Penny Warner: Blog

2010-08-30T12:38:00.000-07:00

First Day of School—and the Rest of Your Life

My first grandchild, Bradley, went off to Kindergarten on Monday—his first day of real school. A preschool veteran, Bradley was excited about this new experience, especially the part where he got to bring his brand new Superman backpack. His dad and mom escorted him into the classroom, cameras flashing, and I got to greet him when he came walking out at the end of the school day. He looked happy, proud, and excited about the whole experience.

I’m not sure he fully understood he’d be doing this nearly every day for the rest of his youthful life…

Bradley’s first day brought back memories of my first day. I remember being terrified when my mother left me at Kindergarten. Mom says I “cried a little.” No wonder. She had just abandoned me in a room full of strange kids and a woman I’d never seen before named Miss Hequembourg. I was certain she was never coming back and all the coloring and easel painting in the world didn’t relieve my fears of this new experience.

At least for the first few minutes.

Apparently I came bounding out of the classroom and told my mom, “That was fun!” after she’d spent the last couple of hours worrying about me. Then I asked her if she knew what a “lavatory” was.

After one day of school, I already thought I was smarter than she was.

My dad, according to my grandmother, really had a hard time on that first day of kindergarten. My grandmother had walked him to school, escorted him into the classroom, and returned home, thinking “Little Eddie” would be fine. But moments later my dad slipped out the classroom door, followed her home, and hid under the front porch until he saw the other kids coming home from school. He got away with this for nearly two weeks, until the principal called asking where “Little Eddie” was.

I’m sure I would have done the same thing if I’d had a porch to hide under.

My husband Tom says he doesn’t remember much about kindergarten. Just that there was something called “Nap Time.” He must have learned the alphabet and how to color, but all he remembers is that he had to take a nap.

He really nailed that skill.

When my first born went to school his first day, I remember hanging around the Vista Grande school yard for quite a while, not ready to cut the cord and leave my son. I arrived to pick him up a half an hour early, just to make sure he knew I hadn’t abandoned him, like my mother had me.

But he was smiling broadly, carrying some art work that I’m sure I displayed on the refrigerator until it disintegrated. Like his father, he doesn’t remember that day either, but I do. He liked his teacher, he’d made a new friend (Grady), and he’d taken the first step toward independence.

Of course, he was surprised to find out he had to go back to school the next day. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d be going for the rest of his youthful life.

I was afraid he might run home and hide under the porch.

2010-08-15T14:01:00.000-07:00

When You're Out of Work, Make Lemonade

This was not a good time to buy an RV, which is exactly what we did before my husband got laid off from work.

He’s in the construction field—electrician—but building is down, money is tight, and even our relatives are taping together their loose wires rather than calling an electrician.

So he’s been hanging around the house, reading the newspaper until noon, peeking over my shoulder to ask me what I’m writing, and generally driving me nuts.

If this is a sign of his retirement days, we’re in big trouble.

When he was first laid off, I gave him plenty of honey-do tasks to complete, like fix all the broken stuff and change a light bulb or two. But he still managed to find plenty of time to read my emails, critique my shopping receipts, and tell me what I should write.

Then, when I saw one of the neighborhood kids setting up a lemonade stand, I had a brilliant idea. You know the old saying, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Well, I have a new one: “When life lays you off, make a lemonade stand.”

Lemonade stands seem to be the one reliable business in these unreliable economic times. I figured all we needed to do was cut open a large cardboard box, hang a correctly spelled sign, whip up some lemonade, and start making money.

As CFO, I’d finance the business with all my column-writing money. As CEO, he’d manage it.

I could just picture him, out there on the sidewalk behind that cardboard booth, hawking tasty lemonade to thirsty neighbors for a hefty profit. Maybe the kids who already had their stands wouldn’t like it, but hey, this is America. It was time they learned an important lesson about healthy corporate competition.

Unfortunately, my husband didn’t even apply for the job. He was sure he’d be hanging up a “Closed due to the economy” sign on the stand by the end of the first business day. His motto had become, “When life gives you lemons, you just have to suck it up.”

So now we’re thinking about ways we can cut back. Sell the RV comes to mind immediately. But it may end up being our future home if things don’t get better. I offered to give up HBO, salon haircuts, extra cups of Starbucks lattes, and new clothes to wear when I write my columns.

