MORE MADELINE MOORE

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T02:33:00.001Z

In my search for "Happy New Year" look who showed up! I don't see where he fits the search words but, he makes me happy and it's New Year's Eve so, from Madeline Moore to everyone out there, my extra special Happy New Year pic:

xoxo Mad

Merry Merry and Happy Happy

2011-12-14T20:38:00.002Z

'Tis the season when even the grumpiest blogger must bow to the pressure of the masses and say, "Merry Christmas" or at least "Happy Holidays."

Merry Christmas!
Happy Holidays!

And Happy New Year, too.

I should post a picture of something festive here but instead I will direct you to the brilliant Mil Millington's Xmas card. He wrote the hilarious book Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About and his Christmas card is much funnier than anything I can come up with at the mo.

Hey, I've got stuff to do, man!

Enjoy the funny read and pretend I wrote it but don't pretend I plagiarised it. Or you can just accept that he wrote it and I sent you a link. Either way, my gift to all of you:

Mil Millington's 2011 Xmas Card

Peace, people! I mean, honestly . . .

xoxo Madeline

My Car and Me - A short short silly silly story

2011-10-15T06:09:00.003+01:00

I was hanging out at Kristina Wright's blog admiring her babies and her work ethic, not necessarily in that order, and I realized I missed blogging. So here I am!

Hmm. A few moments have passed while I tried to think of what to write about.

Well, this week I had to purchase a new muffler for my car. No, you silly Brits, I don't mean one of these:

Such a beautiful painting by Kristin Kemper which you can buy here

and I'm not talking about the brolly, either, as you Brits call an umbrella, or in this case three umbrellas from
playle.com:

So we're perfectly clear, now, that I'm not talking about this, which I would have been much happier purchasing:

Correct?

I'm talking about this stupid, expensive ugly essential thing:

which you may purchase here

It ate up all my earnings for a week of tutoring writing students.

This blog has already made me remember why I took a break from the blog.

Here, this helps:

You can see more of the same here

So I was pretty grumpy about spending money on car parts until I got home and found this in my trunk:

And then I felt much better.

The End

xoxo Madeline Moore

My Trophy is Here!

2011-10-06T23:05:00.000+01:00

What a beauty! I won this amazing award, hand-crafted in Brazil, for my story "Get Up, Stand Up!" which appeared in the Logical Lust e-book and book The Cougar Book, edited by Jolie du Pre.

Thanks to Kristina Lloyd for representing me at the "Night of the Senses" Awards Ceremony. Thanks to Tuppy Owens and the many other folks who made the event a wild and wonderful and weird celebration of S-E-X.

This event supports the charity "Outsiders"

Outsiders is a unique charity which provides:-

• a private and safe club for physically and socially disabled people where they can gain confidence and support each other in their journey enjoy sex and find a partner. The Club is a microcosm of acceptance in a hostile world.

• the Sex and Disability Helpline which is free to callers and people who email from all over the world.globe.

• The Sexual Health and Disability Alliance for health professionals to support each other and learn more about sexuality and disability

• campaigns and projects to improve the personal lives of disabled people and improve their acceptance as sexual partners

Outsiders was founded in 1979 by Dr Tuppy Owens who is also the promoter of The Night of the Senses. It is a registered charity No 283350.

Hurrah for Tuppy and the Outsiders and The Night of the Senses and Kristina Lloyd.

Hurrah for my very own flying penis.

xoxo Mad

Plagiarism and Bella0Rose

2011-07-30T22:53:00.002+01:00

I am a professional writer with more than one deadline to meet. I also lead a full, enjoyable life with Felix Baron: writer, lover, and friend.

When I was alerted to the fact that my story “Be A Door,” which is presently to be found on page two of “What’s New” on the literary erotica site Oysters and Chocolate had been appropriated by someone named Bella0Rose I joined Fetlife.com to investigate.

Sure enough, my story, now titled “Door” and the name of one character changed, was boldly listed under “Writing.” To add to the sting, she responded to the positive comments she received from admirers of the tale thusly:

thank you i did enjoy writing it .. it is from some experiences and a bit of fantasy mixed in with the story.

I have a contract with Oysters and Chocolate that agrees not to publish the story anywhere else for a period of time. Even if Bella had republished the story, crediting me and Oysters and Chocolate, she would have been in violation of my contract.

But that isn’t what she did. She plagiarised my story.

I alerted Fetlife.com and Oysters and Chocolate.

I created groups to discourage Bella0rose and other plagiarists like her (as it turns out most if not all of ‘her’ writing is plagiarised from another source) from cutting and pasting the work of real writers onto their sites.

Real writers get paid for using words in a way that captures the imagination, awakens the senses and impacts on readers. It’s hard work.

Cutting and pasting is something any child can do.

I asked Bella0rose for a public apology. Instead I’ve had 3 private apologies. None of them admits that she stole my story. She continues to insist that it was not her intention to plagiarise me.

Here are the apologies:

1) I would like to send my apology to you if my story is like yours. It was not my intention to take your story and make it my writing. Please accept my apology, I am sorry.

2) I am truly sorry as I was not trying to use your work and I was not intending to plagiarize your work. When I put the story on my profile I did not put where I had found the story or the author and I did not state that I changed a character’s name that is where my mistake lies and for this I am truly sorry.
I have corrected my mistakes and again I do apologize.

3) I again state that I am sorry for not referencing you and where I saw the story, I made a mistake. I took down the story immediately. This is my 3rd apology to you I can do no more or less but to keep saying I am sorry.

If by “immediately” she means once she’d been caught, well, that much is true.

I realize that for some people, their on-line life is the only real life they have. I don’t want to get her kicked off this site. I don’t care about her one way or the other. What I care about is my work.

All three apologies do not address these questions:

If you didn’t intend to plagiarise my story why did you change the title and the name of a character?

If you didn’t intend to plagiarize my story why did you accept the compliments you received on its quality by replying, “thank you i did enjoy writing it .. it is from some experiences and a bit of fantasy mixed in with the story.’

It seems that it isn’t possible to get through to her. She is in the wrong but she continues, in my opinion, to deny it.

Here is what my colleagues and I do when we read a story we really like:

We post on our blogs or on facebook: Wow. Shar Azade (for example) has written an amazing story. It gave me shivers – in a good way. Read it here: link.

We don’t show our enthusiasm for each other’s work by cutting and pasting it onto our own sites and giving it a new name. That is not admiration for another person’s work.
It is plagiarism.

Plagiarism is against the law.

I’ve yet to receive a public apology from Bella0rose and when/if I do, it will be this blather about not intending to steal the story. That’s not an apology. It’s a lie.

As a professional writer, I can’t keep explaining this to Bella0rose. I have work to do.
All I can say is that she should be heartily ashamed of herself. She is a thief. There are laws against what she did.

The next time Bella0rose hears from me, it will be through my publishers or my lawyer.

Oysters and Chocolate

2011-07-21T21:18:00.000+01:00

I'm excited to announce that on Friday, July 22, my story "Be A Door" will go live on the fabulous, literary e-zine Oysters and Chocolate.

No, no, not this kind of Door:

I mean this kind of door:

Intrigued?
Well, I hope so!

Please take a few minutes to check out "Be A Door" by Madeline Moore.

xoxo Mad

Thank you!

Hiatus

2011-07-10T01:55:00.000+01:00

I'm taking a break from blogger.

Look for me on facebook, or email me at telltale@primus.ca

Bye for now!

xoxo Madeline

picture credit: societiesmirror.com

Eye Candy Monday - Sexy Guys Still in Underwear

2011-06-20T03:19:00.002+01:00

What? You lazy boys. Get up and do your own damn laundry.

As you all know, I aim to please. The comments on "Laundry Machismo" complained that they came to see pictures of sexy guys in their underwear not tantrum-throwing-men-who-think-like-two-year-olds. Well, alright then.

Is this better?

or this?

and this?

not something like this, right?

There, is everybody happy now? Yay!

xoxo Madeline

photo credits (in order)

hotpic46.photobucket
remuicus.org
sexyundies.or.uk
yourfunnystuff.com

Laundry Room Machismo

2011-06-17T19:25:00.010+01:00

I'm inspired by recent events (see Alana Noel Voth's recent piece on bullying, which inspired Kristina Wright's piece on Oh Get A Grip!)to post this 'just getting something off my chest' piece I wrote a couple of months ago.

It isn't smart or thoughtful or intellectual. It's a from-the-gut "I don't get it!" rant.

Let me start by saying I don't hate men. I've made it through a fairly ugly separation in which I did not get what I deserved and have been ripped off a number of times by male businessmen. Prior to that I survived years of relationships with men. I live with one now. But - who do so many of them think they are? This?

I guess they think they are the supreme rulers of the planet. Which is, by and large, the truth. But does the fact that we have a male Prime Minister entitle every man to self-righteous jerkdom?

We have a laundry room in my apartment building. Sometimes I chat with the other women doing the laundry, or converse with their little children to give the harried mothers a mini-break. We commiserate about the drudgery of doing laundry. Sometimes we don't talk. We're too busy trying to get through the drudgery. We work in companionable silence.

Every so often a man shows up. Then, the casual camaraderie is broken.

Men don't like doing laundry. Here's an inside tip, guys - neither do women! Laundry is a job that needs to get done. Unlike you, we do laundry for the whole family, not just for ourselves. So we get a good look at a man's dirty clothes and guess what. It's not a pretty sight.

When a man shows up, in my experience, he starts bitching. He's probably in a bad mood because he has to do his laundry, and that's not a job befitting one who is of the same sex as the Prime Minister of Canada.

Last time, it was a fellow with anger issues who tantrummed like a baby because the washers and dryers were on a card system, no longer coin operated. Of course, this had been announced via posted messages in the elevators, but perhaps he missed them, or perhaps he can't read. At any rate, he screamed at me, as if I were his abused wife or worn out mother.

”This is the most fucking ridiculous thing I've ever seen in my life,” he raged. He must've led a very sheltered life.

Like most women, I've encountered guys like this before.
I knew if I responded he'd double his fury. But after a few minutes of his profane screeching, I simply couldn't stand it any longer.

“It's really not that difficult,” I said.

Yes, he exploded, as I'd known he would. I left.

Today, I loaded four washers (of six) with my laundry. It's a busy afternoon. The washers and dryers are in full use.

A man, worse, a young man, came in. He carried a laundry basket with his precious gym shorts and dirty socks in it. Once he discovered there was no washer for him, he turned on me.

“How many washers are you using?” he demanded to know.

”Four,” I replied.

“Don't you think that's selfish?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

Oh boy, that got him good. He started raving at me. “You don't think it's selfish to use ALL the washers and leave NONE for the rest of the people in the building?”

“Snooze, lose,” I replied.

He left in a huff, muttering rudities. The woman using the other two washers and I looked at each other, shrugged, laughed, and continued doing our laundry.

I think perhaps he would've liked it if I'd said, “Oh poor you, just leave your dirty clothes here and I'll do them for you and let you get back to the serious business of running the country.” But I didn't.

I think if bad tempered men knew how silly they look when they start yelling at women in the laundry room, if they knew how little effect their tantrums have on us, they might think twice. Perhaps, after their little pooh pooh fit, when they do their laundry and see the evidence of their fury in their underpants, they'll get the message.

Must go, if I don't get my laundry out of the dryers the moment it's done, I know not what will happen to it. The PM by proxy might seek revenge . . .

photos: sodahead.com
bleacherreport.com
facebook.com
babyshower.net

Eye Candy Monday

2011-06-06T03:11:00.001+01:00

I guess this is sexy eye candy, maybe even romantic eye candy, rather than eye candy that'll get you all hot and bothered.

But I think it's really pretty and I still believe in love.

I think this couple is in love.

xoxo Mad

ps - I think this will have to do for this week's eye candy Monday as well.
June 13, 2011.

Kids Suck

2011-05-29T00:06:00.002+01:00

I'm not talking about babies, I'm talking about kids. Like, say, from about eleven to - well I wouldn't know, infinity.

Yes yes in the Parents' Handbook I've mentally written it says in CAPS - DO NOT PHONE THEM. THEY MUST PHONE YOU.

But sometimes I have a little time to stretch out and sip a diet gingerale and I think, hey, I wonder how so and so (22 and loves me) is doing. Or else, hey, I wonder if so and so (20 - "I love you but you drive me crazy") is doing. And I make the mistake of placing the call.

When you call them they are always busy. Always. They might talk to you for a minute or two but in the background you can hear their thumbs working away at text messaging, or their computer keys being hit, or whatever goddam gadget they've got going this week. And whatever you say to them the response is the same. "What?"

A kid never hears a parent the first time. That's in THEIR handbook.

Since the 'little one' has strep throat (I discovered yesterday) she won't talk to me. I called today to see if she's feeling better. "Yes." "Oh I'm so glad honey. So you saw the doctor and got something for it?" "Yes. I can't talk now I have to go back to sleep." Understandable.

The other one is at Anime North. This is the highlight of her life. I know this fact but I thought maybe a little call? "Hi honey!" "I'm busy." "Well, I know, but are you having fun?" "Yes, I'm busy having fun. Goodbye."

Okay, fair enough, who wants to talk to their mother when they're at Animé North?

I should count my blessings. Neither of them told me to "Fuck off" and they don't do a lot of drugs or have a lot of sexual partners. They're both in college or university. They're great, actually, they just suck when it comes to me. Is that normal? I think it might be.

