Diet for Writers

Join me at Lust Bites on Monday, October 6, for a fun look at the special needs of writers who try to lose weight. My sources are a tad unusual and my conclusions a wee bit weird but that's not surprising - I'm talking about writers!



yuck! what is this stuff? Mung beans comes to mind...

Here's a recipe from 'The CanLit Foodbook, which is featured in today's blog on Lust Bites The introduction is by the editor, Margaret Atwood.



Michael Ondaatje's Grapefruit

The grapefruit is appropriate for poets, who can meditate on its roundness and yellowness, but also for novelists, who can describe the way the juice squirts out into your eye. Hence it is the perfect fruit for all-rounder Ondaatje, who scorns the addition of sugar.

1 grapefruit, chilled

1. Cut a chilled grapefruit in half. This is more difficult than you think, as
grapefruits are not symmetrical.

2. Run a grapefruit knife around the inside of the skin.

3. Cut individual segments out from the centre.

4. Eat with spoon.



Do you diet? Are you there?

Leonard Cohen

I hope you've already been to Lust Bites today (Wednesday, September 17), where my 'Crush Wednesday' post is all about Leonard Cohen. If not, go here now and join in the fun!




My Leonard Cohen anecdote:

It was the first time Leonard had played Canada in ten years. He was appearing at Massey Hall. But - how to afford tickets? My husband and I just didn't have the cash.



My good friend, who has a marvelous Leonard Cohen anecdote of her own, was listening to the radio and heard the announcer say that the first person to phone in with the correct name of the Cohen song he was playing would win two tickets to the concert! She listened to the song - and had no idea of it's name.

Undaunted, she phoned in anyway. 'My friends are huge fans,' she said. 'You have to give them these tickets!'



The announcer was having problems. No one knew the name of the song. He told her the name and said, 'Call back and if no-one's called in with the correct name in the meantime, I'll give you the tickets.'

No-one did, she called back, and won the tickets for us. Thank you forever, my friend!

The evening of the concert I was in a quandary. Not about what to say to Leonard, when we met, as I'd already memorised a number of witty, intelligent, artsy comments that would show him how worthy I was of his company. No, the question at hand was - Should I wear my glasses, the better to see Leonard in concert? Or my contacts, so that after the show, when we met, as we were fated to do, I'd be a prettier face for Leonard to focus on?



Since my memory of the concert is a dark, satisfying blur, I think I must've gone with the contacts. Oh the concert was spectacular. We were a bit late arriving, so as we walked in, Leonard was taking the stage. We arrived to applause. Our seats were fabulous. The music was divine. When it was encore time, I merely whispered,'Joan of Arc' and, as if he heard me, he whispered back the first lines of that ethereal song.




And then it was over. John and I joined a hopeful throng gathered around the stage doors. We waited for a long time, then a line of musicians exited. No Leonard. Finally a big ol' roadie stuck his head out and said, 'He's gone, folks. He's not coming out.'

I could hardly believe it. As John and I walked past the front of Massey Hall, I tried to console myself. Why feel bad about not meeting him? The concert had been everything I could've hoped for. Why cast a negative light on a perfect evening. But, I'd been so sure...

John nudged me. I glanced at him. He jerked his head to one side. Leonard Cohen was walking beside him.

Oh God! We reached the cross walk. Don't walk. The four of us (Leonard was with a big male companion, likely a bodyguard) stopped. John turned to Leonard. 'It's so good to have you back, Leonard' he said. They shook hands. John introduced me. We shook hands. I shook. 'Leonard,' I said, 'I love you.'



The light changed and Leonard went first. We watched as he strolled down the street with his pal. Suddenly, he paused, glanced over his shoulder and gave us the thumbs up.

It was as if we'd been blessed.



Sometimes I still laugh at what I said when I met Leonard Cohen. But truthfully, I think it was perfect.
We didn't have a lot of time to chat, and I spoke honestly, from the heart.




My Best Friend's Anecdote:



She was living with a musician who worked in musical theatre. One night, after the show, the cast and friends were hanging around the theatre, trying to decide what to do. It was late, probably after 1 am.
'What do you want to do?' 'I want to go for Chinese food.'
'What do you want to do?' 'I want to go home.'
'What do you want to do?' 'I want to get high.'
And then it was her turn. Her answer to, 'What do you want to do?' was simple. 'I want to meet Leonard Cohen,' she said.

The gang settled on a visit to an after hours bar. It was small, crowded, dark. At the bar sat a solitary figure - you guessed it - Leonard Cohen.

Of course, she had a terrific opening line. She sat down on the stool beside him and said, 'I told my friends earlier on this evening that I wanted to meet you, and here you are.'

They chatted for about half an hour, then Leonard left.

She's an angel, (Do you know anyone who would decide to win tickets to a Cohen concert for her friends, and actually give up the tickets once she had them in hand?) and miracles happen in her life.

Check out my post today on 'Writing for Film'

Today, on Lust Bites, I blog on 'Writing For Film or, Any idiot can make a movie.'
Come on, you know you want to join in the fun!



I'll be talking about McCabe and Mrs. Miller, a great movie by the late great Robert Altman.

The script most used to talk about writing scripts, Chinatown, also gets discussed - in a quote from by Robert Towne, the writer of the script.