He’s going to cut down on driving the SUV, barbecuing steaks, buying beer, and wearing underpants. And we’re both going to eat out less, turn off more lights, clean the house ourselves, and skip the dream vacation for an overnight in the RV parked in front of our house.

Or, we could take the RV on the road and bring that fresh lemonade straight to the people in the Valley, much like the ever-popular ice-cream truck. We could blast cool music from our radio speakers, like Lady Gaga or the National Anthem, and offer a variety of lemonade drinks, like Pina Lemonada and Lemonade Latte. It’s sure to be a hit.

Because sometimes, when you’re out of work, you just have to give that lemon a twist.

2010-08-01T11:15:00.000-07:00

My Impressions of Impressionism

I’ve been to the de Young Museum a lot over the past year, mostly trying to find places to kill people that won’t be captured by all the surveillance cameras. Hey, it’s my job. I’m a mystery writer and my new book, HOW TO CRASH A KILLER BASH, (due out August 3) is set at the de Young.

The art is cool too.

So when my mother called and asked if I might take her to the museum, I said, “Been there, done that—a lot, lately. How about a trip to a local KOA in our RV?”

“How about Paris, circa 1874?” she countered.

Turns out my mother was eager to see the “Birth of Impressionism” exhibit, which had traveled all the way from the City of Lights to the City by the Bay. The de Young was “the only place in the world besides Paris to see the masterpieces from the Musee d’Orsay,” she claimed.”

How could I refuse?

My mother lives in West Sacramento and doesn’t drive much, so I picked her up on a Tuesday and brought her back home to Danville. Although I knew this would not be an easy task, I wanted to make sure she got her fill of lily ponds, ballerinas, and old women in rocking chairs. Meanwhile I’d look around for other places I could hide a dead body.

Traffic to the city was thick, as usual, and once we got to Golden Gate Park, we saw a line outside that wound around Music Concourse like a Rousseau snake. The good news: Those people were there for the Academy of Sciences which is free to the public on the third Wednesday of the month. The bad news: The parking lot was already full.

My mother whipped out her handicapped placard and we found a blue space not far from the entrance. Once inside I got her a free wheelchair to use. But the exhibit was as crowded as a Seurat Sunday afternoon on the Grande Jattee. After I ran over the toes of a couple of crabby art lovers, my mother decided to use the wheelchair for support rather than a free ride, and maneuvered skillfully throughout the exhibit without me.

On my own, I wandered through the life-size picture book of 100 paintings ranging from the mid- to late-19th century. There was “Whistler’s Mother”—not the often-caricatured cartoon but the real thing, practically rocking right in front of me. I could almost hear Manet’s “The Fife Player,” feel the breeze in Renoir’s “The Swing,” and enter the world of Monet’s “The Magpie.” I found it hard to believe that the impressionists—considered the most popular artists in the world today—were once ridiculed by the public and rejected by official exhibitions. (“Wallpaper in its embryonic state is more finished than that seascape,” wrote one critic.)

Want to take a trip to Paris in the 1800s? The exhibit runs until September 6th, then the Post-Impressionists—Van Gogh, Gauguin, Cezanne, Degas—move in and stay until January.

As for my new mystery, I hope some critic doesn’t write: “Bird-cage liner in its embryonic state is more polished than this book.” I may be forced to hide his body in the picturesque de Young frog pond.

2010-07-19T11:01:00.000-07:00

On the Road Again

A couple of weeks ago we took a five-day road trip down the coast with my son and daughter and their families. Matt had rented a 35-foot RV, but since we couldn’t all fit in just one, we had to rent our own. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

My husband Tom is an experienced RV driver, having rented one the size of a condo when the kids were little. Tom was a little concerned about maneuvering the monstrosity through the Pocono Mountains—we were picturing something like the West Coast Sierras—but they turned out to be more like speed bumps. Tom cruised along so comfortably, he was stopped by a cop for speeding.

Our son Matt was also familiar with driving an RV because he’d rented a 35-footer last year. Unfortunately, while backing into a driveway, Matt veered left when he should have turned “the other left,” and took the corner off a nearby roof.

Were we nuts to try this again?