Bah. I think I'll go find Felix and pester him. He'll listen to me. He says he enjoys my 'chatter.' I choose to take that as English talk for 'intelligent conversation.'

Ta!

ps - I needed a new post, and this is it. Another time, perhaps we'll talk about how kids feel about having an erotica author as a mother . . . "luv the trophy Mom, can I take it to show and tell?"

Erotic Awards 2011 Story Teller of the Year

2011-05-21T22:08:00.002+01:00

Yes folks, Madeline Moore is Storyteller of the year. I just found out so I feel weird. Here's a picture of my trophy.

Hand made in Bali, in case you were wondering how such a delightful thing comes to be. It will look lovely in my trophy case (formerly known as the bookshelf.)

Thank you Erotic Awards 2011 judges! Thank you for representing me, Kristina Lloyd! Thank you Logical Lust publisher Jim Brown and editor Jolie du Pre, for The Cougar Book, in which my story "Get Up! Stand Up!" was published.

I think a taste of the story is in order. It takes place in Quebec. Annie is a physiotherapist who has just convinced a young protester to come down from a tree that will be demolished the next day. Her plan was to get him walking and send him home but the chemistry between them is irresistible. This is near the beginning of the story, when she has just arrived home with a filthy, limping (but legal!) young man:

The story is that when Cher laid eyes on Rob the bagel boy she said, “Have him washed and brought to my tent.” I knew that was what I was doing but I was still pretending my motives were pure.

“Straighten your legs,” I ordered when I was back in the bathroom. “Yum Yum,” sang my body in response to the sight of him stretched out in my tub. “Young, young, yum, yum.” I averted my eyes.

“Can’t. It hurts.”

“Do your best. Now flex your toes. Can you feel it in your calves?”

“Sorta.”

“Do five flex and relax reps. Ready? One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Relax.”

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Merci. Again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. And relax.”

“Will I walk again?”

“Yes.”

“Will I play the piano?”

I laughed. “No.”

“I’m clean now,” he said. “Get in.”

“You think?” I looked at him. His cock waved a solid, friendly hello. The sight of that majestic hard on struck me dumb.

We exchanged a long look. Mine said, “I’m almost fifty, cheri,” and his said, “De rien.”

So I dropped my button-through dress. I was wearing a black satin push up bra and thong (sixty year old men love a thong on any woman’s body, even a perimenopausal one) and lacy stay-ups that were riddled with runs from my trip into the forest.

“Oo la la,” said Guy. His cock got bigger; the head got thicker and started turning purple.

Desire hit my crotch so hard it hurt, like a cramp in my clit.

“I haven’t even touched you,” I whispered. I was awestruck. Honestly I hadn’t seen a cock that big and hard and blatantly horny since I quit trolling the gay porn sites. As for the real thing?
Years, baby.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said. “And a bootylicious body.” He licked his lips.

I stripped off my bra and panties and stepped into the tub, positioning one foot on each side of his slender boy hips. Then I simply lowered myself onto that magnificent member. I didn’t even spread my labia with my fingers, instead letting the heat-seeking head of his dick shove them aside to find my seriously aching hole.

“Christ,” I muttered as it stretched happily to accommodate him.

Water hit the back of my head and poured over us both.

“Oui,” (Wah) he said. He sighed like an old man, long and slow, and closed his eyes.

I kept mine open, watching the guileless grin that spread across his face as I slipped down another inch onto him, and another, until he was fully inside of me, encased by the hot satin walls of my cunt. My lips and clit nestled in his straight black pubic hair.

He humped up.

I gasped like a girl.

He did it again. Again. Again.

I started trembling all over. Usually I need a little help to make it all the way to euphoria, by which I mean wine as well as foreplay, but not this time. I was about to start howling and even the sight of my belly wrinkling between my navel and my pubic hair didn’t phase me.

“Fuck it,” I hissed. I leaned forward a little, so the head of his cock rubbed my g-spot.

His eyes opened. “Cool,” he said. He cupped my breasts, thumbing my nipples.

“How long can you fuck like this?”

He shrugged. “Forever, if you like.” He humped up again.

I made a strangled little noise.

Guy let his right hand trail down between my breasts, over my belly, to my mound. Again, his touch was gentle. He used his thumb to make lazy little circles around and over my clit. “Or we can come now and then come again later and then come again later and…”

“Uh huh.” I was nodding in slavish agreement. I shifted to a kneel.

Guy guided my head to his. Our mouths met in a sloppy kiss, sloppy because we were eager and the shower made it hard to breathe, not sloppy because he was inexperienced or demanding. He pressed my head to his skinny chest and he fucked and fingered me until I really did start howling and shaking and grinding and coming like I hadn’t had an orgasm in years. I was scared I might squeeze him right out of me with the force of my clenching contractions, but he was as solid as ever inside me.

“Stop!” I tried to wriggle free. “I can’t stand it!”

“Sure you can, cheri,” he murmured. He just kept on going, fingering and fucking me as if I hadn’t just come, until I did it again, as hard and long as the first time.

I lay plastered against his chest, half-delirious with delight. “You come!”

“I did,” he said.

“So quiet,” I marvelled. “And gentle. And patient.”

“I have to be these things,” he replied.

I climbed off him and out of the tub with as much grace as I could muster. Then I helped him out and wrapped him in a bath sheet. We were both a little unsteady.

“Why?”

“Hmm?” He leaned on me. He looked exhausted.

I leaned back. “Why do you have to be quiet and gentle and patient?”

He looked at me with the sad eyes of a weary warrior. “I think it’s going to take a long time to save the planet.”

xoxo Madeline

Eye Candy Monday

2011-05-16T01:38:00.000+01:00

There's less than a week to go until the Erotic 2011 Awards will take place. As you may know, I am a finalist in the Awards. After the Awards Ceremony, there'll be what sounds like one helluva party, called Night of the Senses.

This is a charity award, for a group called Outsiders which welcomes people with physical and social disabilities to join their club, make new friends and, if they wish, find partners.

I'm nominated in the "Story Tellers" category. My story, "Get Up! Stand Up!" is in The Cougar Book, edited by Jolie du Pre and published by Logical Lust.

The story is about a perimenopausal woman who talks an environmentalist out of a tree and into her bed. Annie, a physiotherapist, wasn't planning to have sex with him, she just planned to get the poor kid walking again, maybe buy him a burger and a bus ticket home. But -

Annie describes him like so:

Long dark hair, lanky body all scrunched up. A wistful face, as the young so often have, pale, unlined, sharp cheek bones and a soft, sensuous mouth. Big baby blues, baby.

Something like this, I imagine:

Who could resist? Not my heroine, Annie. And so to bed for some red hot never stop fuck me till I die sex.

Keep your fingers crossed for me!

xoxo Madeline Moore

ps - This is a picture of Jesse McCartney, about whom I know nothing except that he's 24 years old and so adorable I wouldn't blame any older woman if she decided, "Screw it I'm gonna fuck this young man." Would you?

Eye Candy Monday - Ophelia Bitz

2011-05-09T03:53:00.003+01:00

This is Ophelia Bitz, and if she isn't a combo of sexy and sweet then I don't know my eye candy. And I think I do.

She's a finalist in the "Performers" category at the Erotic Awards 2011.

I won't be seeing her, even though I've been nominated in the 'Story Tellers' category, because I live in Canada and I haven't the dollars, pounds or euros to make the trip. So it will be up to my (perfectly chosen, if you ask me) representative to see Ophelia and all the other nominees on Awards Night. Kristina Lloyd, will you please please have lots and lots of fun for me at the Erotic 2011 awards and if at all possible, bring me back a flying penis?

Erotic Awards 2011

2011-04-26T21:26:00.016+01:00

Yes, "Get Up! Stand Up!" my first foray into the world of e-publishing, is not only in The Cougar Book, which is is a finalist for an EPIC 2011 ebook award,but is also a finalist in the Erotic Awards 2011.

The awards presentation will be followed by a wild and decadent "Night of the Senses" that sounds absolutely incredible.

Sadly I won't be able to attend. Hopefully, should I win, my flying penis will wing its way across the pond and into my waiting arms. I'm lining up my peeps to represent me and working feverishly on a short, sex-positive speech.

This is a charity event in aid of an organization called Outsiders, which works together with other groups to address the isolation faced by many disabled people, and to campaign for the acceptance of disabled people as sexual partners.

Because every adult deserves to have sex, don't you think? Well I sure do and I'm proud of me and my story, win or lose, for being part of something so meaningful and exciting.

Wish me luck! And let's all hope the event is a smashing success!

xoxo Mad

Happy Easter, Everyone!

2011-04-24T18:29:00.000+01:00

Fabulous News about to be Announced

2011-04-22T13:29:00.001+01:00

Argh. I want to tell you my fabulous news but Felix, who is more experienced in these things, says I must wait for the official announcement which is yet to come.

So I can't tell you my fabulous news.

Which leaves me with little to say on this Friday blog except -
I don't think I'm going to promise to blog faithfully every Sunday and Thursday anymore.

I think I'll blog when I have something to say.

So, until I have something to say, kisskiss from Madeline Moore

Eye Candy Monday

2011-04-18T01:21:00.000+01:00

Doesn't he look like he belongs to everyone, to the universe, to the cosmos...?
Beautiful man.

Art and Age

2011-04-14T01:59:00.000+01:00

It's good to be past the getting married, having kids, getting divorced part of my life. I think it gives me an advantage because the younger female authors still have to do all of that. Plus they get pms.

Unfortunately, getting older means being tired and paying for all those hilarious tumbles down hills (the ones we thought we'd survived unscathed that come back to scathe us later) and dancing all night in high heels. Smoking way too many cigarettes. Sockin' back the brewskies.

Being tired.

So, good night children! I'll make you a deal: Don't forget Grandma Moses and neither will I.

Eye Candy Monday

2011-04-11T05:02:00.001+01:00

Gorgeous and young - go for it, eye candy couple. You know you want it.

xoxo Mad

photo from musetracks.wordpress.com

Swanning

2011-04-08T22:13:00.003+01:00

Oops, I forgot about my Thursday post. Sorry, folks. I hope you didn't miss your Madeline Moore Thursday fix too greatly.

I'll tell you a funny story. I was swanning about because on the back cover of The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 10 the editor, Maxim Jakubowski says the stories in the book are by "The Year's Best Erotica From The World's Leading Authors" and I'm one of the six authors he listed on the back cover.

Madeline Moore, therefore, is one of the world's leading writers of erotica.

Then Felix checked his email. In it, there was a request from Maxim for a story of Felix's that he'd published in an earlier edition of the series.

It seems Maxim's putting together an anthology of The Best of the Best of the Mammoth Book of Erotica.

I should post a picture like this:

But Felix, of course, doesn't swan and I don't feel generous; I feel I've been demoted and rather quickly, too. So, today there is a dearth of swans in my pond.

Eye Candy Monday

2011-04-04T05:36:00.001+01:00

Today is Felix's birthday and I have eyes only for him.

Felix is my hero.

Here he is, in the Dominican Republic:

Here am I in the Dominican Republic:

Yes, it's true, we're nekkid! We were nekkid in the Dominican
and we are nekkid right now.

So:

Do Not Disturb.

xoxo Madeline

ps - may your hero or your heroine find you and love you forever.
Life is better that way.

The Teacher in Me

2011-03-30T07:21:00.001+01:00

As Madeline Moore I teach erotica (to one student.) But under my real name,
Laurie Clayton, I teach a whole bunch of people how to improve their writing skills. I've been doing this for just over one year.

I love my job. I'm paid by the unit so I'm not making as much per hour as I could be if I weren't so painstakingly particular about each assignment. I do hope to speed it up a little as time passes, but I want these people to get the best I can possibly offer.

The first time a student of mine sold a story I think I was just as excited as she was. We did it!

One woman with a big time business resume of her own challenged my credentials to teach her. I sent her my complete resume and a letter. She decided to stick with me as her tutor.

Recently a new student, a man, submitted a piece of work that took me 5 hours to critique. He also showed an awful lot of attitude in his comments.
A few emails (sent back and forth via the school) tested my ability to tame the beast. Tame him I did.

He always expresses his gratitude, now, in every single assignment I receive.
Recently he asked if I'd like a copy of his first published non-fiction book.
What? That's right. He's been published, not self-published, and the book has been receiving great reviews.

People are strange, aren't they? Wouldn't you think an egocentric fellow who is testing the fortitude of his tutor might've mentioned he's already a published author?

The hard part of being a tutor is dealing with students whose first language is not English and think that studying creative writing will help them learn the language. It really doesn't work.

There are also students who will never write well enough to be published. I help them as best I can but, sooner rather than later, they disappear. Perhaps it's just as well to give it a try and find out the truth, but as we all know, the truth hurts.

I teach every genre offered by the school except "business writing." I was hired when two tutors retired in rapid succession, so I inherited a number of students who had already completed most of the course they were taking.

One such student was a woman who was writing her memoirs. After a couple of units she confessed that, unlike me, her previous tutor hadn't offered much guidance, mainly commenting, "Good work. I look forward to your next unit." Well, I suppose when one is ready to retire one isn't labouring over each student's story. I was happy that my student was happy. After all, it's not like I ever studied "how to write memoirs." It was new to me, too.

Obviously I'm not going to tell you her life story, but there was a particularly poignant episode in her youth that I felt she'd glossed over. Perhaps because it was painful to write about. I made a few suggestions that she followed and the result really was a dynamic piece of work.

