she died, I took on the case of an older man, a good friend, who needed back surgery. I arranged for the surgery to take place about a year sooner than he'd managed to arrange. Good.

He made me be his caregiver. I did my best. When he was released from the hospital he called for me to come get him. It took me awhile to get there and when I did he said he'd given up on me and called for another ride. Oh - I had pms, if that matters, which I think it should - I blew up and yelled and screamed at him for ruining my life. Permanent BAD.

I pray that Leslie never phones us. Bad.

Have I weighed the good and bad properly? Given too much good to myself and not enough bad? Or am I too hard on myself, given myself too much bad?

Am I good?
Am I bad?

Am I sane?
Am I mad?

Am I Mad.
I am.

Death Dealer by Frank Fazetta
Angel's Blessing (bart.com)
Devil's Tea Party by Nancy Farmer (nancyfarmer.net)
Angels-Devils-one-in-same by Luke Chueh (lukedchueh.com)

Wednesday, 17 November 2010


My short story, "Lust As Old As Us" has been accepted by Kristina Wright
for her new antho, Dream Lover: Paranormal Tales of Erotic Romance.

I'm really excited about this. It's banished a lot of my post-novel blues.
I want to say more stuff but I can't think what to say except, "YIPEE! I'M IN DREAM LOVER!"

Here's the lineup:

Foreword Megan Hart
Introduction: All I Have to Do is Dream
Love Resurrection Justine Elyot
Dreaming by the Sea Delilah Devlin
Devil’s Food Shanna Germain
Rainmaker A.D.R. Forte
Shattered Belle Craig Sorensen
Living Off Lovers Kristina Lloyd
Where the Heart Is Saskia Walker
Freeing the Demon Sacchi Green
Old Fashioned Glamour Nikki Magennis
Moongirl Meets the Wolfman Alana Noel Voth
Vanilla Victoria Janssen
For Humans, Love’s All About Weight Lana Fox
Succubus Comes Home Lucy Felthouse
Folly Kate Pearce
Lust As Old As Us Madeline Moore
The Eye of Pearl Ericka Hiatt
Thief of Dreams Kristina Wright

Also, I'm not a Praun anymore. Hurrah! I heart neurosurgeons.
xoxo Madeline

Sunday, 17 October 2010

I'm a Typing Praun!

Lookit the cute little Praun, writing erotica at her keyboard.
Doesn't she know non-humans aren't allowed to write erotica?


Oh how I long for the day when humans and non-humans live in peace.

But until then, I'll write whatever I damn well please!!

I can practically hear the neuro-guy muttering, 'Writers . . . '

photo credits:


Thursday, 14 October 2010

I'm a Praun!

Argh. Did you see District 9?
I hope you weren't trying to eat while you watched it, which I, briefly, was.
I stuck with it though, and I'm glad, because now I'm becoming a PRAUN and if I hadn't seen the movie I wouldn't know what was going on.

It would be good to do links and pictures and stuff but I can't, really, because my PRAUN HANDS are very poor at fine motor skills. Good thing I practised working with my feet when I was a kid (just in case I lost my arms in an accident - so you see what kind of girl I was) because soon I'll be typing with my toes.

Okay (which is how OK is spelled, in case you folks in the UK were wondering) here's what's happened. My forearms, from my elbows to my wrists, and on the right, up through two fingers, were going numb. Yikes. I NEED those arms.

It got so bad I saw my doctor, who referred me to a neurosurgeon. OMG. I do not want neurosurgery. I was honestly afraid, because typing is a part of my writing process. I do not believe I could write by speaking into a microphone, although I suppose I should try, some day . . .

See they move the nerve from one side of the elbow to the other and - ahhHHHHhhhhHHHHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOO!

Okay so the neurosurgeon had good news All I have to do is wear a wrist brace on each arm, as much as possible, for the foreseeable future. Not only will the beginnings of carpal tunnel syndrome be arrested, but I will repair any damage has already been done! Man was I relieved. The test was sort of painful, in an electroshock sorta way. When I yelled, "I give up! I'll tell you everything I know!" he muttered, 'Writers.' hoho. I shoulda muttered, 'Neurosurgeons' but I didn't. I was being a good patient.

So good news. Plus, I ran my 'I put my hand cream in the fridge yesterday, does that mean I have early onset Altzheimer's?' fears by him and he said no.
He told me a few funny personal anecdotes - his sister once dusted his brother's room with Raid instead of Pledge. So double good news.