Guiding those big boats on the freeway turned out to be relatively easy, but fitting them into their designated RV spaces was more like trying to fit a middle-aged body into a swim suit.

While the kids played at the nearby playground, the guys set up “camp,” attaching hoses and hooking up stuff. Meanwhile the women picked up all the things that had fallen during the trip, then inspected the latrines to see if they were decent enough to use.

Matt and his family slept comfortably in their RV, but our sleep was interrupted throughout the night by the ear-splitting sound of the propane alarm. We later learned that if the battery is low, the alarm malfunctions, but at the time we were certain we’d be dead by morning, so we opened all the doors and windows to the bugs, the noise, and the freezing cold.

The next day we headed for Pismo Beach State Park and located our campsite. This one was “dry,” which is RV jargon for no TV, no water pressure, and if the generator dies, no electricity. Plus, the park charges twenty-five cents for two minutes of shower time, which is not enough time to even get wet. So who needs to shower every day, anyway?

We moved next door to an actual RV park that offered lots of amenities for less-than-rugged campers like us—miniature golf, game arcades, a cute shop, a BBQ restaurant, and a swimming pool. Bring it on!

With one night left, we headed to Felton, in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Aside from losing one of the sewer hoses along the way, and finding the road to the park closed, we ended up in a beautiful redwood forest that made the whole trip worth it.

I really didn’t know if I could handle RVing. I prefer room service, freshly made beds, and nearby shopping. But the experience turned out to be more fun than I expected. Apparently I like trees and campfires and tiny, cozy beds. I like hanging out with my family and burning marshmallows together. And I really like taking a miniature home with me on vacation.

So if you see a ginormous Winnebago driving around the Valley or parked at Wal-Mart, stop by. We’ll show you the new home-on-wheels we just bought. Yeah, we’re nuts.

2010-06-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

Got Blood? Have a thirst for vampires? Host a Night-of-the-Living-Dead Party!

Vampire Parties are all the rage, thanks to books, TV shows, and movies like “Twilight,” “True Blood,” and “Vampire Diaries.” Whether you’re a fan of vampire Team Edward or werewolf Team Jacob, barmaid Sookie Stackhouse and vampire Bill Compton, or good/evil vampire brothers Stefan and Damon Salvatore Salvatore, you can host a Night of the Living Dead party to celebrate a birthday, Halloween, or the latest vampire episode.

Invitations

There are lots of vampire-related party supplies available, but you can easily make your own invitations and personalize them to your theme. For a Coffin Invitation, fold a sheet of black construction paper in half. Draw the shape of a coffin on the paper, making sure one side of the coffin is on the fold. Cut out the coffin and write “Do not open until midnight” or “Open at your own risk” on the front using a sparkly pen. Or you can type it up on the computer using a spooky font, print it, cut it out, and glue it to the front. Next find a picture of your favorite vampire on the Internet or in a fan magazine and copy it for each invitation. Open the coffin and glue the picture on the right-hand side. On the opposite side, write the party details. For added fun, cut out drops of “blood” from red paper and place them in the envelope. Or add a set of vampire teeth.

Costumes

Ask your guests to come as their favorite vampire—or werewolf—past or present. When they arrive, offer them face paints, vampire teeth, and vials of fake blood to add to their costumes. Make simple capes out of black fabric and hand them out to guests.

Decorations

Create a gothic atmosphere with helium-inflated black and red balloons. Tie the balloons onto furniture, to backs of chairs, and float them to the ceiling. Turn the lights down and light candles, or string holiday lights around the room. Replace regular light bulbs with black lights and red bulbs. Make a giant coffin using a large appliance box. Paint it black, add a string of garlic or a wooden cross to the top, and place it in the center of the room to use for setting out snacks. Place vampire fangs, garlic, and plastic bats around the room or hang them from the ceiling. Cover your mirrors and black out your windows. Set the table with a black cloth and bright red paper products. Use vampire teeth as napkin rings. Make a centerpiece using a glass bowl, fill it with red tinted water, and float black candles. Make some personalized tombstones from cardboard or foam, and write epitaphs on them for each guest. Set them around the room. Play Clair de Lune, Muse, and Coldplay music in the background.