For the final two units I offered to do a proofread/edit of the entire piece.
She sent it to me in one unit and I returned it, ready for (self) publication. We'd agreed that she'd post once more, even though the work was finished, so that I would be paid in full.

Time passed. I didn't hear from her. I wondered if she'd forgotten our arrangement, but since she wouldn't receive her certificate of graduation from the school until all units were completed, it seemed odd that she'd neglected to upload that final post.

Then it arrived. She'd waited until the book was printed and distributed to her family members before writing to tell me how well-received it had been. The gratitude she expressed at the way I'd helped her shape her story into something meaningful was so sweet, so sincere, so passionately heartfelt that I almost cried.

I love being a writer. My own writing has improved since I've become a teacher. At first, I feared I hadn't the knowledge necessary to instruct people on how to write. But I do. I love being a tutor.

My gratitude to the college for accepting me as a tutor is passionately heartfelt, too.

Thank you, Winghill

You have changed the way I see myself.
You have changed my life.

Love, Madeline

Eye Candy Monday

2011-03-28T02:48:00.000+01:00

We're Young, we're beautiful, we're about to have sizzling sex.

Happy Monday

xoxo Madeline

Madeline Takes You to the Movies

2011-03-24T02:27:00.000Z

This was the beginning of the movies:

In 1878 Eadweard Muybridge was challenged to prove that while galloping, a horse's four legs would all be in the air at the same time. He did so, with
a bunch of cameras, trip wire and the lovely thoroughbred, Sallie Gardener.

This is also the beginning of the screenwriting course that I'll be teaching soon. Ain't it cool?

Here's his next photographic esssay: Woman Dropping Handkerchief

Here's Another: Men Wrestling:

It didn't take movies very long to feature naked folk, did it?
I like that about the cinema.

xoxo Mad

ps - In 1874, still living in the San Francisco Bay Area, Muybridge discovered that his wife had a lover, a Major Harry Larkyns. On October 17, 1874, he sought out Larkyns; said, "Good evening, Major, my name is Muybridge and here is the answer to the letter you sent my wife"; and shot and killed him. He was put on trial for the killing, but acquitted of the killing on the grounds that it was "justifiable homicide."

What a guy!

Eye Candy Monday

2011-03-21T01:40:00.001Z

I like dirty guys

.

I like them to get nice and clean so . . .

. . . they can get dirty again. How about you?

xoxo Mad

Look At Me!

2011-03-17T02:53:00.000Z

Remember this?

When he turned sixty they said, "He's not sixty years old, he's three twenty year olds."

Judging from the way he rocked it baby at the Grammys last week, I'm inclined to agree.And then there are those memories, the ones many of us have, that we each think are ours alone.

Bad Boy

Baby boy

My boy (Hey, I know how to share!)

Eye Candy Monday - When One is Not Enough

2011-03-14T01:31:00.000Z

Boo hoo sob sob I'm still sick. I sleep. I sip ginger ale. I read half a paragraph of a magazine. I sleep more. I have an inhaler, like an asthmatic.

Felix takes care of me, of course. But he has so much he needs to get done.
I believe we need reinforcements. I believe we need:

Him:

I don't want him to burn out, giving me my sponge bath and taking my temperature and fetching ice chips and ginger ale.

I know I'm high maintenance. I've never denied it. So perhaps it's best if we bring in even more reinforcements.

Him:

Yes, I think the three of them can do the job. Before I take my mega pill, which will knock me out before I can take a single sip of ginger ale from my bendy straw, I will express my appreciation to those who take care of me.

I love Felix, too.

xoxo Madeline

Photos: male nurse one - www.blogmonkeys.com
male nurse two - some14me.blogspot.com
i love male nurses banner - cafepress.com

Grand Horizontal

2011-03-10T04:08:00.002Z

If only I could be like the lovely, reclining woman on the cover of Grand Horizontal The Erotic Memoirs of A passionate lady, by Cora Swan.

She only lived 1835 - 1886. So I guess if really was her I wouldn't be sick I'd be dead. Oh hahahaCHOO! Along with the above book she also published The Memoirs of Cora Pearl. So she only wrote two books but then, I imagine she was pretty busy being a courtesan.

I am horizontal but there the comparison ends. I'm bedfast with a setback,
my friends. Weak and sometimes dizzy. Pneumonia. The flu. So I'm a little closer to this picture:

Yes, I know, I used the same picture on my facebook pages. Guess why?
Because I'm sick! Jeez!

- Mad Mad

Eye Candy Monday - How Much is that Couple in the Window?

2011-03-07T02:56:00.000Z

I have quite a collection, now, of photos eligible for my "Eye Candy Monday" slot. Why this one? One of my blog followers (kisskisskiss) kd grace, mentioned on last week's eye candy blog that photos of couples are a greater turn on for her than photos of sexy women or sexy men.

Madeline Moore Aims To Please

But more than that, there's something about this picture that grabs me. Maybe because it looks real - like something a couple might easily do.
There's a hint of voyeurism. Tattoos. But voyeurism and tattoos are not particular kinks of mine.

It must be that thumb, hooked into the side of her little striped panties, that has me panting . . .

And you?

xoxo Madeline

Photo credit: (obvious, since it's written across the photo - Ashton Ray Hanson

Farting Around

2011-03-03T03:00:00.000Z

I'm in luck! Due to the Academy Awards on Sunday night, I was forced to miss the Season Finale of "Spartacus: Gods of the Arena." So I get to watch it right now. And that's what I'm going to do.

I know, as a wannabe pop art pundit, that I must try to stay in the loop.
But isn't it fun, sometimes, to discover something late?

If you're a Spartacus fan, you've probably already seen the finale of Spartacus: God's of the Arena. The next hour of pleasure I'll experience is lost to you. Been there. Done that.

My Arts degree was an English major. I was introduced to Kurt Vonnegut in English lit 101.

The assigned novel was Cat's Cradle but baby I didn't stop there.
I read one after another, day after day, until I found myself in a Kurt Vonnegut state of mind. I loved it but I had to let it go. It didn't belong to me. But I sure did enjoy those KV days.

You will, I think, find this next confession even more hard to believe but I did not read J.D. Salinger until well after I graduated from university.
Then I read The Catcher in the Rye. Can you imagine my joy? It didn't take long to read everything he'd written.

I mourned, as many others have, his decision to cease publishing. But I respected it. And it freed me from the feeling that I had to write. I didn't have to. The world wouldn't care. I'd write because I wanted to!
And that make it all much more fun, from then until right now.

Right now I'm off to the Arena.

Is there someone, an author, a painter, an artist you discovered 'late'?
Tell me all about it!

xoxo Madeline

Eye Candy Monday

2011-02-28T01:59:00.000Z

It's Oscar time and tonight I kick back in my bling and slippers and enjoy the show. Although I hope to become a pop art pundit, my Golden Globes coverage was way too much work so there'll be no Academy Award live coverage from this blogger. I'll just be looking at sexy dudes like James de Franco:

Nominee and host. Oh the pressure! You can do it, James.

Here's the nominee I want to meet and hang out with, as I mentioned in my Golden Globe coverage. He looks like a nice guy and sometimes nice guys are sexy, too. I refer, of course, to Colin Firth.

Okay, so this guy isn't nominated tonight. But I think he's some piece of work. From underwear model to major movie star. That's a helluva leap and he did it with great panache. I give you the former Markie Mark, Mr. Mark Wahlberg.

I hope you enjoy Oscar night. I'm off to watch the show!

xoxo Madeline

Autoerotobloggerism

2011-02-24T03:24:00.000Z

I will post every Monday and Thursday. I will keep doing this, regularly, so my readers may be sure that if they come to my blog on Monday or Thursday, there will be something new here for them to read. On Monday, they are guaranteed pretty pictures of sexy people. On Thursday, they will also get pictures but they are not guaranteed to be pretty pictures of sexy people.
They could be weird, like this:

I think that I shall never see
a poem as sexy as this tree

The picture may mean nothing to anyone but me, which would be unlikely to happen, because what is the point of posting a picture that means nothing to anyone but me? Unless I suspect that, with Janine Ashbless out of town, no one is going to comment on my blog anyway? Then I might post something like this, which is a statue, I guess you would call it, of a muskie, which is a fish you can catch in the lovely waters of Kenora, Ontario.

I like funny pictures too, like this one. Except maybe it's only funny because he's a large man. Or is it funny just because he's a man?
Which reminds me of an amusing anecdote. I was going to a fetish club with my then-husband and I was a tad nervous because I hadn't been to one before. I said to him, as we were entering the club, "Well, I look better than she does, anyway," and he sighed and said, "That's a man."

Hey that reminds me. I've been saving a picture for some time now, saving it for the perfect Thursday post, and I think this is the one. Enjoy, dear Madeline Moore blog fans. Please, don't feel that you need to take the two minutes to post a comment so I know I'm not blogging to myself. Really.
I get great pleasure from autoerotobloggerism. Really I do.

Eye Candy Monday

2011-02-21T02:18:00.000Z

Breath Play - Nasty or Nice.

Does the idea make your heart beat faster because you think you might like it
or because you want to run run run away from the very idea?

Breath Play - It can leave you breathless.

Contest Time!

2011-02-17T04:47:00.000Z

Guess who decided to buy my cougar novel? Yes, those kinky Germans, already avid readers of Lust - Poker and Lektionen will soon be able to order - um - Amanda's Junger Manner or something like that.

Here's a young German hunk:
His name is Kamil Bak.

Want to see his face?
Are you sure?
Okay.

Pardon me. That's not his face. That's him looking down at his torn tee shirt. Oh me oh my. I wonder if Amanda tore it off him?

Here's a picture of his face. I wonder if his name changes to Kamil Front.
HA HA!

Here's a fun little contest.
Guess what Amanda's Young Men will be titled in German and if you guess correctly, I'll send you a copy of Lust-Poker and a copy of Lektionen.

Lord knows, I've got quite a few of them kicking around.

Viel Gluck.

xoxo Mad

ps - I don't know how to umlaut on Blogger, so sue me.

A Valentine for . . . Charlie Sheen

2011-02-14T05:12:00.003Z

This is a special edition of Eye Candy Monday. Not all the pictures are pretty.

Remember, Charlie, when you smiled like this?

But you don't smile that way any more. For quite some time, shots of Charlie Sheen show a grim guy wearing a hat and shades.

Word is, you're thinking of getting gold teeth. For fun? Well, maybe . . .
or maybe it's because when you do smile, showing your teeth, you look like this:

Readers may ask why I send a Valentine to a guy who hits women.

This guy has hit women:

I think drugs and alcohol had a lot (I'm not saying everything) to do with why he did. And why you do.
Eminem had the guts to record a song, with Rihanna, called "Love the Way You Lie," that actually examines violence against women. It isn't really as simple an issue as we thought it was. I learned this from an abused wife I tried to help. Now, we've all learned it, from Eminem and Rihanna.

But he had to get better to make an album like Recovery. (Winner of the 2011 Grammy for best Rap Album of the Year)

You're in rehab now, Charlie. You could recover. Here's a guy who looked like he was down for the count, not all that long ago. This is Robert Downey, Jr.'s mug shot. He went to rehab and paid attention. And he did it. Day by day, for ten years now, he has stayed away from the same demons that are killing you.

Now he looks like this.

Charlie, you are the highest paid actor on TV and the star of a hit comedy show, Two and a Half Men that is now in its eighth season. You're number one, man. Except today the last episode that's been shot will air, after which the show goes "on hiatus." It's all up to you, now.
Please get better.

I'm not afraid. To take a stand.
Everybody, come take my hand.
We'll walk this road together.

- Not afraid, from Recovery, by Eminem.

Charlie Sheen, you are not alone.

Love, Madeline

addendum: this just in: Charlie acts weird on sports radio.

My Convo with the Chicken Soup Guy

2011-02-10T07:56:00.002Z

My eye cream has been gently massaged around the eye area and I've let Leo Van Meow Meow go out on the balcony so he can see that the weather has not changed much since this morning. I've set up the heater in front of the expensive chapel chair that is now his and I've bid him a fond good night.

It's time to join Felix, already fast asleep in our comfy King size bed. Soon I shall slip into that state of bliss we call sleep, content with what I have accomplished on this uneventful but not unpleasant Wednesday -

Wednesday? Why, that means I'm supposed to have a new post up tomorrow. I faithfully promised my fans new posts on Monday and Thursday. It's already g.d. Thursday in the UK, where both of them live. Oh fer the love of Mike!

Power up, oh keeper of promises. Draw from the mighty imagination that has conjured up three entire erotica novels and countless, that is if you count on your fingers and toes, sexy short stories. Write something and throw in some pictures and go to bed. It can't be all that hard . . . can it?

Can - didn't I have an idea earlier in the week - something about a can - a can of soup - a can of chicken soup? I did. I do. I remember now!

My Correspondence with the webmaster for Chicken Soup for the Soul

Subject: Submissions: Hello Chicken Soup. Your Submission Guidelines neglect to indicate the amount you pay for the stories you include in your books. Please tell me: What do you pay? Warmest Regards, Madeline Moore

The reply:RE:Submissions Dear Madeline: Thank you for your inquiry. If your story is selected for publication in one of our Chicken Soup for the Soul books then you will receive a one-time fee of $200 and ten free copies of the book your story appears in (worth more than $100) for the rights to print your story. This information is included on our website. We look forward to getting some submissions from you. Sincerely, Chicken Soup for the Soul

Hmmm. I go to Amazon and try to count the number of Chicken Soup books. I quit counting at two hundred. I get irritable. My reply:

I am afraid that a payment of two hundred dollars for inclusion in a franchise that is making millions for its editors would cause this writer's soul great pain.

