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!

Friday, 28 November 2014

Shoulda, Wanna, Gonna

A few decades ago, a member of Greenpeace appeared at my door, soliciting funds. He told me, “There really is only one issue – the environment.”

Ten days ago, I was at the end of my “morning” ritual: drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, gobbling pills, crying and admonishing myself to write that letter to the Ontario College of Physicians and Surgeons about the appalling treatment (or lack thereof) that Michael received from a specific doctor, when I came to a decision. “I will not suffer this for one more day.”

So I wrote the letter. I’d made notes on December 24 (!) complete with dates and quotes. I’d imagined those notes needed work but in fact they did not. All I needed to do was write a cover letter, print off a form, have it witnessed and get the package in the mail and I did.

It was a relief, for a few days, but not anymore.

I’m so sad that he died. I’m so angry about the way he died. I want that doctor to be held accountable for what he did, in the Emergency Room on Dec.1 (“You want me to admit him with gas?”) AND when Michael was finally admitted to hospital on Dec. 20 and the same goddam doctor was his attending physician on the floor.

We could have done an anticipated death at home. All you need is a brave patient, a brave primary caregiver and proper pain management. He was brave, I was brave (and experienced at the process) but he didn’t have proper medication because he wasn’t diagnosed on Dec.1. It would’ve taken that doctor five minutes to have a portable ultrasound machine wheeled into the room where Michael lay. I respectfully disagreed with the doctor’s diagnosis but to no avail. So we went home. We lacked the information and assistance we needed to do things right.

This “morning” I went through my usual routine, including the crying. I should have dug my heels in. It would’ve humiliated Michael and probably angered the doctor but I should have done it. We could’ve had a peaceful last Christmas together and I would have that to remember (as I remember my Mother’s peaceful last Thanksgiving.) We could have created something beautiful, together; a small, sweet triumph wrested from the maw of tragedy.

There are so many things I should have done but more to the point, there are so many things I should be doing. These past eleven months I have been stripped of almost everything that defines me. I’m a lousy feminist. I was a lousy wife, for the most part and, if you ask anyone but me, a pretty lousy mother. I wouldn’t have defined myself as arrogant but I’ve been humbled so thoroughly that I must’ve been arrogant. I’m not even middle-class, anymore.

Light another cigarette. Eat a chocolate muffin. Ponder.

I hung my identity on “writing” before I even clearly understood that I was female. I decided to be a writer when I was twelve. But professional writers (especially, I think, genre writers) gotta write and get published. I will have published two short stories this year, but neither of them was written this year. I have two short stories under consideration for publication but of them, only one was written this year. The sum total of my creative writing in 2014 is one new short story.
Wait! What about all my fabulous face book posts. Don’t they count? Well, no, they don’t.

What about how hilarious I am on Twitter? Isn’t that writing? Oh Gawd no. It is not. Here's me playing a hashtag game. I love hashtag games.

#Thingsthatcanimprovethanksgiving The Get Smart "cone of silence."

Well, I’ve heard from a representative of the Ontario College and Physicians. She said she usually lifts sections from a complainant’s letter to forward to the doctor in question but in my case, my letter is so clear and well-written that she’s going to forward the entire letter to him. So I will count that as good writing, although it isn’t creative writing. I just told the truth.

It’s been a tough fucking year but it’s almost over and I’ve taken great strides forward. A lot of the particulars have been dealt with. But December looms large and I know, every “morning,” that I have managed to circumvent grieving in many different ways and, now that I’m all safe and sound in my new little apartment, it’s coming home, too.
I should be writing.

I should be teaching.

But more importantly, and I have been told this repeatedly by my grief peeps, I should be grieving and sleeping.

Never in my life have I gone for so long on so little sleep. I don’t like going to bed because I think about Michael when I go to bed and I don’t want to think about him because it makes me so terribly sad.

I want to: smoke cigarettes and watch TV and hangout on social media.
I don’t want to read, I don’t want to teach, I don’t want to write.