Games and Activities

* Team Trivia. Divide guests into two teams and have them answer trivia questions about vampires and such from “Twilight,” “True Blood,” or “Vampire Diaries.”

* Quote the Vampire. Write down quotes from the vampire books or shows and have guests try to identify the speaker.

* Vamping Vampires. Write down scenes from your favorite vampire film, book, or show, and have guests act them out for one another to guess.

* Vampire Shirt. Let guests make their own t-shirts with their favorite vampires or sayings on them. Print pictures of vampires and sayings on iron-on paper using the computer, and then let guests iron them on and decorate with glitter glue, sequins, and other embellishments.

* Vampire Videos. Watch videos of your favorite vampire films or TV shows. Don’t forget the originals, such as “Dracula,” or the popular “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

Refreshments

Serve lots of red-colored food to satisfy that thirst for blood—red licorice, sliced red peppers, strawberries, red apples, red salsa with red tortilla chips, French fries with ketchup dip. Ask the bakery to tint a loaf of bread red, then make sandwiches with red jam. Cut out bat-shaped cookies, bake them, and spread with chocolate icing.

Offer a variety of red-colored drinks for the vampire guests, such as tomato juice, cranberry juice cocktail, red punch, red sports drink, etc. Freeze gummy worms in red water to make ice cubes for the drinks.

Make a coffin-shaped or tombstone-shaped red velvet cake, covered with chocolate icing.

Favors

Give the vampires plastic teeth, black capes, fake blood, posters of hot vampires, face painting makeup, videos of the shows, or other vampire related gifts—there are lots available!

2010-06-20T16:19:00.000-07:00

The Griswolds hit the Road

I haven’t been camping in over twenty years. I have pictures of the kids, filthy from head to toe as proof that I did go camping at least once. But the experience was so traumatic—all that dirt and those bugs and stuff—I swore the next time I went camping it would be at the Marriott—and I’d live without room service.

But my son, who remembers our camping trips fondly—after all, he was only a kid and loved dirt and didn’t have to do any of the work—suggested we rent a couple of 30-foot RV for my husband’s 62nd birthday (on the 17th)/36th Father’s Day (on the 20th)/40th anniversary (on the 13th) and take a Family Road Trip. As much as I wanted my husband to have a nice triple celebration, I hesitated.

Camping just isn’t how I roll any more.

Then my son took us to the RV place to see the model he’d been planning to rent.
Wow. I had only been in an “RV” once before in my life, when I was a kid. My father rented a Teardrop Trailer, which is about the size of a Smart Car, but has two double beds—and that’s it. He and Mom packed their three kids in the back seat of their 1957 Buick and took off for a two-week cross-country trip to see relatives. My memories include dividing the back seat into thirds with invisible “Do Not Cross” lines, fighting with my brother and sister from Nevada to Ohio, and glancing at the Grand Canyon which looked like a big stupid hole to a ten-year-old kid like me.

The RV my son had his eye on was a palace compared to the Teardrop. It slept six, and was outfitted like a small apartment with cable TV, microwave, shower, refrigerator and freezer, stove and double sink, and more closet space than my bedroom.

“I could be happy here,” I said, sinking into the navigator’s bucket seat. I decided we’d rent one too, remembering that we’d be hauling two grandparents, four adult children and four grandchildren under the age of 6.

With the promise from my son that RV parks had come a long way since the Route 66 side-of-the-road pull-overs, we signed the contracts for two 30-footers and began planning the trip. My son wanted the Grand Canyon, my husband preferred the Oregon coast, so we settled for Monterey/Pismo Beach/Felton in the Santa Cruz mountains.

On departure day, we brought the giant condos-on-wheels home and began packing up. My husband packed everything from the espresso maker to the toaster—pots, pans, cooking utensils, plates, cups, paper towels—while I packed light—a handful of “Life is Good” t-shirts, some shorts, and my laptop, iPad, iPhone, iPod, and GPS.

It took us four hours just to get out of the driveway.

Our first stop was the San Ramon Lucky store to load up the RV with enough snacks to fill the Grand Canyon. It took us another hour to buy groceries, use the bathroom, get and eat made-to-order sandwiches, and repack everything.

We were on the road at last. . .

Next time: A road block, a lost sewer hose, a middle-of-the-night alarm, and more.