I start thinking about this issue. After all, what does Reader's Digest pay its contributors? Well, while it still pays Americans real dollars, Canadians contributors are now paid with a subscription to the magazine.

I start checking out the authors with contributions in Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul. Some are: Ernest J. Gaines, Terry McMillan, Sue Grafton, Steve Allen, George Plimpton, and Ray Bradbury. I found Gloria Steinham's name as a contributor to another of the Chicken Soup books, I don't remember which one, but that was when I stopped searching authors and sent this reply to the webmaster:

On Second Thought: Me again. Having visited Amazon and admired the many, many pages of Chicken Soup anthologies, as well as noticing that Gloria Steinham has contributed to one of them, I have changed my mind. Perhaps what I should do, instead of whining at you, is purchase Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul. It isn't easy being a writer but it's harder to be a bitter writer than a hopeful one. I must try to stay on the hopeful side. In case I haven't made myself clear, I apologise for my response to your polite reply to my initial inquiry.

The final reply from the webmaster:
Hi Madeline Many people are interested in being included in one of our Chicken Soup for the Soul books. We get more than a few thousand story and poem submissions for each book title we publish. We do hope that, after reconsidering, you will submit your work to us. Chicken Soup for the Soul

So there you go. Of course now I'm trying to think up my own franchise. Something like Borscht for Bitter Bastards or Minestrone for the Miserable or Stone Soup for the Stoner or Lentil Soup for Losers but mostly, I'm just thinking I did the right thing. Do you?

Nightie night. Mad.

Eye Candy Monday - Spartacus - Gods of the Arena

2011-02-07T05:06:00.000Z

Are you watching this series?

If not, you are missing a show that guarantees sexy men in loincloths battling to the death in the arena:

or mouth-watering sex scenes:

Most of the time, you get a great big hunk

or two:

or more:

AND sex with one (slave diddling Lucy Lawless doesn't count):

or two:

or more:

If you missed Season one: Spartacus: Blood and Sand
then you're in for a double (triple?) treat.

Just doin' my Monday Morning job - bringing you eye candy to make you drool.

xoxo Mad

Cut Up Poetry

2011-02-03T04:40:00.000Z

I have been inspired by Kristina Lloyd's post on cut ups, (which you might wish to check out after you read my post) to create a cut up poem of my own. A word of explanation: as a gift to Felix I took the poems he had written for me and cut lines from them. These were collected in a box so that, should he ever need inspiration, he could pick a slip of paper from the box and read his own marvellous words. I'm sorry to say that the original poems are lost, so these cut ups are all that are left. This is particularly unfortunate as he wrote an entire sonnet for me.

I've taken the slips of paper and created this cut-up poem. Cut-up by Madeline Moore. Words by Felix Baron. Printed, of course, with his permission.

In my youth I hunted for that impossible woman
the one I desired above all things, to own.
I grew weary; the hunting stopped.
You came and lay your head in my lap.

I will make love to you forever,
my sweet, deliciously depraved, slut.

You are imprisoned in my palace,
where you reign under my foot.

I value your pristine beauty
and deface it in proof of its infinite worth.

When your mind is blank
You are sagacious beyond natural wisdom.

You have no defence but your vulnerability
So your armour is adamantine.

Without your neck beneath my foot, I am unbalanced.
Without you riding me, I am weighed down.

When my cock isn’t in you, I have no cock.

Your serenity inspires in me such cruelty
that if I could reach so deep, I would mark your soul . . . but I need not.
It is branded already, by your own hand
and the smouldering scar spells out my name.

Alas, all that remains of the Sonnet:

So deep is she that ‘humble’ seems like ‘proud,’
So lovely, Aphrodite bears a frown
And Her divine form shamefully does shroud,
Deep in the folds of Her celestial gown.

But mine is wise, as wise as she is brave.
Surrender brings her all that she could crave.

Photo Credits:
lion:dominance - sonja anderson fineartamerica.com
resting lions: http://www.zazzle.co.uk/lion_lioness_resting
Aphrodite:by Lenasharmen Photobucket.com

Eye Candy Monday - Nicki Minaj

2011-01-31T06:31:00.001Z

O.M.G. who is this beautiful beast? A singer, I gather, although I haven't heard her voice, yet. I don't know anything about her except this:

No wait, I know this about her, too: I know how to pronounce her name. Minaj (Me-naj)

I think she might like to drink champagne.

I'm guessing she likes to play with herself and if I were her I'd like to play with myself, too. If I were me, I'd like to play with her. Wait a minute, I am me! Nicki Minaj, come play with me. In your dreams, you say?
Okay. Nightie night.

And that's all I know. Except that in my opinion, she makes most excellent Monday Morning Eye Candy and if you don't agree with me, well . . .

I'll let her tell you what I think of that.

pictures: http://www.anorak.co.uk/

Grammar Updates

2011-01-27T05:41:00.001Z

Yikes. Over on Linked In I entered into a discussion on Grammar and was shamed by my two pet peeves, which turned out to be erroneous. So, fellow authors, I share with you my errors to save you from making the same ones in your work.

1) none: My understanding: none means 'not one.' It is, therefore, always singular. An example:

"None of the actresses' noses was real."

For this I was trounced. None, it turns out, means not only 'not one' but also 'not any.' Usage depends on which one makes a more pleasing sentence.
And so this sentence is grammatically correct.

"None of the actresses' noses were real."

I stand, trembling at the knees, corrected.

From the grammar goddess: Indefinite pronouns by definition reference nonspecific things or people. Most of these pronouns take a singular verb, some are always plural, and a few may be either singular or plural. Take a look at the lists below, and you'll notice that most indefinite pronouns are singular.

* Singular: another, anybody, anyone, anything, each, either, everybody, everyone, everything, many a, neither, no one, nobody, nothing, one, other, somebody, someone

* Plural: both, few, many, others, several

* Singular or Plural: all, any, none, some, such

2) they: My understanding: The word 'they' is plural.

"They sure look like they're having a lot of fun."

Again, I was trounced. It turns out that 'they' has been used, since Middle and Early Modern English times, in both plural and singular forms. In the Eighteenth Century, singular 'they' and 'he or she,' were replaced with 'he' in an attempt to stress male dominance.

From The Vocabula Review:

But even an Act of Parliament in 1850 England, which banned official use of the expression he or she in favor of generic he , didn't affect the spoken language (Bodine 173).

So this sentence is entirely correct:

"I can't tell from this picture if the person is male or female but they sure have a great body."

I am no longer able to stand corrected, but must sit. I must sit and ponder this: Shakespeare used 'they' as singular as well as plural. If he did it, I'll do it. At least, I'll give it a try.

Picture credits:
Jennifer Grey: plasticsurgerybeforeandafter.blogspot.com
Nicole Kidman as Virginia Woolf: listal.com
Scarlett Johanson: thehoesofhollywood.blogspot.com
gitls having fun: sucksorrules.com
androgymous person: sleevage.com
Shakespeare:shakespeare2006.net

Eye Candy Monday

2011-01-24T01:04:00.003Z

Oh sexy people you look like you're having so much fun. Can I play too?

Photo credit:newperumetoday.blogspot.com

Historical Fiction - how do they do it?

2011-01-20T03:18:00.000Z

I popped over to Justyne Elliot's blog to have a little read of her historical piece, and I was hooked so fast it was freaky. I just love that historical stuff. I can't do it, at least not yet, so I get an extra charge out of the way great historical romance writers make the language flow across the page as if it was effortlessly, almost carelessly, put together. That really gets me panting, as a writer and a reader, and I *love* when that happens. A snippet of her snippet from 1888 Part 2:

Florence giggled. “Jessie Carter, you are a radical. But you echo my own thoughts on the matter. Of course, Mama and Papa are set on moulding me into a perfect porcelain society belle with no thought in her head beyond snaring some chinless lordling and deferring to his half-baked wishes evermore.”

Creaaaaaaaaaaaam

1888 Part 3 is already up, so hustle your bustle on over to her blog as fast as you can and catch some of this steamy historical stuff.

I write contemporary erotica. Sometimes I write paranormal contemporary erotica. Although I do have an idea for a futuristic piece, it's not written yet.

But I do have an historical idea, finally. It takes place in
Japan in the 1800's. That counts, right? Actually, it's a futuristic historical piece set in Japan. And no, it isn't written yet. But that one definitely will be written because I am so very intrigued by the premise.

But this 19th Century stuff - I adore it but it scares me. All that attention to detail, the buttons the corsets the customs and the culture. Yikes. I don't believe I could do it without falling into purple prose, wherein my characters swoon and suffer from the vapours. So I will leave it to Justine and other talented mistresses of the genre, like Madelynne Ellis.This is from the free story on her website, "Any Port in a Storm":

Elsie lifted another garment. The state of Frank’s rough, work stained hands didn’t bother her. She imagined their touch would be soft enough when it suited, just like Taylor’s were. “I’m not looking for a husband,” she said. “I already have one. I’m just admiring what’s in plain sight, that’s all.”

At that moment Frank stood. Grimy black water spattered the cobblestones. His longjohns, once baggy, now clung to his hips and thighs, outlining muscles and hollows. Where it was in contact with skin the cotton had turned transparent, so that around the crotch his black bush clearly framed the swell of his balls and shaft.

Jessie whistled in response. “I take it back. Big boy, isn’t he? Shouldn’t we look away, or something?”

Hearing the whistle, Frank turned his head, and seeing his cousin, gave a wide goofy grin. “All right, Jessie,” he said. “Me mam’ll be right vexed if she sees you out here while I’m washing.”

Ah, sometimes it's great to forget about being a writer and lose myself in the joy of reading. Don't you agree?

xoxox Mad

Images:
corset: vitruvian-musings.tumblr.com
girls in 19th century dress: 860garmentsbyglenda.com
sexy stockings: unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com
sexy naked military man: johncoulthart.com

Eye Candy Monday - Golden Globes Edition

2011-01-17T05:04:00.007Z

Okay I know Johnny Depp didn't win an award but he was nominated for two so I think that earns him (and his once love Kate Moss) top spot on my
special Golden Globes edition of Eye Candy Monday.

Here's a lady who did win, with her husband, who's probably won a few GGs in his time. Yes, this is them awhile back but - don't they look adorable? I like Warren Beatty but I goddam love Annette Benning. (Winner of this year's Golden Globe award for Best Actress in a comedy or musical.) The film, co-starring Julianne Moore, is called The Kids Are All Right.

And now - My real time coverage of the 2011 Golden Globes

Red Carpet: Most of the women are looking good this year and I'm noticing the pale lipstick.The gowns, by and large, are uncharacteristically unique and gorgeous.

It's nice to see Natalie Portman pregnant, (by her choreographer/boyfriend with the improbable last name of Millepied). I can actually hear, even from Canada, the collective sigh of relief of Hollywood wives. Presumably, Portman is off the prowl for at least the rest of the year.

Rickie Gervais is marvellous. He says he must not have done his job properly last year in order to be invited back this year and promises this year he will make sure they never invite him back again. So far, Ricky, so fab. I think he'll be back. He and Steve Carell did their usual who-hates-who-most schtick which, as Carell accurately commented, 'never gets old.'

Yes, I know, Johnny didn't win anything but he was nominated twice so I think it only fair to post two pictures of him in my blog.

Oh God it always makes me happy when the winning screenwriter was a nobody last year, as happened again tonight. He said, "A year ago I wouldn't have believed this was possible." That's the sort of story that keeps screenwriters banging away at the keyboard with the clear knowledge that they are simply sending letters hurtling into space to be sucked into a black hole. I can only hope the day never comes when all those consonants and nouns, not to mention grammatical marks, crash back to earth at the same moment, obliterating all of us.

But tonight is not about the bitterness of the 95% of screenwriters, actors, directors, producers who will never stand on that stage. Tonight is about watching the best of the best, the glitziest of the glitziest, and the most beautiful of the beautiful people celebrate their year. And everyone, from erotica short story authors to major movie stars, ought to get their time in the gorgeous sunlight. Like this improbable movie star:

Hey, Sly was there!
Okay, don't think I don't get the point of Eye Candy Monday, because I do. Proof:

Alright maybe he didn't look like that last night, but he once looked like that and I'm eternally grateful for his beauty. Oh and all the good things
he does for the world. And for his acting, sometimes, too.

Same goes for Matt Damon, who gave Robert De Niro a terrific introduction when de Niro was presented with the Cecil B. DeMille award. De Niro, whom I recall at one time could not articulate well enough to give an interview, was hilarious as well as eloquent. No cheat sheets, either. I hope his second standing ovation lasted the entire time the commercials played.

Sometime I'll tell you my real life Robert de Niro story. Perhaps Robert de Niro anecdote would be more accurate . . . but I do have one!

I'm doing this in real time, so I have to register a disappointment to see that Glee beat out The Big Bang Theory. No Glee pics on my site.

Wow, shout out to Paul Giamatti for a surprising win for Barney's Version,the movie made from Mordecai Richler's novel of the same name. Nice of Paul to salute "the great nation of Canada." Woo hoo.