The movie that really blows the socks off movies about writing movies also gets a thumbs up and a little coverage from yours truly. I'm talking about Adaptation.



There's helpful hints on how to weed the lunatic wannabe producers from the real ones, and annecdotes from my personal history as a writer for film.

Join in. The party's already started!

Mad Moore dishes on the TV writing business

Monday, August 11, I don my scriptwriting hat to tell the readers of Lust Bites all about the perils and the pay of scriptwriting. Join in the fun and come by Lust Bites on Monday!

Hot Stuff from Amanda's Young Men

Today, over on Lust Bites, my post on boy toys is largely pictorial in nature.


So, if it's whet your appetite for more, here's a little snippet from my new Black Lace novel, Amanda's Young Men. It's available now in the UK, for preorder in the US, and not yet in Canada.




This scene takes place early in the novel, in fact it is Amanda's first seduction of a young man. She and Rupert are in the stacks at the shoe store he works at (and she owns) but he doesn't know she's his new boss:


Amanda...took his hand and placed it on the bare inside of her thigh. He gulped. She guided his fingers, moving their tips in tight little circles over her taut skin.
‘I…’ he started.
Amanda touched his lips with the fingers of her free hand, hushing him. ‘Talk later - after.’ She steered his fingertips a fraction higher with each circle they made. The panties she’d put on that morning were pale green lace, boy-cut, with wide legs. His fingertips stroked up under the dainty garment and brushed against her naked, puffy nether lips. Rupert sucked a deep breath. Amanda pressed on his hand, palpitating her labia with his fingertips.
‘That’s nice,’ she whispered. ‘Now try this.’ She pulled his fingers out from under her panties and folded all but his index one into his palm. With her finger on the back of his, she guided him to where the lace covered the soft, pearl-button-like bump of her clitoris. She used her finger to make his finger scratch over its lace-mantled head. It was her turn to shiver. ‘Keep doing that, just like that, very gently.’
‘I’ll do whatever you tell me to,’ he husked.
‘Good boy.’ Amanda unbuttoned her blouse and spread it wide.
Rupert’s eyes widened at the sight of her plump rosy-nippled breasts. His free hand lifted to touch them but Amanda intercepted it. ‘Do as I tell you, when I tell you, and not until.’
‘Yes…’ He trailed off.
‘You may call me Ms Amanda.’
‘Yes, Ms Amanda.’
Amanda rolled her left nipple gently, just to see the hunger in his eyes. She too, was suffering. The gentle through-the-lace scratching on her joy button made her desperate for more direct stimulation, but…
What the hell! She was in charge. Why wait?
She put her hand on the top of Rupert’s head and pushed down. ‘Move my panties aside. Put your tongue to work.’
‘I’ve never…’
He’d never gone down on a girl? How delicious! She’d had many experiences in her life but this was one she’d either never experienced, or experienced so long ago she held no memory of it. She was about to be serviced by a young and virgin tongue. Just the thought of it had her dripping with anticipation and that made it even better. His first taste was going to be a really wet one. Amanda decided that if he performed well, she’d reward him amply.
She said, ‘Lick my pussy lips first, long and slow, from where they join at the bottom right up to my…’she almost said ‘joy button’ but stopped herself in time ‘… my clit.’
He obeyed and had the instinct to give an extra little flick of his tongue when he reached her sensitive polyp.
‘Good boy. Now grip it between your lips and lap at it with the tip of your tongue. Start slowly and then go faster and faster until I climax.’
‘Clima’?’ he asked.
‘That’s right, and when I do, I expect you to suck all my juices out. You are going to do that, right?’
‘Righ’’
‘No teeth! Just – that’s right, lips and tongue…just your lips and tongue, Rudolf.’
‘ ‘uper’,’ he mumbled.
‘Of course. Rupert. Just like that, Rupert, you’ve got it now, keep that up, don’t vary the rhythm yet, just…mmhmm…just exactly like that.’ Amanda stopped talking and focused on the sensations. What he lacked in expertise he certainly made up for in enthusiasm. He was good at following direction, which was a thrill, and it seemed that she was good at giving it, which was, perhaps, an even greater thrill.
When his licking started to really get to her, Amanda gripped his hair in both hands, the better to grind his upturned face against her sex. Her hips gyrated. The lad followed her clit, licking frantically. She pressed herself down on his mouth. Her hands clenched into fists but if his scalp hurt he made no sign. Lucky for him, too, because nothing, nothing was allowed to get between her and the orgasm that was curled like a snake in the pit of her belly and now, right freaking now, uncoiled at lightning speed. It struck at her clit, again and then again, delivering not poisonous venom but a pleasure potion that nonetheless might be fatal.
‘God….’ Amanda’s stocking feet arched, her toes curled. Sweet venom coursed through her veins, more like lightning, now, than any sort of liquid. It shot out the tips of her toes and her fingertips and exploded out of the top of her goddam head. ‘Fuck!’
Amanda’s hold on Rupert’s hair loosened but she held his head in place until the last shudder left her and she was able to stand without leaning. She pulled him erect. He was grinning. His face glistened with her juices.
‘How’d I do?’ he asked.
She allowed him a, ‘Good boy.’

Like it? So, order it!

love Madeline Moore