I think what I need to do (as opposed to what I should do) is start taking care of this microcosm of the environment that is me. I need to stop polluting this poor body with cancer-sticks. It makes no sense to fight the good fight, have surgery, have a mammogram, visit my doctor, begin the long process of getting a shrink, and so on and on if I’m going to kill myself with cigs. I needed them but they’ve done their job. Now I have to get rid of them.

I need to shower (even if the water gets cold in five minutes) and I need to eat right (which means I have to cook every day, not just a couple of days a week) and I need to go outside and breathe fresh air. I need to clean up the mess that is me.

I need to stop thinking that I should be a voice of reason on Twitter. Twitter is for laughs and sex (virtual or real.) Twitter is not about making sense or pointing out fallacies in other people’s comments. Of course, it’s not a bad place to get attention and I am starved for the kind of attention I used to get. But that was unsolicited attention and it died with Michael. It is no more likely to come back than he is. I was lucky to have it and now I have the bad luck of learning how to live without it.

I need to stop digging deep into international issues. It occurs to me that I don’t really care about Bill Cosby’s reputation. Or perhaps more to the point, what I think about Bill Cosby is entirely irrelevant to everything. I don’t even really need to write. There’s a plethora of erotica authors out there; the world doesn’t need my stories. If I want the world to have my stories I’d better write them.

In order for me to get anywhere, I’m just going to have to succumb to grief, cry myself to sleep and sleep. That’s the first order of business. I was dreading Dec. 22 but I now realize that Dec.1 is when the horror really began and it’s days away. I can’t escape it; I have to go through it.

When I’m ready to write I’ll write. When I’m ready to consider the issues of the day, I’m going to concentrate on the environment. We’re all in it together but my country is rich in natural resources and our evil Prime Minister is dedicated to destroying those resources. Google Stephen Harper + environmental issues if you’re interested but be forewarned – it’s really ugly. Here's a pic of Harper addressing the United Nations General Assembly in September of this year.
This fucking pipeline of his, the one that has smart people tearing out their hair and going to jail, is all about getting our fossil fuels to the USA. Canada isn’t even going to make any money out of this thing. America gets our natural resources and American companies reap the profits. So – WTF? THIS is an issue that should be of interest to people who want to save the environment EVERYWHERE, not just in Canada.

I’m going to go make myself something to eat and then I’m going to allow grief to take me where it wants me to go. I don’t know how long this is going to take. But it really can’t be more of a waste of time than trying to avoid it is and I have faith in myself. I am a tough prairie broad and I will come out the other side.
I’ll end this thing with some good news:

Good news week! says Greenpeace.

Wednesday, 26 November 2014


Joyce Carol Oates posted this on Twitter today, November 25, 2014:
"Hard time to visit Canada & recall sanity, graciousness, & over all respect for "commonweal" of that country at this time in our country."

Last night, Ferguson erupted and so did Twitter. Once all the non-residents of the USA got the message, Twitter was turned over to Americans. Why?
Obviously, something huge was going on in America; something much bigger than the shooting of a black man by a white cop in Ferguson, Missouri. Race relations. Police brutality. And so on.

I follow liberal Americans so, in the main, the Tweets I read decried the decision of the Grand Jury. But even they posted emotional tweets stating stuff like, "If you aren't outraged by what's going on right now in Ferguson, unfollow me now" and "Nobody should be talking about anything but Ferguson" and "Stop your stupid promotions!"

Well, okay, America. As you wish.

I had nothing to say about what was going on because:
I'm not American.
Canada is where runaway slaves ran TO when slavery flourished in the US.
We have gun control in Canada.
Our cops fuck up, there's lots of racism here, the ol' white man has all the power, but we're not as important as the US. Arguably, there is no country on earth that is more important than the Super Power to the South (our south, anyway.)
I've already expressed my concern over the present state of America.
(The word "America" is the short form of USA, not North America. If it were the short form of North America, it would include Canada. It doesn't.)
I don't even GET an American news channel that was exclusively covering Ferguson. CBC TV led off with the story but there were other things happening, right here in my home, that mattered, too. Not to the USA of course - but still. Other things mattered.

