Grinning from Ear to Ear

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

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

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 . . .

...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!

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.