Frankly, I'm impressed that The Social Network took the Best Picture Golden Globe. A new era is certainly upon us, and the two young actors (who didn't dash onto the stage with the rest of the above the line folks to celebrate, and has to be called up by the producer) are very likely to be the superstars of the future.

For me, in truth: If the Golden Globe Fairy Godmother cast a spell on me that landed me, suitably garbed, gorgeous (and single) in the middle of the festivities, and said I could take home anyone I wanted (also, by the same spell, unencumbered by wife or girlfriend) I think I'd be really happy to say to this fellow, 'Congratulations Mr Firth, my name is Madeline Moore.'

space junk photo from: dailymail.co.uk
canada shorts from wordans.com
all other celebrity photos from google

Grinning from Ear to Ear

2011-01-14T07:15:00.004Z

OMG I am chuffed to fuck, as they say in the British Army, or at least, they did when Felix was enlisted. Why? Well, as I often do when I'm at odds after a bout of the vapours, I visited the ERWA to see if I could find inspiration amidst the "Author's Resources" pages. There, I was drawn to a piece by Shanna Germain called Building Your Online Boudoir, Part 1
in which Shanna, talking about alluring sites, wrote this:

Madeline Moore's site is an inviting pink and cream collaboration, accented with photos, all of which makes for a warm and welcome online space.

Hey! That's my blog she's writing about! With a link to it and everything.
Shanna, you discerning dollface, thank you for the shout out. And you know, coming as a surprise made it extra fun, like when the cute ice cream gal gives you an extra dollop on your cone when you weren't even flirting with her. Bonus!

This got me thinking. What if I posted regularly, instead of every so often. My webmaster, and I do have a webmaster now because I have a website at http://telltale.ca/ tells me I must post regularly so I will get more followers and become more popular and sell more books.

My problem has been I don't always have anything important to say. But then again, does it have to be important? Perhaps not. Perhaps it can be a mishmash of thoughts, snippets of information, shout outs to fab writers, and stuff I think is sexy or funny.

This post will be about being funny

Steve Martin is a comic genius. The first time I saw him on TV he had the arrow 'piercing' his head and was playing the banjo and singing "Rambling Man." But, instead of singing, "I'm a Raaaaaaaaaaaaamblin' man'
he was singing, "I'm a Rammmmmmmmmblin' man,' which was hysterical. They cut to commercial in the middle of the song and came back at the end. I was apoplectic. Later I realized it was done on purpose, to be funny.

His humour relies a great deal on 'the smart guy' holding forth on some topic and not realizing that he's coming across as 'the dumb guy', which is my favourite comedic approach. And then there's his physical comedy. A piece about him in The New Yorker described the way he leaned into the wind at a 45 degree angle that, according to the author, simply could not be done.

His work is sometimes featured in The New Yorker now, and those pieces are hilarious, too. I recall, in particular, when he wrote about a serious shortage of periods. The entire story was one long, artfully created sentence with, at the very end, a single period.

I've read all his books. In his autobiography, Born Standing Up, he tells marvellous tales of the early days when the venues he played were small and he would suddenly announce, "Everyone next door for pizza!" Or, "Everyone into the pool!" The audience would follow him outside, in the latter case to fill an empty pool into which he dove, to be held up and passed about by his fans while he feigned swimming. Oh comic marvel!

We've all seen his movies. I'll never forget the scene in DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS where his character pretended to be Ruprecht, the moronic brother of Michael Cane's character, in order to get Michael out of his upcoming nuptials. Who can forget the cork on the end of Ruprecht's fork? Or THE JERK, from beginning to end, one big ol' laugh after another. My favourite scene in that movie is when the phone book arrives and he finds his name in it and bursts into paroxysms of glee, "I'm somebody! I'm somebody!" To this day when the phone book arrives I look up my name and, upon finding it, leap about in ecstasy. "I'M SOMEBODY!"

He's a produced playwright and, get this, he won the 2010 Grammy for "Best Blue Grass Album" for THE CROW: NEW SONGS FOR THE FIVE-STRING BANJO.

I enjoyed his first novel, Shop Girl, and the subsequent movie. So when I asked Santa for his new novel, An Object of Beauty, and got it, I settled in for what I imagined would be a sure-fire good read.

It escaped me. On the back, Joyce Carol Oates says "I was reminded of Edith Wharton's 'The Age of Innocence.'" so I guess she liked it. It's about the art world, pre and post 911. I guess J.C.O. and S.Martin are lots smarter than I am and that's okay but I don't get the feeling Oates is trying to prove it, in her work, while this latest book of Martin's felt like he was really pushing the "I know I'm funny but I'm also a genius" thing a little too far for poor old me. I'm funny too, but I'm spared the burden of trying to prove my genius by not being one. I feel like saying to Mr. Martin, "Relax man, we get it. You're a comic genius and a regular genius, too."
Any one else have an opinion on the book?

And hey, who am I to say I'm funny? I have proof! During the 1980 Screen Actor's Guild of America strike a lot of actors travelled up north to get whatever work they could in Canada until the strike was settled. Jamie Farr was in Edmonton, Alberta doing, if you can believe it, dinner theatre. This was when M.A.S.H. was still being produced. He showed up at The Bistro Praha, where the small but dedicated, black-clad artsy crowd of which I was a member hung out. A bunch of us wound up drinking champagne with him all night, at the end of which Jamie Farr said to me, "You are the funniest person I've ever met." Now you might say it was the champers talking but I say, "Thank you Jamie!"

All my life I've been told to a) get into stand-up and b) for God's sake write a comic novel. I have done neither. It's no secret that funny people, Jim Carrey being perhaps the most famous example, are often depressive. Bill Murray, who kills me every single moment he's onscreen, except in those unfunny flicks he makes, is likely another.

You know what. Getting the absurdity of life can be as tragic as it is hilarious, and you don't have to be a genius to be all too aware of that.

And there it is, my Thursday post. I'll be back for 'Eye Candy Monday'
and every Thursday there'll be a new post on 'Madeline's Musings.' All you gotta do is show up!

xoxox Mad

Picture credits:
Rafael Nadal and Serena Williams: hcfoo.com
All the rest: photoshop, etc.

Into the New Decade

2010-12-30T03:38:00.002Z

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

It Takes A Village to Raise the Spirits of a Writer

2010-12-19T19:34:00.016Z

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.

However!

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

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

2010-12-14T05:55:00.005Z

...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

We Have A Winner!

2010-12-11T22:04:00.003Z

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.

Only Two Days Left

2010-12-09T03:32:00.002Z

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!

telltale.ca

Good luck everybody!

Telltale Takes Off, eh!

2010-11-29T01:50:00.002Z

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.)

visit:

http://telltale.ca/

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!

http://telltale.ca

We're here!

Am I Good or Am I Bad?

2010-11-23T16:09:00.008Z

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.

Images:
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)

Yippee!

2010-11-17T02:37:00.004Z

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

I'm a Typing Praun!

2010-10-17T20:19:00.006+01:00

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

See?

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:

torontoist.com
photobucket
bighollywood.breitbart.com
movies.about.com

I'm a Praun!

2010-10-14T16:42:00.005+01:00

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!!

The Women's Club is Ready to Read!

2010-09-07T20:26:00.003+01:00

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!

End of Summer Reading

2010-08-24T14:23:00.017+01:00

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
celebrations.

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!

UK

Canada

USA .

Yahoo!

Must fly!

xoxo Mad

Bush Whacking Madeline Moore

2010-08-04T18:27:00.012+01:00

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.)

It's Too Darn Hot!

2010-07-07T15:11:00.008+01:00

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.

Muddled Madeline Moore

2010-06-21T19:51:00.013+01:00

Oh where oh where have you been,
Madeline?
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 . . .'

Crime Time

2010-05-19T13:10:00.008+01:00

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.

Phew.

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

Oh Lucky Me

2010-03-12T15:09:00.007Z

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

2010-02-17T16:27:00.002Z

A launch party for The Cougar Book is under way right now! Come on over here to join in the fun. Leave a comment and you just might win a copy of the book. Here's a list of the authors who have stories in 'The Cougar Book':

eremy Edwards
Rachel Kramer Bussel
Sascha Illyvich
Heidi Champa
Tara S. Nichols
Craig J. Sorensen
Donna George Storey
J. C. Wesner
Randall Lang
Madeline Moore
Bill Brent
Adriana Kraft
Keeb Knight
Jolene Hui
Dona Lee
D. L. King
Doug Harrison
Brenna Lyons
Emerald
Trish DeVene
Julia Barrett
Blue Canyon
Shanna Germain

Not a bad line up, I'd say.

So come to the launch party and maybe you'll be the lucky winner of a copy of 'The Cougar Book.'

Cougars!

2010-02-07T03:10:00.011Z

Yes folks, it's cougar time on the ol' web again, and where there are young studs to be discussed, well, there you'll find Madeline Moore.

The occasion? The launch of The Cougar Book, edited by Jolie du Pre and published by Logical Lust.

The date? February 14, 2010,

The happenings so far?

February 9 - An interview with Madeline Moore on Logical Lust. Go right here to read the interview with me, or you can start at the beginning but please - make sure you get to me before you stop commenting!

Please stop by and comment.

February 20, 2010 - Launch party at Jeannie and Jayha

Chat with the authors, including me, and read excerpts from the book.

Don 't make my bathing beauties sad, come join in the fun.

For a chance to win a free copy of The Cougar Book, follow the link. And thanks Jeremy, for letting me know about it.

xoxo Madeline

The painting used in this post is by Robert R. Bliss: "Untitled Pair of Young Men" If you have interest in this painting, contact Outer Cape Auctions.)

The Women's Club

2010-01-27T02:45:00.004Z

Ta Da! Felix is weak but recovered from his near-death experience. He was well enough this past week to contribute to a final polish of our crime novel, 'The Women's Club.'

The novel is done! The novel is done! lalalalalala The Novel is done!

'The Women's Club' will be published in fall 2010 by MaxCrime in the UK. Yes, our editor, Maxim Jakubowski has his own imprint. WOW!

This is the first time Felix and I have co-written a book and it was a terrific experience. Our biggest difference of opinion? He thinks a book shouldn't be set in a specific place. I absolutely believe that it should. Happily for me Maxim is of the same mind as me on this one, so 'The Women's Club' is set in Seattle, Washington, USA.

This will be the first time a novel I've written will be published under my real name. Funny how I'm okay with a major body count attributed to me, but not if the bodies are fucking, as opposed to dead.

I finished my run-through at 10 pm Sunday. Around here we don't celebrate the 'end of the project' with champagne or any other sort of party drug. We say 'well done' to each other and carry on.

But I was excited because I finished in time to call my youngest daughter, who lives in residence at University. She' in first year. We'd arranged to talk if I finished before eleven.

I didn't even get to see her over the holidays because of Felix's illness. In fact I saw her for one 24 hr period over my birthday in August. Before that? Can't even remember. So I was looking forward to finding out all about life as a first year student.

But she didn't want to talk about that. She wanted to talk about how I have failed as a writer and need to get a real job.

Ouch.

She really roasted me over the coals, my friends. The fact that I just finished my fourth novel means nothing, because the other three are smut. She tells me there are a ton of kids on campus studying english who plan to be writers.

She's worried about me because I don't have much money. So her solution is to bully me into getting a 'real' job. When she was done with that topic, she moved on to her parents' divorce. She wants to know what I think I did wrong to cause the end of the marriage. She doesn't need to pester her dad about this, apparently, just me.
I guess I'd had enough by then, as I replied, 'I should've gotten out sooner.' Whereupon she told me to fuck off, (not for the first time in this conversatoin) and hung up.

Oh Boo hoo major sobs.

It's Tuesday now. I'm still sad. She is a powerhouse, this girl, a brilliant redheaded tornado of a person. But she's had it out for me for awhile now.

I've resolved to love her, forgive her, and be here for her when she's ready to see me. But I'm not going to go get an office job so she can stop worrying about me.
She is so much her father's daughter. I thought when he and I divorced that I was done with verbal abuse and mental cruelty. Apparently not.

We give up lot to be writers. We give up a lot to be parents, too. I'm okay with that.

I'm okay.

Too Sick to be Witty

2010-01-11T19:28:00.002Z

That's right. I'm too sick to be amusing or creative or even grumpy. And Felix is even sicker.

It started Xmas Day evening. My daughter was flushed and aching and throwing up. Poor baby. By the time I got her taken care of, Felix was really sick. So sick, in fact, that I had to call an ambulance to come get him because he was unsteady on his feet. He was in the hospital for eight days. For the first few, it was very serious.
Then they moved him to a private room, in isolation. I had to wear a gown, mask and gloves to visit him.

He came up with a movie idea and a short story idea, so the time wasn't completely wasted (!) He talked the doctor into letting him out, even though I had begged him not to do that. So I now have a very sick Felix on my hands.

As he was the cook around here, I've had to take up the culinary arts again. Turns out, as I suspected, cooking skills can be lost if not regulary employed. So far I have made a pot roast that honestly did have the consistency and flavour of an old boot, and flame broiled steaks (another way of saying I set the oven on fire trying to broil steaks.)

Meanwhile my own flu progressed nicely. The icing on the cake? Thrush. So now my tongue hurts (insert your own terrible joke here, as I said, I'm too sick to be witty). SO I actually had to go to the doctor myself today, just to get something for my poor spotted tongue.