You can reach Penny Warner at http://www.pennywarner.com

2010-06-09T19:19:00.000-07:00

MAKING LISTS ...

I’m a list-maker, and so is my character, Presley Parker. In HOW TO HOST A KILLER PARTY, she not only makes to-do lists for her party planning business, KILLER PARTIES, but she also makes lists of suspects whenever a dead body appears uninvited at one of her parties.

As for me, I write lists for everything—places to go, people to see, things to do. If I didn’t, I’d surely forget to go to my writing group meetings, talk with sources for my research, and, no doubt, write my book.

I especially love Top Ten lists. So for today’s topic, I’ve got two lists to share. The first one was created by another writer, Andrea Campbell, who sent me a wonderful list of things that help drive people to visit a website. Here are her top ten tips:

1. Leave comments
2. Cross-link
3. Subscribe
4. Take an RSS feed
5. Use the "Share" box (under the article for distribution)
6. Select: ie., add Andrea as your favorite Examiner (above by bio)
7. Visit a lot
8. Promote the heck out of it
9. Give it a tweet, a dig, a rave, a prop, a blink...
10. Post the URL to a search engine

By the way, you can subscribe to Andrea’s twitter site for more great tips--http://www.twitter.com/AndreaCampbell.

The second list I found on a great site called Toptenz.net. The site lists all kinds of lists, such as Top Ten Heists and Robberies, Top Ten Shocking Deaths, Top Ten Botched Bank Robberies, Top Ten Fugitives Still on the Run, Top Ten Deadliest Prisons, Top Ten Popular Poisons, Top Ten Con Games Explained, Top Ten Prison Escapes, and Top Ten Deadliest Female Killers.

These are all great lists for mystery writers, but my favorite is the Top Ten Literary Detectives. See how they compare to your top ten list.

10. V.I. Warshawski, Sara Parestsky’s tough female detective from Chicago—one of the first of her kind.

9. Nick and Nora Charles, the married couple played by William Powell and Myrna Loy in the movies, who engage in witty banter as much as solve mysteries.

8. Sam Spade, the hard-boiled dick created by Dashiell Hammett and starring Humphrey Bogart in the much-loved classic 1941 film, The Maltese Falcon.

7. Mike Hammer, created by Mickey Spillane. Hammer wasn’t above breaking the law—or a leg—to get his man.

6. Miss Marple, Agatha Christie’s cozy series featuring a sweet, old lady sleuth with a sharp and suspicious mind.

5. Hercule Poirot, another of Christie’s creations, whose odd speech and finicky ways either enchanted or irritated readers.

4. The Hardy Boys, one of Edward Stratemeyer’s many syndicated series, starring Frank and Joe Hardy. Parker Stevenson and Shaun Cassidy played the heartthrobs in the TV series.

3. Nancy Drew, another of the Stratemeyer creations, who solved mysteries with the help of her two chums, Bess and George. Her first case came out 80 years ago.

2. Philip Marlowe, “world weary, heavy drinking gumshoe,” that Raymond Chandler brought to life to right the world’s wrongs.

1. Sherlock Holmes, arguably the greatest detective in fiction still today, thanks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his own powers of “deductive reasoning.”

So who’s on your Top Ten list of fictional detectives? Kinsey Milhone? Stephanie Plum? Scooby Doo?
-Penny

2010-06-06T15:20:00.000-07:00

Forty years: Warners vs. Gores

We’re celebrating our 40th wedding anniversary this month. After hearing Al and Tipper Gore’s recent announcement to end their 40-year marriage, we’ve carefully considered our options and have decided to stay together.

It’s hard to believe we’ve been married as long as we have. Forty years is a hella-long time. Back in 1970 a new house cost $23,000 (ours was $32,000), gas was 36 cents a gallon (practically free), a stamp was 6 cents (and there was no e-mail), and we could have bought a Gremlin for less than $2,000 (what’s a Gremlin?).

Most of our milestone anniversary celebrations have been simple. We’re usually in a cheap hotel somewhere near Disneyland, sharing cupcakes with the kids, and planning our next rides. This year we’re looking for something really special to mark this momentous occasion, in memory of our 1970 wedding.

