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!

Saturday, 25 January 2014

Beautiful Boy

Who is this serious, handsome lad?
Someone I will love, someday, though I was not even alive when this picture was taken.
He has already survived WW2; a toddler in London during the blitz.
Though he should have finished school and attended university, he will do his duty. He always did his duty. So he'll work for his father, a tailor, and help his mother in the shop.
He will be a soldier in Cyprus.
He'll marry, have children, move to Canada, work in many fields and excel in all of them. He'll divorce.
He'll marry again, have a daughter and finally fulfill his life long dream by becoming a writer. He will be published. He will teach. Eventually he'll divorce.
He will be my tutor, my mentor, my lover, my fiance.
He will be robust, optimistic, brilliant. He will adore me.
He'll get older, no big deal. He'll get old. He'll fight it, hard, but, as Willie Mays said, "Age is a helpless hurt."
Age will hurt him.
Illness will attack his dignity. but fail to claim it.
He will be hospitalized. His dignity will be taken by force. In a cotton gown with an open back, anchored to a bed by tubes and probes and needles and a mask, he will suffer.
He will reclaim his dignity by releasing his powerful will to live.
He will speak. "I've had enough. I'm going now."
He will die.

But most of that is unknown to this beautiful boy.
I an unknown to this beautiful boy.

But I will know and love the man he will become.

And, because he has had enough, I will let him go.

Sunday, 19 January 2014


One of the best thing about www is the support system that clicks into place when one of us is down. The Global village can = One World. While I believe it's an invitation to insanity to try to care about everybody at all times, I know I can focus on individuals and specific issues and lend my support where and when it's needed most. It's extraordinarily moving to be the one who needs support and find it here, and there, and also over there. I'd say 2/3 (conservative estimate) of the kindness that encourages me to keep moving forward arrives via various forms of media.

On Twitter, someone with no agenda beyond kindness has taken it upon himself to tweet me every morning and every night. "Good morning, how are you?" "Good night. Try to get some sleep." On my "vanilla" facebook site, old friends, many of whom I haven't seen in decades, post condolences. "Stay strong, prairie girl," from a pal in my hometown of Winnipeg, reminds me that I come from a place where everyone endures hardship because of the extreme weather. (I am from "Friendly Manitoba.") On Madeline Moore's facebook site, colleagues of Michael's and mine let me know that Felix Baron's death and Madeline Moore's suffering matter to them. This began on Christmas Day!

Friends and family call me on the phone. Condolence cards arrive in the mail. A dear friend, close to my heart though I haven't seen him since 1981, sent money. This is far beyond the rules of etiquette but artists don't necessarily live by the rules of etiquette. So I don't have to reject it with feeble protests. I can accept it with effusive thanks.

The owner at the school where I tutor part-time and my Madeline Moore editors have tossed their "boss" hats aside, shaken out their hair (those who have hair) and signed their cards and emails with love and xxx's and ooo's.

Sometimes, when the isolation becomes oppressive, I call a friend and ask her to meet me for coffee and a chat. We all need face time and physical contact. I hope this will always be the case for the human race.

But love is in the air. Kindness doesn't have to be wrapped in a pretty parcel tied with a velvet bow and hand-delivered. Kindness can be a word from a new follower who knows what it's like to lose someone (and don't we all know what that's like? Hasn't tragedy come crashing down on all of us?) I believe it's part of being human. One of the great truths of the Buddha is: Life is suffering.

I am suffering. But I've always held on to the overly-simplistic words sung by the Beatles (and before them, by other voices, throughout time) "Love is all you need." It's not deep, it's not impressive, the words aren't even mine. But it's true.

When I came home from the hospital, the morning Michael died, I collected the Christmas presents I'd purchased for my friends and family and tagged them with post-it notes. This is for my eldest daughter. This is for my youngest. For Michael's girl. For my best friend. I tossed a few things down the chute that were nobody's business but my own, now that my partner in passion was no more. I put a note on the freezer door, indicating who to call to pick up my cat.

I sat down and began to think. Was there still time to catch up with Michael and go wherever we go next, together? Was there really any point in disappearing into and then battling my way back from grief? Had I, like Michael, simply "had enough"?

I know how Jerzy Kizinsky committed suicide. I'm pretty sure he did his research first. His method is foolproof, if you don't cop out half-way. Would I cop-out halfway and end up blind but serene? Or a vegetable, incapable of thought or movement? I was alone. Nobody knew Michael was dead. To me, it was a matter of now or never. Make your choice.

My kids, my cat, my 88 year old Dad, my emancipated slave/sister - these are the people that helped me make the right decision. I picked up the phone.

But you, and you, and you - you are the ones who help me believe I made the right decision. Your kindness keeps me going. This is no trivial matter. Please take a moment, right now, to acknowledge that you have done a good thing. You are proof that love is all we need.

This post was inspired by Kerry Bell, Brewt Blacklist and Bruce, but it is for all my friends all over the world. It's for you. Thank you.

The Beatles: Love

Love, love, love.
Love, love, love.
Love, love, love.

There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It's easy.

Nothing you can make that can't be made.
No one you can save that can't be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It's easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

Nothing you can know that isn't known.
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.

All you need is love.
All you need is love.
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need.

All you need is love (all together, now!)
All you need is love. (everybody!)
All you need is love, love.
Love is all you need (love is all you need).

Oh yeah!
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah.
She loves you, yeah yeah yeah.

Electronic heart photo: salon.24