I bought the two braces, with steel running down the top and bottom, Velcro, straps, you probably know what they look like. IF not, use your imagination.

Well, after I tried them out I called the maker to find out what the materials that make up the braces are, cause I was itchy. I wondered, wool?
The helpful fellow I talked to said No. I kept pestering him about how
itchy the braces were. Finally he suggested I go to the pharmacy (chemist, for the Brits) and get a sleeve. Apparently they make a sleeve to go under these braces. Gee, what a good idea. I told him so. We hung up.

SO now I can rinse out my extra sleeves and have fresh ones for every sweaty,
WTF long night-of-the-brace. Yikes. The darn things are working tho! I have feeling in the two numb fingers, for the first time in - well - awhile.

But not much fine motor ability. Yet.

And I feel like a Praun. I want to feel like Rosario Dawson (I think) in 'Crash' (Cronenberg's movie, not the new one that won the Oscar.) but I don't. I feel like a Praun.

Not to worry tho. Until I start eating the cat food.

xoxo Mad.

There are no pictures or links to this post. This is a do it yourself post.

ps - I really loved 'District Nine.' Talk about yer unusual buddy pic!!

Tuesday, 7 September 2010

The Women's Club is Ready to Read!

The Women's Club, by Michael Crawley and Laurie Clayton, is now available in the UK.

Be the first to catch the wave! Ride it to the crest, clutching your copy in your clever hands.

Rah! Rah! Rah!

Tuesday, 24 August 2010

End of Summer Reading

I'm baaaaack. And I'm baaaaaacked up, work-wise, that is.

The trip was a complete success. From the blazing hot beach days
to the fabulous meals to the big laughs with the family to the
OMG I love my Dad and my siblings to the happy birthday Mad

One of my favourite moments was when four of the siblings, including me,
were cavorting in the water and Roger, second youngest and perhaps the most scarred, physically and mentally, from our tortuous childhood, paddled out to join us in a rubber raft. We were going to dump him out until he protested, citing his hydrophobia, and we actually desisted (!) Instead, we 'pushed him out to sea' (in reality, a crystal clear Canadian lake) chanting, "VIKING FUNERAL,VIKING FUNERAL!"

The whole thing was shot by his girlfriend, and my Dad can be heard commenting, "I've never seen the five of them play together before."

Sadly, on my birthday, we couldn't see the meteor showers as the sky was overcast.

(Although the honest truth is that everyone was dog tired by meteor shower night and although nobody was wimpy enough to actually say it, I think
we all felt a bit relieved by the uncooperative cloud cover because we could toddle off to bed instead of sitting up all night in awe and then making the drive to and flight out of Winnipeg in a state of exhaustion.)

I had a few hours to kill in the 'Peg the next day so I dropped in on an old
highschool pal, Jordan Van Sewell, who is an amazing artiste.

It's hard to find pictures of his work I can pirate and paste on my site, but the book shown at the top of this post, The Jester's Realm contains a ton of gorgeous images.

We picked up our conversation where we'd left off nine years ago, as old friend are apt to do. Many laughs ensued. When the time came, he drove me to the airport in a typical Winnipeg torrential downpour.

I'm heavily into the Millenium trilogy by Stieg Larsson. I'd read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo before my trip, and kept book number two, The Girl Who Played with Fire, for the trip. I cracked it open on the flight out, read five hundred or so pages during the week, and on the flight home I read until the plane taxied to a stop in Toronto.

I'm now reading the third and final book of the trilogy, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's nest.

If you haven't started reading the trilogy yet, you're in for a real treat. Start at the beginning, please, with The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

The late, alas, Stieg Larsson was a true feminist. He delivered the manuscripts for all three novels at once (freaky deaky, Tom Wolfe would say to that) and died shortly thereafter. All three books have been made into movies in Sweden and, now that the trilogy is a worldwide sensation, are about to be remade, Hollywood style. ('Cause you know the Americans have such trouble with sub-titles.)

Since I've been back I've tried to get to work only to have belated birthday celebrations getting 'in the way' day after day. But I think we're done now!

So, back to work tutoring and creating a new program for the writing school, and finishing an Amazon review of editor Sacchi Green's latest antho, the very purty, very dirty Lesbian Lust.

Oh, and any day now Michael Crawley and Laurie Clayton's exciting crime novel, The Women's Club will be flying off the printing press and into the hands of happy readers everywhere! If you can't wait (and I don't blame you) you can pre-order now!