And what memories we have of that time. It was the end of the sixties, the dawn of the seventies, and—unlike our parents’ traditional weddings,we wanted something different, right down to the song performed at the ceremony—-something by the Beatles, of course (“Baby, I’m amazed”).

For my wedding, forty years ago, I made my own bridal gown (using a Simplicity pattern) and the bridesmaids’ dresses (psychedelic orange and yellow). I whipped up all the food for the reception (tiny sandwiches), held the reception at my parents’ house (only a couple of people fell in the pool) and hired a relative to provide the live music (my brother). We spent our honeymoon night at some hotel in Oakland (not the one that rented by the hour) and I broke out in hives the next day (my mother said it was nerves).

Today’s weddings are nothing like ours. Last weekend we attended the wedding of my daughter-in-law’s brother, Ken, and his bride, Kelly. The invitations were incredible hand-made three-dimensional creations. The wedding was held against the picturesque backdrop of Lake Tahoe, surrounded by snow-covered mountains, majestic pine trees, and a babbling brook. The bride wore a stunning beaded gown I could never have made. The sumptuous buffet was provided by the lodge. And the wedding cakes were covered with frosting flowers that looked too real to eat.

But some things haven’t changed in forty years: Happy brides and proud grooms, beautiful bridesmaids and handsome groomsmen, and lots of family and friends there to celebrate a special day.

So we’ve been trying to brainstorm ideas for celebrating our Big 4-0. Take a cruise to Alaska? Too cold. Tour Europe? Too much volcanic ash. Rent an RV and drive to the Grand Canyon? Too far. Have a big party? Too tired. Go to Disneyland? Been there, done that, every year for the past 40 years.

Oh well. Maybe we’ll take a short drive down the coast for the weekend, catch up on our reading, go out to dinner, and then get a good night’s sleep. After all, we’d better keep it simple if we want to get through another 40 years together. I just hope Ken and Kelly have as many happy years as we’ve had.

Because now that so many years have passed, truthfully, I’m amazed.

2010-05-23T10:06:00.000-07:00

Up Penny's Nose

I can’d breade.

I was so looking forward to the spring weather, after all that rain in our Valley. I couldn’t wait to go outside, enjoy the sunshine and smell the roses. Now I’m afraid to step foot out there for fear of breathing all that toxic air. I’ve never been this stuffed up. The culprit: Super Pollen.

Right now I’m living on Mucinex, Flonase, and Hall’s cherry menthol throat lozenges. My eyes are as red as a demon’s and they itch as if I have poison oak. My nose glows like Rudolph’s and drips faster than a leaky faucet.

My throat is so scratchy, I want to shove a back-scratcher down my craw. Every time I sneeze, the sound scares young children and cats, and the spray soaks my “Life is Good” t-shirt so much, I have to change it each time I have a blow out. I’m on my fourth shirt today.

Apparently this is just the beginning. Allergy season is supposed to be worse than ever this year, especially in our lush, green valley. The experts say we’re dealing with more pollen because of that seemingly endless wet winter.

I recently learned that a simple oak tree produces up to 6,000 particles of pollen per cubic meter – whatever that means. But I can do the math when I hear it only takes ten particles to trigger an allergic reaction. Since all the plants held off blooming this year, they decided to pop out all at once, sending the pollen count into the stratosphere – literally and figuratively. When the wind comes along, it blows that pollen right up my nose.

These days I read “Pollen Reports” in the newspaper before I read the front page. Right now the pollen count is “Level Orange” and the pollen alert is for “trees, grass, dirt, mud, flowers, weeds and dust bunnies.” No doubt tomorrow they’ll have added “streets, buildings, land masses, and the planet in general.”

I’m glued to the TV news so I can watch “Pollen-Tracker Devastation.” As soon as the show is over, I close the windows, bolt the doors, and hide under the bed, since I don’t have a basement to escape to.

Someone said I could take steroids to cope with the symptoms, but I’m afraid of bulking up my arms too much and trying to explain the stuff when it’s found in my urine at airline checkpoints and Olympic events. Besides, I don’t want to go through all those skin pinpricks, only to find I’m allergic to everything from my cats to my husband. (Which I already knew.)