Well, I'm home again with a tabloid and a Dr. Pepper. (Sickie treats.) I'll spend the afternoon resting and tonight we're having 'leftovers' so I shouldn't be taxed too heavily in the cooking department.

It's good to have Felix here, and my friends have helped keep me from slipping into the pool of despond.

The Cougar Antho is in the final stages of pre-publishing, and I'm happy to have my story in Jolie du Pre's anthology.

Our crime novel is finished and has been well received by our editor.

So - the Felix/Madeline Machine rumbles along without much input from either of us, at the moment.

Which means Felix and I can rest...rest easy....and get better.

xoxo Madeline

Merry Christmas, Baby

2009-12-22T16:25:00.002Z

I hope the holiday season is a ball for one and all.

xoxo Madeline

Ssssh!

2009-11-10T21:09:00.003Z

I've got a secret, yes I do.

It's my turn to keep you in suspense. Yahoo!

Something new might happen for Madeline Moore. And I know what it is and you don't.

When I have solid, factual good news - then you will know it, too. But until then - ssssssssh!

Nothin' Up My Slee

2009-11-05T22:26:00.008Z

Every so often I lose interest in the internet. Sudden. Total. Zero. Interest.

I might rouse myself enough to go to Facebook and harvest crops on my Farmville farm.
Leave the land fallow, because I won't be back for some time. Consider myself lucky I'm not a real farmer.

I'll come here, to this blog, and check out my favourite blog links. But I don't comment, because I don't have anything to say.

After that I come back here. Look at the last post I put up - and know that it's time to post something new. But wha?

I have no writerly news. The crime book is coming along fine. Got a rejection recently for a story that everyone loves but no one wants to publish. And so on.

My personal life is not up for blogging about. Yes, I do have good sex but I don't necessarily think that's something anyone else really cares to know. I mean, really, so what?

These days I don't seem to even have opinions that are strong enough to need an outlet. Sometimes I read the hot-under-the-collar postings of other bloggers and smile and think, 'She's so young.'

Well, there it is. My state of mind. Which I think is just fine, just not huge fodder for blogger. And again - I mean, really, so what?

So What
by Marylou Smithers
Oil on canvas

Leonard Cohen is 75 Years Old!

2009-10-07T22:45:00.008+01:00

All together now: Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday dear Leonard, Happy Birthday to You!

The Man born with the gift of a golden voice turned 75 in September. Better late than never, I hope. My belated birthday wishes to Mr. Leonard Cohen, currently on the final leg of his World Tour.

I hope you know:

Everybody loves you, Leonard.

Here's a nice tribute to Leonard Cohen, compiled by One Heck Of A Guy.

The video lists the people who allowed their music to be used on it so I won't repeat that stuff here. Just watch and indulge yourself in some serious LC adulation...it's okay, because:

Everybody loves Leonard Cohen.

Seriously.

video compilation by One Heck of A Guy.

Won't you take me down to Hunky Town

2009-09-28T20:03:00.019+01:00

Those of you who don't know I was born in Winnipeg, the bread basket to the west, will be surprised to be told that I love Farmville.

It's an application on Facebook that allows me to work a virtual farm. I was introduced to it by my hip filmmaker best friend. (She's from Saskatchewan.)
We send each other cows as gifts and plant wheat and milk cows and everything.

Before you judge me too harshly, consider this: Lucy Felthouse and Emily Dubberley are my Farmville neighbours.

Recently I joined Yoville, which is life in the city. It doesn't grab me the way Farmville does, but it did get me thinkin' - where would I really like to live?

The answer? I want to live in Hunky Town.

In Hunky Town all the guys are, you guessed it, hunks. And they all walk around naked, or in low-slung jeans, because they are all exhibitionists.

A typical day for Maddie, which would be, ahem, me, would unfold something like this:

First, I need to know what day it is. So I check my calendar.

Oh my! Is it Man Candy Monday already? I should post something...although if it's Monday in Hunky Town, isn't it already Tuesday in the UK? I check out Janine Ashbless's blog and of course Cover Watch, the instigator of Man Candy Monday. Yum.

(But don't you check 'em out quite yet, okay? First finish my post and leave a comment. You won't win a book but you'll make me happy.)

Next, I need that morning cup of java. So I visit my favourite cafe. Hi guys!
Yes, I'd like some creamy froth on my cappucino, if you'd be so kind.

Now that's what I call an eye-opener.

What to do today in Hunky Town. Perhaps a yoga class. It's good to stay supple in Hunky Town.

I don't drive because I'd miss too much sightseeing that way.
So, after yoga, I walk through town to my next stop.

In Hunky Town, it's the gals who whistle at the guys, and all the hunky guys love to be looked at and appreciated, so it's not considered sexist. I whistle at these guys:

but I save my longest, lowest wolf bitch whistle for this one:

Did I mention that in Hunky Town I don't work? I don't even write. But I do good deeds. My latest cause is a plan to bring sexy back. Here's my poster boy:

Oh what a sexy back! (In Hunky Town, all such dumb ass puns are considered hilarious.)

I visit a Domina friend, who has another idea for my campaign. Ooooh. I likes it. Well done, Domina!

My busy day is far from over. It's time to hit the clubs!

Silly naked club guy. You make me laugh. HAHAHAHAHA.
But I have a far better naked guy waiting for me at home.

Once I'm all stretched out in my bed, artfully draped with diaphanous silk, with a resemblance to Heidi Klum that is, I think you'll agree, startling, I call him out of the shadows.

'Come to bed, handsome young naked guy with bulging pecs and lots of underarm hair.'

Oh. You want a picture of him? You'll have to head over to Cover Watch for that, because I can't top their Man Candy Monday.

And so off to sleep. I'll need my beauty rest, even though I already look like Heidi, because every day is a busy day when you live in Hunky Town.

Include Me Out

2009-09-21T18:17:00.004+01:00

Ah Craig's List. That cesspool of commerce that provides one paying gig a year. Just enough to keep Felix scrolling through it every morning, as he does his marketing, whilst I complete my beauty rest.

Today's most promising entry?

We are compiling short stories about women and their first experience with masturbation and orgasm.
We are reaching out to women to write about their own experience.
The story should be personal and honest. It should be written in your own style.
It can be as detailed as you want. 15 stories will be selected for publication.

* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
* Compensation: Tbd

I suppose this is something Madeline Moore might be interested in. I query, asking what it pays. The reply:

The length is about 1000 words.
If the sotry (sic) is accepted for publication, the pay will be $500.
What is your age?

Hmmm.Two flags go up. One - five hundred dollars per short story is awfully good pay. Two - my age?

I give it one more shot. 'Do you have a website?' I inquire. 'Who are you.'
The answer:

I am just a guy with an idea. I have a strong sense that there would be a good interest in reading about women with their first
experience with masturbation.
i remember my first time like it was yesterday.
I think many men (and women) would be fascinated by hearing about these experiences.
Ted

A guy with an idea. Yes, there are plenty of those on Craig's List. I suggest he contact publishers with his idea. And I ps with this question - why do you need to know my age?

Okay, that's it for me and marketing today. Ted, if you're reading this, why not go over to Janine Ashbless' blog. She has a nice photo of a good lookin' guy wankin' into the sheets, for 'Man Candy Monday.'

You might find it inspiring. Me? I'm inspired to write a four thousand word short story for the possibility of fifty dollars. I have a sneaking suspicion it'll be much more worth my while.

The Soft Swears

2009-09-18T15:52:00.003+01:00

Once upon a time I had a great big house with a great big lawn and a lot of stuff.
The whole place was carpeted, even the bathrooms and, gack, the kitchen. So, my then husband and I decided to renovate.

First, the carpet and subfloor in the kitchen had to be removed. We hired a big guy to do that job.

It was a hot summer day. I hid up in my bedroom because, while in fantasyland having a big sweaty workman in the house and hubby nowhere in site is a good thing, in my real, pre-erotica writing days, the dude gave me the creeps.

Oh how he worked! Great heaving sounds emanated from below, punctuated with exclamations like, 'Shit!' and 'Fuck! and 'Christ!' and 'Goddam!' and 'Piss!'

Finally, all was silent. I ventured downstairs to survey the scene. Yes, the subfloor was up. Yes, the big workman was mopping his brow.

'Tough job,' he said.

'I could tell,' I said.

He looked at me, surprise etched on his big man face. 'I was only using the soft swears,' he replied.

Hmmm. Made me wonder. What are the hard swears?

The Humiliation Cup

2009-09-16T06:44:00.014+01:00

I keep a mug on my desk. It has Prince Charles' goofy face on it. And I call it my humiliation cup.

You may recall awhile back, when Charles and Camilla were still lovers, and his cell phone conversation with her was picked up by some curious hacker and broadcast all over the world. Charles, ever the sweet talkin' dude, claimed he wished he were Camilla's tampon so he could be close to her.

I'm going to repeat that. He said, 'Oh wouldst that I could be a tampon inside that snatch, that I might touch those soggy red walls.'

Everyone knew. And Prince Charles had to get out there and face not just his mother, Queen Elizabeth, who very likely was not amused,and his kids and so on but the whole world.

He had to get out there and meet the people, knowing that everyone knew that the Heir Apparent to the Throne would rather be Camilla's Tampon than King.

I keep the cup, which I call my 'Humiliation Cup' on my desk to remind me that however much I might humiliate myself, I will never, ever be as humiliated as Prince Charles, Heir to the Throne of England.

I take solace in that.

Today, my sister, whom I shall call Demi, takes comfort from it, too.

Here's her story:

i just don't know why but on the same day as the most amazing gig, my period showed up. Of course it did. But it wasn't a problem, not that heavy and no cramps. so i did the gig and then next day is the cool jazz friends open house. so i put on a tampon and a pad and off i go.

the party goes late, the main guest leaves. out comes the pole dancing. the main pole dancer is this young hot blonde babe who has done it professionally.

my friends know me as having had them laughing so hard, so then they call me up right after her. "Demi Moore, you're up!!!"

so i decide forget following her act. i'm going for the humour. There was a drumset sitting there and we've all talked about jazz being just like sex and how I play a really hot groove. so this was a logical thing to do . . i just went the drums, grabbed a stand and a cymbal, threw it on the ground near the pole with a crash, and then got down and dirty with it. you can imagine the implications - i had them howling as I pretended to hump this cymbal stand and caress the cymbal and so on.

it was all going so great until i did the backwards crotch exposing summer sault. I heard my friend kinda tip me off that it wasn't a good move, so i finished my routine and it was all great.

well, moments later we're sitting there and i realize i need to change my pad, so i go the bathroom and learn to my horror that yesterday's light flow had suddenly and for no reason turned into like a mount st helen eruption-yes, the pad was soaked and a huge embarrassing stain was all over the crotch of my pants.

you know i should sue the tampon company. I really should. They don't work even when you back them up with a pad,

just brutal brutal brutal.

Ah Demi, it is, indeed, brutal.

By the way, the above picture is not really a picture of a couple of tampons. Why, Madeline Moore would never post such a pic on her blog. It's a picture of a stun gun disguised as a couple of tampons. But I digress...

My sister has asked for her own 'Humiliation Cup' and I think you'll agree that she should have one. But let us all remember, should our tampons leak as we are wrapping ourselves around the pole - 'Hey, at least I don't wanna BE a tampon!

Finally, Demi mentioned that she's been suffering about her little accident ever since it occured, and the only laugh she's had is imagining me giving my first reading ever at a club where people in fetish costume were opening the door between the library and the live sex room and poking their noses in to see what was going on. While the some of my audience looked like this:

which I'm sure you will agree is quite pleasing, from time to time the door would open and folks would poke their noses in to see what was going on. One of them, who looked horrified at the scene he encountered,(people listening to a woman read from a book?!) looked like this:

Not humiliating, of course. But my sister Demi is right, it is fucking funny.

Hear Me Hear Me Hear Me...

2009-09-11T04:31:00.006+01:00

The fine print at the bottom says 'Free Erotica Readings every Month.
10 pm - 11 pm in Library at Club M4
2814 Lakeshore Blvd. West, near Islington.

Looks like I'll be reading tonight, Friday Sept. 11, for the very first time. Attendees, if I understand correctly, meet in the library for the readings and afterwards can go on into a fetish bar if they're dressed appropriately. Free admitance to the fetish bar for readers. Hmmm.

I think if I can get through 20 minutes of my prose without blushing or collapsing I'll have had enough excitement for one night. Never know, though...it *is* Friday night.

But seriously, oh sages of the sex reading stage, gimme your inside tips. I've never read any of my work aloud. It's daunting for erotica to be my first time. But hey, it's my world and welcome to it. Right?

20 minutes. Felix gets 20 minutes as well and our hostess, Sephera, gets 20. That seems like a long time to me.

How many pages is that?

So far my preparation has consisted of painting my toe nails cherry red and steaming (in the shower that is) my black linen dress. I thought that was enough but now I'm wondering...guess I should pick some pithy passages?

Here's sephera's website for more info.

THOTS??

Ultimate Decadence

2009-09-08T19:44:00.005+01:00

What would be your ultimate decadence? How about kicking back with an anthology of sizzling erotica, knowing that with each page you turn, you're helping Macmillan Cancer Care help people with cancer?

You can do just that, by purchasing ULTIMATE DECADENCE, edited by Emily Dubberly and containing stories by some of erotica's hottest voices - including yours truly.

Click on the banner to the right, or right here and get ready to double your pleasure.