Must fly!

xoxo Mad

Wednesday, 4 August 2010

Bush Whacking Madeline Moore

I know what you're thinking. But this is not a blog about me becoming a Domme, this is a blog about me heading off into the woods for a gathering of the clan.

Here's where I'm going, although this is a picture of the cottage under siege, whereas hopefully we won't have the lake quite so literally mere steps from our door.

Here's the nearby rapids:

The lake:

Myrtle the Turtle:

It's in Lake of the Woods. Every night the call of the loon rises and falls with the gentle waves of the lake. And on my birthday we get the Perseids, shooting stars by the bucketful, often accompanied by Northern Lights. Picture the Aurora Borealis, and not just in one colour, but three or four, green and pink and yellow rolling across the midnight sky as stars (well, meteors) streak across the sky so quickly you cannot count them as they fall!

So what's the problem, Mad?

Picture the above little cottage stacked with the family Moore. I have four brothers and sisters. Here's my big brother:

Yep, the rest are more or less just as wacky.

The thing is, while we're all funny and smart we're also hypersensitive and prone to lashing out when our feelings are hurt. And we know each other's secrets. All of them.

O. M. G.

Do I sound reticent? I love my family, really I do. As my Grandma once said, "I love every one of you little buggars, so how about that?"

How about it, indeed.

It's just, I'm not really a nature gal, anymore. I like all my comforts. I like to stay home a lot. Read. Write. Sleep. Send emails and birthday cards and occasional gifts to the gang. I'm sort of - solitary.

So why go? Simple. He wants me there.

kiss kiss. See you on the other side!

The lake at sunset.

(All pictures from the private collection of Madeline Moore.)

Wednesday, 7 July 2010

It's Too Darn Hot!

Oh baby it's too darn hot.

Yes, I know, I'm Canadian, I should adore these hot humid summer days but - but - it's too darn hot.

Too hot to blog.

Too hot to credit the sites these pics come from.

Too hot to write.

Too hot to eat.

Too hot to sleep.

Too hot to be sexy, unless you're this hot tamale weather girl.

Too hot to go dancing.

Too hot to whistle.

Too hot to sing.

Too hot to be funny -

Well, almost too hot to be funny.

It's just too darn hot.

Monday, 21 June 2010

Muddled Madeline Moore

Oh where oh where have you been,
Oh where oh where have you been?
I been here,
I been there,
I been floating on air,
I been making the hip happy scene.

Hey there faithful reader - uh, I mean - readers! How's it hanging, and I don't mean that wacky participle, either. I mean - Hmmm - what does 'How's it hanging?' mean, anyhoo?

Here's a happy dude hanging out in Ghana. It's from the blog: http://bojanglesinghana.blogspot.com/

I found it by searching "Sexy Guys Hanging Out"

First I searched "Sexy Guys" and got stuff like this:

which is good, I know, but not exactly what I'm after. You know, I want a sexy guy, um, hanging out. So I searched that and got mr. bojangles in Ghana.

And then I was stunned. By the realization that I'm afraid to search 'guys with their cocks hanging out' or 'big dicks' or something. Huh? Moi, Madeline Moore? Afraid of smut? Well, if I search 'big dicks' I'll probably get something like this pic of a young Jared Leto touching himself.

I suppose it's okay,
if you're a Jared Leto fan, but -
hey, wait a minute -
when did I stop being a Jared Leto fan?

Looks like the question must be begged:
WTF, Madeline!
U goin' all uptight snooty chick on us or what?

I should think not. Gasp! I mean - No freakin' way! I kin prove it, too. Would an uptight snooty chick post this pic on her blog?

Lookit her, all cute in her French maid's costume, sniffin' some guy's underpants.
Actually, the thing I like best about this picture is that it's called 'nurse+ad. jpg'
'Oh nurse! Night nurse! My pain is getting worse!' That's what I'd say.
He'd say 'Oh nurse! It hurts so bad! Please sniff my pants and in so doing relieve my agony! He'd add, sweetly, 'And if you'd do it wearing a French Maid costume, I'd be most obliged.'

This has been fun. Except for the cloud sofa, which is from www.markstechnologynews.com, all the above images were found by searching 'sexy guys' or 'sexy guys hanging out', even the nurse cleverly disguised as a maid.

I'm off to bend my rep before it gets all straight and narrow. How? By writing a story I've been noodling for the last ten days or so and submitting it to Sacchi Green's upcoming antho Lesbian Cops, which is just about the best title I've seen in awhile.

I wonder what I'd get if I searched images of lesbian cops . . .