If I go out to the pharmacy to restock my meds, I’m supposed to wear sunglasses to protect my eyes, a bandit handkerchief over my nose and mouth to block out air, and a haz-mat jumpsuit over my shorts and tank top. It’s also recommended that I vacuum the rugs, wash the bedding, and clean the house frequently to suck up the varmints in their hiding places.

Like I’m going to do that. I’d rather sneeze to death.

Luckily there are still lots of meds I can try—Zyrtec, Claritin, Sudafed, Allegra, Chocolate. Meanwhile, I’ll put on my burka when I go outside, try not to breathe too much while I’m under the bed, and just be thankful spring has finally sprung.

Could be worse. Could be raining.

2010-05-13T15:22:00.000-07:00

“It was a dark and stormy night…”

I love beginnings, and boy, that’s a classic. I love the promise that beginnings offer—from the first day of class with a room full of new students to a new book with a story full of new characters. I especially love writing the beginning to my next book, and watching the story unfold right under my fingertips.

While beginnings are exciting to write, they’re also a little terrifying. I know that if my first string of words on page one doesn’t catch an agent, editor, reviewer, or reader’s attention, it doesn’t much matter what follows. By then I’ve already lost the opportunity to take someone on my story ride.

They say you should face your fears, so following that advice, I studied the craft of creating a compelling opening line by reading the beginnings of my favorite books. Over the years I’ve learned what really grabs me from that first line, and keeps me reading until that last line.

Here are some examples of my favorite beginnings and clues to why they’re so compelling.

#1. The mystery is puzzling and the reader wonders what’s going to happen next.
“Sheriff Dan Rhodes knew it was going to be a bad day when Bert Ramsey brought in the arm and laid it on the desk.” - Bill Crider, SHOTGUN SATURDAY NIGHT
Okay, Crider, I’m hooked. You’ve got me wondering where that arm came from, why Bert Ramsey laid it on Sheriff Rhodes’ desk, and what’s going to happen next. And I’m not going to stop reading until I find out.

#2. The clock is already ticking.
“Arriving at my office in New Haven that sunny morning, I at once discovered three unwelcome facts: There was a dead man in my swivel chair. There was blood on my new green desk blotter. And my telephone was ringing.”- Mary Kittredge, POISON PEN
This opening line sounds so warm and cozy at first, but by the time we’re finished reading it, we’ve got a dead man in a swivel chair, blood on a blotter, and most importantly, someone on the other side of a ringing phone. Could it be the killer? The cops? Or just her mother calling to see how her date went last night? Inquiring minds won’t rest until that clock stops ticking.

#3. The reader can immediately relate to the character or situation.
“Smiling serenely in the September sun, Rose Bell strolled along Regent Street; mentally she was miles away, having her husband neutered like the cat.” - Peter Lovesey, ON THE EDGE
Any book that makes me LOL on the first line has got to be a winner. Especially if I can relate to the day-dreaming protagonist. (Or is she the antagonist?) I’m going to have to read the whole book to find out what’s up. I just hope the cat isn’t harmed any more than he…er, it… already has been…
#4. The beginning implies a crime has been or is about to be committed.
“The sexual tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Unfortunately, all I had was a pair of chopsticks.” - Alison Gordon, SAFE AT HOME.
Been there. Know that feeling. Where’s a knife when you need one? I want to know a lot more about all that sexual tension, not to mention the chopsticks, and where it’s going to lead.

#5. The story begins in the middle of the action.
“I was trapped in a house with a lawyer, a bare-breasted woman, and a dead man. The rattlesnake in the paper sack only complicated matters.”- Earl Emerson, FAT TUESDAY
When I find myself in the middle of the story—at the beginning—I’m quickly caught up in those little complications that make me want to speed-read through the rest of the book. With a beginning like the one above, involving a lawyer, a half-naked woman, and a dead man, my appetite is immediately whetted. The snake in the sack is the frosting on the cake.

#6. The characters, setting, or plot are vivid and real.
“They were trying to kill me and I had to pee.” - Frank McConnell, THE FROG KING.
Wish I’d written that. I can totally relate. Not about the part where someone is trying to kill me, but I do know what it’s like to have to pee. Especially when I’m hooked on a book and can’t put it down, not even for a trip to the bathroom.