I posted two Tweets last night:
A link to a news report that said Government offices had been warned of possible ISIS attacks targeting soldiers and police prior to the murder of Warrant Officer Patrice Vincent, which took place 2 days *before* the murder of Nathan Cirillo by Zehaf-Bibeau. After the murder at the War Memorial "Zehaf-Bibeau returned to his vehicle...drove a short distance...abandoned his vehicle...carjacked a parliamentary vehicle...entered the Centre Block through the main entrance under the Peace Tower...wounded a security guard, ran down the main corridor firing at closed doors behind which the Conservatives (one one side) and the NDP (on the other) were gathered. Finally, he hid in an alcove where Chief Superintendent Kevin Vickers "took him down."
THIS IS RIDICULOUS! Where the HELL was increased protection in the face of an ISIS threat, which at the very least should have been ramped up at our Federal Parliament Buildings?
It is a big deal in Canada.
(Are you still reading this post? I tried to make that recap of the event that shook my country up, real bad, as short as possible.)

Second tweet: High winds battered the GTA, creating havoc and cutting off power to thousands of homes.
This was (and continues to be) a big deal in the Greater Toronto Area, where I happen to live.

Here's the thing, American Tweeters:
You don't actually get to tell those of us who are not American what we may or may not Tweet about and when.
I can say with certainty that the vast majority of you don't give a rat's ass what's happening in MY country, let alone the UK, let alone the rest of the world, until and unless it impacts on your country.

Often, I admire the exuberance of Americans. Often, it dismays me.

Please don't get me wrong. Every time another guy goes postal and massacres a bunch of innocent American civilians I AM SORRY. Every time violent riots erupt that are ignited by perceived or real racism, I AM SORRY.
The thing is, I can't even vote in the USA. I am (we are) not able to help you.

Don't imagine for one second that your neighbour to the north doesn't care about what Americans do. Canada was targeted by ISIS because our government decided to join your government on the ground in Iraq. Canada cleared its air space on 9/11. We sent Aid Workers to New York. We sent search and rescue teams to New Orleans.

We always stand by the USA and probably always will. That's what allies do. That's what neighbours do. That's what we do.
But you guys don't get to bully any of us guys on social media because some of us (not me! not me!) were slow to get that something big was going down in Ferguson last night. You don't get to say what's important to the rest of the world.

Really, you don't.

Maybe the ongoing serious issues in the USA are internal issues. Maybe you have to handle them yourselves. Maybe, some of us are overwhelmed or just plain getting tired of your constant problems with prejudice, overeager cops/militia, and your goddam lack of gun control.
We're very sorry. Fix your problems or something. I don't know.

And I get to say so. I get to say whatever I want, whenever I want, on social media or wherever I want, because I live in a free country, too.

Protestors outside the US Consulate in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Story here.

Photo Credits: Tree: CBC, Nov. 24, 2014
Protestors: Nathan Denette, The Canadian Press, Nov.25, 2014

Monday, 24 November 2014

Ready For My Close Up

Me getting hand-blocked by Andrea Martin. I'm the blonde in the jean shirt.
At long last I have located the SCTV episode I appeared in. This cracks me up. We had video playback so I could see what was in frame. Notice how I manage to sliiiiide into view as much as possible.

Michael thought I should've been an actress. I think this confirms it. I'm a natural!

By the way, everyone in the arts in Edmonton was an extra on SCTV at one time or another. But not everyone got so much air time.

I appear at 13:00 and reappear throughout the "UNION" scene. Watch for my exit, stage left, at the end of the scene. If you listen hard, you'll hear me shout, "Let's go!"

I coulda bin somebody...