Ah, one of the officers from the TV show 'The Wire'. Now, what if I search 'Lesbian cops hanging out . . .'

Wednesday, 19 May 2010

Crime Time

It's been so long since I've posted that I almost got lost getting here. For a mad moment I thought I was Jeremy's fedora . . .

But I'm okay now. The thing is, I've been *helping* my dear friends Laurie Clayton and Michael Crawley. They've written a crime novel for Max Crimes, a new imprint from John Blake Publishing Limited, created especially for Maxim Jakubowski.

And they've been busy! See, John Blake Publishing sends the copy edited manuscript to the authors, in this case Michael and Laurie. The master document is also sent via email. The authors are asked to go through the copy edited hard copy and accept or reject changes. Then the authors make the accepted changes to the master document.
When the process is complete, the master is emailed back to John Blake Publishing.

I pale to think that at one time I thought I might be a good copy editor. Gasp.
The hard copy of The Women's Club was covered in comments and symbols. She (we know in this case the c.e. was a she) did not miss a thing. From the embarrassingly obvious (Johnny Walker should be Johnnie Walker) to the minutest detail (ellipses is done like so: space dot space dot space dot space) and beyond (an en dash is different from an em dash is different from a hyphen, doncha know.)

I do now!

Actually, poor Laurie worked on it solo for about two weeks, agonizing over each suggested change. One day she opened the emailed copy (which is called, appropriately enough, soft copy)and worked on it all day without actually ever saving it to her computer.

The work was lost. She lost her mind.

After that, Michael took over. He, having a much greater ego than she, zipped through the rest of the document accepting and rejecting and making the accepted changes to the soft copy and voila!

Once the doc had been emailed back to the publisher, it was time to get their publicity package together.

Publicity package? Huh?

That's right! Along with the usual bio and cv they were asked a number of questions pertinent to the process of publicizing their novel. And once that was done, an eight by ten glossy of each of the authors was requested.

Ye Gods!

Yesterday Laurie (fresh from the hairdresser's) and Michael (fresh from a nap) experienced their very first photo shoot. Nothin' fancy, you understand.

The digital pictures were sent off to John Blake's Head of Marketing, thus completing their latest round of work on The Women's Club.


The front and back cover is ready. When the novel is published in the fall, and I'll make sure to let you know the date when we - er - they do, they'll receive their third and final advance.

Third? You mean? Yes, John Blake gives their authors a first advance on signing of the contract and a second when the completed manuscript is accepted. A third when the book is published.

Oh Gawd it's all so civilized. But then, from the signing of the contract to the novel's publication is about a year, so there's time to do all this stuff.

It's been great. I'm really excited. You know, for Michael and Laurie.

And don't they make a nice couple when they're all cleaned up and smiling for the camera?

'I love my editor' picture from www.gawker.com
Copy edited page of Toronto Star from http://fletter.tumblr.com

Friday, 12 March 2010

Oh Lucky Me

Good news arrived the other day from Random House. Sarah's Education has been picked up by the Germans.
I love this part of publishing, don't you? I do absolutely no-thing and get more money for my book. Yay!

Also, as a few folks at the correspondence school for writing that employs Felix as a senior tutor have retired, I threw my hat in the ring. I was asked for copies of my diplomas and degree. Of course I had to locate them first, which I did. It was with immense satisfaction that I photocopied my BA from University of Alberta, my certificate from Humber School for Writers (having done a novel writing course with DM Thomas through Humber, and attended their one week summer writing school program) and my diploma from The Institute of Children's Literature.

When I was attending university not one but two of my boyfriends (over the four year time span) tried to convince me not to bother finishing uni and getting my 'useless' BA. Although I was still a boy crazy girl, I ignored them and kept plugging away until the cap and gown ceremony that made me a grad.

In the years when I had little children, I took a couple of writing courses, including one at the very school I was applying to tutor at, having studied with Felix Baron (!) and the Institute of Children's Lit and the Humber program. It kept me writing a certain amount when writing was wayyyyyy down on the list of my housewife's priorities.

So I sent my cv and copies of diplomas/degree in to the school and received an email welcoming me to the institute as a new tutor.

The whole process was so easy it floored me. Now I have students to teach, using the course material the college provides, and if I need help I can turn to the senior tutor sitting just to my right at his desk, and have all my questions answered. All from home.

I love it.

Oh God oh God how I love being a writer. Thank you thank you thank you.

And writers are my favourite people, too.

I feel like a very lucky woman today, and wanted to share my happiness with you.

xoxo Madeline