ERWA Reviews Sarah's Education

2009-09-01T17:07:00.004+01:00

Oh my! Here I was thinking that 'launch day' for an erotica writer living in Canada is a bit of a non-event - and then I find Ashley Lister's review of Sarah's Education in the September edition of the Erotica Readers and Writers Association.

Oh boy! Ashley likes my book. He says Madeline Moore (that's me!) 'has a distinctive style of blending a compelling story with no-nonsense prose and writing ribald, raunchy romps.'

And - 'Sarah’s Education is one of those enjoyable reads that continues to excite, arouse amuse and titillate as the story progresses'

And, and,and - 'For any reader whose appetites favour intelligent erotica with a constant sense of enjoyment, Sarah’s Education is a must-have title for your collection.'

Oh, why not go over to the ERWA and read the whole thing? And remember, if you link to Amazon from the ERWA and buy the book, the website profits.

I love the ERWA, don't you?

Sarah's Education Now Available in North America

2009-09-01T03:16:00.003+01:00

Today's the day! Sarah's Education is finally gonna come your way...
unless you live in the U.K., in which case you've had a few months to get to know the studious (by day) and lascivious (by night) Ms. Sarah Meadows.

How about a little snippet from the book to whet your appetite?

You talked me into it.

In this excerpt, Sarah has asked a john she particularly likes (and who will figure in her life much more prominently that either of them know at the moment) to give her a beating with his belt:

John ate a little awkwardly, with his belt still wrapped around his fist. As Sarah picked at her salad, every sway of the free-hanging end drew her eyes, like a rabbit following the movements of a cobra. But this rabbit couldn’t wait to feel the cobra’s bite. Or could she? It was going to hurt, really hurt. She could beg off. John would allow that, she knew. But if she did, she’d be showing cowardice, and she need his respect. Undecided, Sarah did what she always did when in a serious quandary, she made her mind go blank and let whatever was going to happen, happen.

Her mind still in a fog, she was led to the bed and spread-eagled once more. John secured her wrists to the brass scrolls. Seemingly without effort, he lifted her bottom off the bed, lifted it high, right over her head, and manacled her ankles, wide apart, to the top of the bed’s head. A pile of pillows under her shoulders made the awkward position more comfortable. Nice man. Sarah gazed up at her delta from only a foot beneath it. Pretty pussy.

John made a few adjustments to her bonds and her legs, so that her thighs were perfectly horizontal, parallel to the bed. ‘Ready?’ he asked.

'Hm?’

‘Are you ready?’

She couldn’t really nod, not folded like that, so Sarah was forced to vocalise her affirmative, though not in articulate words, even though she wasn’t sure what he was asking her. When you don’t quite understand what’s going on, ‘Yes’ is best, or at least, easiest.

John stroked the undersides of her thighs. Nice. That wasn’t why she was contorted like that, though, was it? He rested the loose end of his belt across her legs, halfway between her knees and her upturned bottom, then moved it a little higher.

‘This is above where the hem of your skirts usually come to, isn’t it?’

Why was that significant? Whatever, she made another ‘yes’ sound.

The leather strap lifted. That meant something, something frightening but thrilling, but she didn’t think about what. The belt came down, hard. Sarah yelped involuntarily. A line of fire burned across the backs of her thighs.

‘You still want it? You can still change your mind.’

‘Um, want, yes.’

Leather cracked down again, an inch higher. Sarah emerged from her fog. Oh fuck! It was really happening. What had she let herself in for? Was she crazy?

The third and fourth and fifth blows landed, each closer to her bottom. Pain seared into her. Tears were streaming from her eyes and she’d almost decided that she was ready to face the humiliation of begging him to stop when the sixth whacked down on the lower curves of her bum’s cheeks, and she was suddenly in absolute bliss.

The belt progressed from low on her bottom to halfway up it, where her cheeks were fullest, then made their way down towards her thighs again. Her flesh was glowing embers. Each blow reignited the skin it landed on. The pain was hellish and heavenly. It was as if she’d taken some powerful euphoric that had set her spirit free to soar through and to pure delight. Her thighs and her bottom had been transformed by ecstatic agony. Deep inside, she was starting to clench.

Something dripped onto her chin. Of course! Her sex was weeping with joy. The internal convulsions accelerated and became stronger. She was so fucking close! Sarah knew she could take the belt forever, yet when it fell to the bad she moaned with relief.

Something - his fingers? - forced entrance to her sex and drove deeply into her pussy. The invader pistoned. Other fingers manipulated her clit.

Sarah heard herself shouting, ‘Love it! Love it!’ The fingers forced their way even further into her, into where she was clamping rhythmically, and triggered…‘Yip, yip, yip, yip,’ …erotic bliss.

What a kinky little slut Sarah is, wouldn't you agree?

Want more? Sure, no problem. Just follow this link in the USA and this one in Canada, and you can have the whole story. Buy the book!

xoxo Madeline

Man Candy Monday

2009-08-31T06:05:00.001+01:00

I love a man who loves his work, and this handsome hard hat obviously enjoys physical labour day in day out. At night? I imagine (oh how I imagine) he enjoys the labour of love. In and out. In and out.

Death Socks

2009-08-28T15:44:00.019+01:00

The Death Socks are a pair again. It always makes me happy when I have both. I've lost one often, in the eight years since she died, and sometimes the lost one stays lost for a great stretch of time.

I've even turned that lonely remaining sock into a sachet, filling it half full of potpourri, tying it off with a knot and placing it in my lingerie drawer. At such times I admonish myself for my unhappiness at having lost its mate. I have lots of her stuff, I remind myself. Jewellery and china. I even have her mink. It's silly to mourn the loss of a sock.

But they were her favourites. She wore them to the end, I think. But that would mean I took them off her feet after she died. I don't think that's what happened but I might be wrong.

She died at home, with dignity, surrounded by loved ones. We read that a lot, at least the part about dignity and loved ones. I wonder how often it's really true. In this case, it's really true.

I was her primary care giver in an anticipated death at home. She was my mom. We were symbiotic. When she was sad I was sad and when she cried I cried. She cried a couple of times. When she was brave I was brave, and she was usually brave. When she forgot she was dying and laughed, I forgot and laughed, too. And when she remembered, I remembered.

She ate as long as she could hold a spoon. I said, "Mom, tell me what you want and if I can do it, I will."

"I want you to make your vichyssoise," she said, so I did. Her last few meals were home made vichyssoise. I was true to my word.

Thanksgiving Dinner, her final scheduled appearance, was a triumph. She had seconds! That night, I cupped her elbow from time to time, to help the slow motion progress of her fork to her mouth. But I never fed her.

This anticipated death at home was one of the few times in my life when I knew I was doing the right thing. I knew it was a good thing to do. That absolute knowledge was powerful.

We were a team, she and I. She said "I love you," to me a thousand times. I have siblings who hoped for one such expression from her, and hoped in vain. I was the lucky one.

She died on a Sunday. The funeral was Wednesday. I flew back to Toronto on Thursday and on Friday I started packing up the family home. I'd signed the sale of our house by fax. My husband and I were separating and I only had a month to organize the move.

People think I endured two terrible events back to back, but that's not the case. The death was a beautiful thing. We were successful. She showed me her strength and her weakness. She asked me to take care of her and I said I would. And then I did.

The murder of the marriage and the ugliness that went along with it, that's the tragedy.

The first loss of a Death Sock occurred shortly after I'd returned home. My best friend, Ted, had some of my art and I had some of his and I'd decided we should trade back before the move. It'd been raining so I was wet as well as miserable when I arrived. Looking back, I think the scope of my problems overwhelmed him. Anyway, for whatever reason, he bailed on our friendship.

My socks were still soaked when I left. I cried all the way home, not as viscerally as I had when my Dad pronounced my Mother dead, but close. When I realized I only had one sock on, I cried harder. I wanted both socks. I didn't really want the mink coat but I wanted those socks. I was sure I'd left one at Ted's place, a place I knew I'd never visit again.

But apparently not. The second sock surfaced and joined the first. Since then one has gone missing, often. I don't worry about it any more. When Felix and I moved, I paired them up again. Two Death Socks in a drawer.

They are short, cotton socks, white with a blue pattern. Similar to the ones in this picture.

I'm happy when I wear them and I do wear them (unlike the mink.)

I'm wearing them now, remembering her and me and us. I remember resting beside her dead body. I'd been sleeping with her for a few weeks and the fact that she was dead didn't deter me from curling up beside her and fiercely promising her still warm corpse, "I will never let a man crush me, again."

I was happy, curled up beside her. We'd accomplished what we'd set out to do. The cancer was her tragedy, but her exit from this world was our triumph.

Amanda as Aphrodisiac

2009-08-23T22:32:00.005+01:00

Here's an email I received today from my sister, a musician.

you'll love this. Your book was at chapter's so I bought it. I was hanging out at some gigs. First the jazz club. So I read the forward and then the first few pages.

I was just laughing my ass off - the part where she goes through the construction zone and figures the guys are passing the younger guy around . . . just killin!!

so then i headed off to another club and here's the best part:

on the way in, this young dark handsome guy gives me a high 5. I thought he must know me but he didn't. I asked him his name "Andreas!" he said with that macho masculine thing that reminded me of Italy.

Italian?

Argentina.

so i continued into the club, thinking "what would amanda have done with that? har har"

not 5 seconds later, some other man starts flirting with me in the aisle. Then 5 seconds later i sat down near a friend, and a guy at the next table started hitting on me immediately. I got up not even 5 minutes later and walked past a table where one of the guys from the music store where i teach flagged me down, and totally checked me out about and down and gave a big grin of approval.

man, you are a good writer or what?

See, you don't need pheremones-in-a-bottle or an online dating profile or even a come hither look on your face. All you need is one of my books!!

I've written to ask her if she had the cover displayed prominently, as I suppose that would make a difference. I'll let you know.

xoxo Madeline

Jade's Erotic Awards 2009 - Best Cover

2009-08-06T07:16:00.009+01:00

Jade Magazine has voted SARAH'S EDUCATION Best Erotic Book Jacket of the Year for 2009. I'm chuffed!

Here's what Jade has to say:

Book Jacket of the Year: SARAH'S EDUCATION (Black Lace).

The great debate over what constitutes an ‘erotic’ image still rages today and is largely subjective. However, of all the books we received for review over the last year the image for the cover of ‘Sarah’s Education’ by Madeline Moore and published by Black Lace was, for us here at JADE, easily the most sensual and erotic image we had seen adorn a book jacket. Without any bare flesh or body parts the simple image spoke seductive, sensual volumes of what was to come - the essence, we believe, of the perfect erotic image.

Let's have a look at that cover, shall we?

My my, this looks like my favourite kind of erotic book:

Purty on the Outside,
Dirty on the Inside!

Okay, so I didn't take the picture or pose for it or even get to choose it, but I like it! No, scratch that. I love it!

My dear 'friend I've never met', Janine Ashbless, received Jade's Award for writer of the year, 2009.

A;though Black Lace, Virgin Books, gets the credit on Jade's site, we all know it's the parent company that makes or breaks a little imprint.

So congratulations, Random House! From the inside out, you really know how to produce award winning erotica!

Thank You. Thank You very much!

Hello Stranger, Hello Neighbour

2009-08-04T21:34:00.002+01:00

Not so long ago, we lived in communities where everybody knew each other.
When a person fell ill, she could depend on her neighbours for food and comfort.
If a fire razed one man’s farmhouse, he could be sure that soon a man, and another, and another, would arrive with wood and nails to help him erect a new one. We lived in communities.

These days we strive to live in isolation. How many people, even those living in apartments, know the people who live across the hall, never mind on another floor of the same building. When our neighbours, people who live near us but are strangers, experience misfortune, we don’t know about it or, if we do, we turn a blind eye and a deaf ear. “I have my own problems,” we mutter defensively. “Life is hard.”

Maybe we’re the ones making life hard.

One day my daughter came to visit me for the first time in my apartment. Her father and I had split up and she’d chosen to live with him. I was understandably nervous when she decided to go for a walk downtown. Although I live in a small town she was only nine at the time and I worried for her safety.

When she returned I immediately asked, “Did anyone talk to you?” And she replied, “Only one man. He lives in that house with the stone fence that is on the corner opposite this apartment building.”

“Oh.” I knew the house, of course, how could I not? I walked by it every day, at least twice. But I hadn’t bothered to wonder who lived in it, though the occupants were my “neighbours.”

No, I’d been too preoccupied with my troubles. Why had my marriage failed? Not so long ago I’d been the wife of a wealthy man with a big house full of things, my own car, and many supposed good friends. Where had everything and everybody gone?

Now I asked my daughter, “What did he say.”

“Well,” she replied, “he said, ‘Everybody’s a fucking asshole.’”

There it was, the answer to all my questions, out of the mouth of a babe as related to her by a complete stranger.
The moral of this little tale is simple.

Everybody is a fucking asshole.

Madeline's Hallucination

2009-07-17T21:28:00.004+01:00

Behold, an angel appeared.

And he said, 'Fear not, Madeline, for you and all Black Lace/Nexus authors shall be published. Write author, write! And all will be well.'

Pink Slips and Safe Words

2009-07-07T08:31:00.009+01:00

It's early am where I am and I can't sleep. Sure, I'm worried about the whole Black Lace/Nexus thing. Since Felix writes for Nexus and I write for Black Lace, it's like we both got fired on the same day. Or at least, laid off. Although we're still waiting for our pink slips.

I'm wondering if Adam Nevill has a plan? It must be awful for him because he's the one who knows us, by name and by temperment. He hates to write a rejection letter, so this must be a living hell for him. I'm so sorry to think he is suffering.

Adam's been the best editor for me, just the best. He nurtured me. I wrote a piece on this blog not long ago about his non-reaction to my first two books. Honestly, I don't think he even liked them very much, but he must have had faith in me, because he said yes to my proposal for Sarah's Education.

From the very beginning I knew Sarah was the one, the book of mine that was going to be wonderful. And I think it is, and his glowing email after he read it let me know on no uncertain terms that he thought so too. It hasn't been out long, (five days, and only in the UK) but it's on BOTH the erotica and romance books best seller lists. Thank you Adam.

But I am not the best writer in the Black Lace stable. Oh no. For obvious reasons I'm not about to start naming names. Well, maybe they aren't that obvious. First, I'll leave someone off the list and have to come back again, and again, and it's already getting close to dawn around here. Why start something I'm just going to make a mess of? And, you know. sure, Canadians are humble and polite and all that but I'm not going to shoot myself in the foot. So I'll simply say this:

Black Lace publishes a helluva lot of the the best women writers of erotica working in the business today. And, like, tomorrow. After that we don't know for sure...

Where do these writers go for 2010?

Who do these writers submit their ideas to, for 2011?

Does Random House imagine we'll get jobs to tide us over? It's kind of hard to get a job right now, actually, because of that recession we've been hearing so much about. I mean, it's hard for employable people and not all writers of erotica are all that employable, for crying out loud.

And, while a lot of us write female characters who are submissive and get off on physical and/or verbal humiliation - it's a sexual thing. Like, the characters submit to their studly playmates, for the sexual thrill of it all.

We can't be depended on to grovel to the corporate suits at Random House. Oh no.

It is the suits who will need a safe word, not the writers, should it come down to a little scening in the Board Room.

So, there will be a lot of writers looking for work in the coming months. Frankly, I think most of us will find it. Unless we are offered retainers, which I think might be a very good idea for Random House to consider, I don't know how many of us will be *available* if and when the company is ready to take us back.

We shall see, come 2011, who licks whose boots.

IN DENIAL

2009-07-05T19:32:00.002+01:00

Don't be silly. Don't be ridiculous. Impossible.
Hear me? NOT possible.
So Hush.
I don't want to hear it.
I don't want to know.

JULY 2, 2009 - SARAH's EDUCATION available in the U.K.

2009-07-01T23:53:00.003+01:00

It's time to buy the book, beautiful babies!
HURRAH!

Trust me - it's a sizzling read!

xoxo Madeline

Man Candy Monday

2009-06-28T22:35:00.005+01:00

Ten years ago the sexiest man alive died when the small plane he was piloting crashed into the Atlantic Ocean while en route to Martha's Vineyard.

I still miss him, as much for what he might have become had he lived as for who he was and what he'd accomplished while he was alive. I think John Kennedy Junior was a great guy.

While the world tries to make sense of the life and death of the King of Pop, I'm going to go back, way back, and miss a man whose greatest fault was thrill-seeking, whose generosity was quiet but constant, and who was so handsome it's just a tragedy that he didn't survive to grow a little grey at his temples.

Plus he sure looked good in his swimming trunks

Moody Monday

2009-06-22T18:16:00.003+01:00

Erotica Cover watch introduced us to Man Candy Monday and I think it's a pretty good idea. Mostly because it's hard to come up with a blog topic on a Monday. For some reason, even though I'm a writer so days of the week shouldn't much matter, Monday strikes hard. There's stuff to do and somehow the chores and the writing have gotten tangled up together, as if getting a grad gift together and writing a short story are equally daunting.

So instead I go a blog hopping, and find that while I've been fussing about stuff some people are fighting the good fight. Some people have so many opinions. Yikes! And they're so freakin' eloquent.

There's nothing like a few pics of hunky men, or hunky men with curvy chicks, to soothe my psyche and remind me that yes, while the grad gift is important, the writing about sex is the thing.

Hey, it's what I do! So excuse me while I zip to the mall for paper and string and a proud mother card. That done, I'll be hitting the keys. There's plenty of time between now and the grad ceremony (afterwhich this gorgeous and brilliant kid of mine heads to Queens, where, as she puts it "It's gonna be great! Just think! There won't be any stupid people there!) to get some work done.

Still plenty of time, God willing, for everything.

Sarah's here, safe and sound!

2009-06-16T16:16:00.003+01:00

Look who showed up on my doorstep today, times ten! Sarah! Oh how I love the look of a book with my name on it. And it really is a pretty cover, in fact my editor tells me that Jade Magazine considers it the best cover this year. Squee!

I've never squeed before. I like it. I think I'll do it again. Squeeeeeeee!

Sarah's Education hits the bookshelves, virtual and otherwise, July 2 in the UK. Pre-order now, right here.

I'm off to leaf through the novel now. Unlike Felix, who looks at the front and back covers of his latest novel and then tucks it away in our 'Our Books' drawer, I just have to at least thumb through the thing. Can't help myself. Don't want to.

I truly enjoyed writing this book. I hope it sells well and gets great reviews and someday earns me some royalties. But even if it doesn't - I really enjoyed writing this book.

xoxo Madeline

My Trip, by Madeline Moore

2009-06-12T15:50:00.003+01:00

What a beautiful beach, don't you think? Felix and I went to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. Yes, I know it's hot where I live, now, but it wasn't when we booked our initial getaway. Then I got sick, yada yada, so we went to the Dominican Republic for a week.

The weather was perfect, the music was marvelous, the people were terrific, the food was good, and the air conditioning worked beautifully.

I'm happy to be home.

WE HAVE A WINNER!

2009-06-07T14:56:00.004+01:00

I'm back from being stroked by the Caribbean sun. It was mahvelous, Dahlings.

So, down to the business of giving away a copy of AMANDA'S YOUNG MEN.

By random selection, the winner is orelukjpo.

orelukjpo, please email me at: telltale @ primus.ca (without the spaces) with your mailing address and soon you'll be holding AMANDA'S YOUNG MEN in your hot little hands.

Thank you to all the contestants. And don't forget, you can still own the book, you just have to buy it.

That's it for contests for me for awhile. Time to get back to work...

Thank you again to everyone who entered. And congratulations orelukjpo.

REVIEWS and CONTEST

2009-05-28T04:24:00.003+01:00

Well lookie here. Another terrific review for Amanda's Young Men. This one is from Angelika Devlyn at
Alternative-Read.com

Angelika says, "I loved this book. Amanda is smart, sexy, and keen to experiment. I felt for her at times when things were not going her way, and I was pleased to celebrate her successes, of which there are a few..."

Hey, why not read the whole review, right here.

Or pick it from the list of reviews in my sidebar. Then post a comment about the review you've read and you can win a copy of Amanda's Young Men.

The contest ends June 1 so get with the beat, oh readers of sexy books. I'll be announcing the winner when I get back from my fun in the sun holiday with Felix Baron.

xoxo Madeline

Going Going Gone

2009-05-21T16:04:00.002+01:00

We booked a last minute getaway to Cuba, departing at the end of March. Less than twenty four hours after the booking was made, I was rushed to Emergency. I was admitted and a few days later, had surgery. I was still in the hospital on the day we were scheduled to depart.

So - once again Felix and I are gearing up for a getaway. Yes, it's a little late in the season to hit the Caribbean but so what? Once we get there, will it matter that everyone at home isn't shovelling snow? I don't think so!

Today, my Dad and little bro arrive from Winnipeg. They're driving out my Dad's 1994 Buick, as he's just upgraded to a snazzy red 2008 coupe. Dad's 84 and he's decided to live the good life. So I get the old car.

We prairie people routinely drive long distances. Life without wheels has been a challenge for me and I'm looking forward to getting behind the wheel again. Thanks Dad! Thanks Al!

I'll take possession of my car, entertain the boys, finish a short story and START PACKING.

Felix and I have never taken a vacation together. What will it be like, I wonder?
Sexy? Or sweet? Relaxing? Or vigorous? Wild? Or peaceful?

I can't wait to find out.

So Sarah sighed and said OK

2009-05-08T17:03:00.004+01:00

This is the new cover for my soon-to-be-published novel, SARAH'S EDUCATION.

I can hear those BICEPS sirens now, except BICEPS doesn't critique Black Lace covers much because, as 'erotic romance' we are allowed the occasional man on our covers.
Just not man and woman legs, tangled together in the sheets.

It's a pretty cover and I'm not one to whine much about the aspects of publishing my work that I have no power over. But SARAH'S EDUCATION is about a philosophy student who becomes a high class call-girl. As she gains experience in her new profession, she discovers she likes the kinky clients best.

Kinks in the novel include, off the top of my head:

ménage a trois with couples
fur
smoking
spanking
dress up
bondage
D/s
infantilism

One thing she never does is don a blindfold.

Oh well. Just please keep your fingers crossed that the product description (and the back cover) does not start with "Nineteen year old Sarah..." because that was first draft stuff, when the story was set in Ontario where the legal drinking age is nineteen. (It's important to the story, OK?) Once I moved the novel to the USA, she became twenty-one. There is a new description and it is supposed to go on the book and the bookstore sites. Oh God of Publishing, let it be so!

Halp! I can see menz legs...iz nt nrml?

CONTEST TIME!!!

2009-04-30T23:26:00.006+01:00

Yay! She liked it! She liked it! Kristina Wright gives AMANDA'S YOUNG MEN a lovely review, and it's up at the ERWA site right here right now.

Hey! Isn't it about time I had an Amanda contest?

Yes it is!

Read the review, or one of the other reviews of the book listed on this blog's 'review' section, and tell me which part you liked best...
I'll pick a winner in May and another in June
since the book will be featured on the ERWA for two months.

Want to read my XXXtremely sexxxy cougar book?

Now's your chance!

Go to the link, read the review, and post your comment to WIN!
Don't forget to check back to see if you're the winner.
Many thanks to 'She' for the first comment. She can see I've amended the contest just a tad but no worries...your entry is solid.

No time for the old in and out

2009-04-24T20:48:00.004+01:00

I'm just here to check the parking meter.

Just a silly quote from 'Oh Lucky Man'

I'm feeling lucky today. I survived surgery and my newly unstapled scar was pronounced 'beautiful.' By the surgeon, but still...now that I understand what was wrong with me and what she expected to find during the 'long and complicated' surgery she was going to perform, followed by a stay in I.C.U., I feel really lucky to have had a short, simple sugery. I *was* kind of looking forward to ICU, just for the novelty of it, and to have my very own nurse, but I graciously gave that up to be returned to my room, and Felix, and then come home!

Amanda's Young Men is getting terrific reviews! 3 so far, one of which will appear on the ERWA site in May. Good reviews...what a great feeling.

And another book in the publishing process. Sarah's Education will do well, I think.
I guess it's time to start lining up reviews, excerpts, etc. for Sarah...but for the rest of today I'm going to bask in my good luck.

Success Stories

2009-04-12T16:19:00.002+01:00

Recently I contacted the Humber School for Writers to see if the time was right to add 'genre writing' to their course list. The jury's still out on that one, but I was invited to speak as one of the school's 'success stories'.

Well, sure!

I've made a few forays into the world of literature lately, and I've been pleasantly surprised to be warmly received. So far, so good.

Oh! I'll be able to mention, when I speak on the panel, that one of my books has been translated into German. Yes! Wild Card was chosen from the Black Lace list by a German publisher. This looks good on the resume and in the bank account.

I admit I'm a little worried about the Q and A portion of my little talk. Still, with three novels (one translated into German) and lots of short stories to my credit, I can hold my head high.

Onwards!

Good News Day

2009-04-01T16:01:00.003+01:00

Kimberley Spinney at ecata romance says Amanda's Young Men is '...an amazing feast for the senses.' and '...a wickedly decadent novel.' and, oooh we like this, 'Madeline Moore’s story is a must own, must buy story of lust, passion and finding one’s self in the world.'

Four stars!

A must, must own!

Read the whole review Here.

Wild Card has been picked up by the Germans, so I have my first ever royalties cheque. Yahoo!

My staples come out today. So I'll feel a lot more like a writer and a lot less like a magzine. Oh boy!

I'm chuffed and I'm cheery and I'm chock full o' love.

Launch Day!

2009-03-30T12:50:00.000+01:00

Yes, today's the day Amanda's Young Menis available in the USA and Canada!

As you can see, my ancestor, Mary Lin Moore, was adept at ship launching. Me - I'm attempting to be adept at book launching! Oh what the heck, let's have a look at that book right now!

Unfortunately, as I was abducted by aliens for a solid week and just deposited back on earth on Friday, I'm not up to a full-fledged party. No champers for me, not until the staples (and can you believe aliens staple their victims back together when they're finished with them, like so many pieces of paper?!) are removed.

I failed to follow the advice that accompanied a photo of the ship that picked me up:

'If you see a UFO, act normal.'

If only I'd known.

More about my adventures in outer space later. Today, let's celebrate as best we can. Hurray for Amanda's Young Men.

Follow the links to place an order on Amazon:

You can order it in the US

and in Canada

and in the UK, where it's been available for awhile.

I'll be back to blogging and promoting and making a fuss about things, soon. For now, it's back to bed with a grin on my face. It's good to be a Black Lace author and damn, it's good to be home.