#7. The book begins with conflict, action, or a question.
“Thursday, March 17, I spent the morning in anxiety, the afternoon in ecstasy, and the evening unconscious.” - Dick Francis, RISK
To me, the master of the opening line is Dick Francis. In one opening line, he’s included all three elements—conflict, action, and a question. Frankly, I couldn’t care less about horse-racing. In fact, I avoid books with sports in them. But Dick Francis could hook me on his books even if he were writing about lint. He knows how to start a story with an opening line will have me leaping through the pages like a jockey on a winning horse.

If you have some favorite beginnings you especially love, feel free to share them. Unless, of course, you’re busy dealing with a rattlesnake, your telephone is ringing, or you have to pee.

2010-05-09T09:42:00.000-07:00

Happy GRANDmother's Day

TODAY IS GRANDMOTHER'S day! Oh, it's not? It's Mother's Day? Well, it should be Grandmother's Day.

After all, we're the ones who brought those mothers into the world. Now that our daughters are mothers themselves, we Queen Mothers have been pushed to the sidelines while our good advice is ridiculed and our wisdom is ignored.

But where would our young mothers be without us? Aren't we the ones who baby-sit at the last minute when their regular sitters call in sick? Don't we fix those big family meals on Sunday evening that bring all the grown kids and grandkids together?

And aren't we the ones our grandkids run to when they need a new toy, a piece of candy, or a game of Chutes and Ladders?

I love being a grandmother. I get all the fun with little of the angst. All I have to do is act incompetent and the kids shake their heads and do all the dirty work for me.

I don't have to change diapers anymore, not since I put an extra-large on the infant and stuck the toddler's diaper on backward. Funny how I've forgotten how to do such a simple task.

I can let the grandkids get dirty in the mud, because I don't have to wash their clothes. I can serenade them with songs from the 80s and they don't even roll their eyes. I can give them a bite of my brownie without worrying about tooth decay or a spoiled appetite. And if they don't want to take a nap at grandmother's house, they don't have
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to.

Grandmothering has changed over the years. Back in the day — my grandmother's day — becoming a grandparent meant rocking chairs, knitted shawls, bunion powders, and blue hair tints. But grandmothers today are generally active adults who work, attend college, travel the world, and stay active — but who still want to spend time with our precious — and precocious grandkids.

What we bring is attitude. I think of myself as a subversive grandmother who not only likes to bake cookies and read stories to the grandkids, but who also enjoys playing with Slime, whipping up a Kitty Litter Cake, making up secret codes, dressing like a pirate, getting a fake tattoo, and dancing to the Black Eyed Peas.

We grandmothers are going to take over the world. In 2006, there were 80 million grandparents in the U.S. This year there will be 115 million! We're younger when we become grandmothers (49-53), we live longer, spending up to 30 or 40 years as grandparents, and half of us will become great-grandparents.

A bunch of us know how to tell the difference between a PlayStation and a Wii, why tattoos and piercings aren't signs of devil worship, how to operate an iPod, download on iTunes, use an iPhone, play an Xbox game, and even understand what ROTFLMAO means (Rolling on the floor laughing my ass off).

Sometimes we go by aliases, such as Big Mamma, Glamma, G'Ma, Queen Mother, or Moneybags, instead of using the "grandmother" title. Either way you look at it, we're here to stay.

So I'm celebrating Grandmother's Day today by trading the knitted shawl for a leather jacket, the fuzzy slippers for running shoes, and the rocking chair for a Mini Cooper — because I still rock.

Just remember, "What happens at Grandmother's, stays at Grandmother's!"

2010-05-08T10:40:00.001-07:00

The Perfect Graduation Party from Kindergarten through College

By Penny Warner with Balloon Time Helium Balloon Kits

Parties are a great way to celebrate a graduate’s achievement with family and friends. Here are some ideas to help you host a party with lots of pomp and circumstance, whether your student is graduating from kindergarten, high school or college.

Grade A Invitations
Make a grad cap invitation from black cardstock tied with a tassel and write details in silver ink. Or, make personalized report cards with party details added. If you’re celebrating a little one’s graduation, use lots of block letters and a variety of colors – even let the guest of honor get involved in decorating the invitations with crayons or colored markers. For a high school graduate, including “Before” and “After” pictures of the guest of honor is a creative way to show the student’s progress throughout the years.

Decorations
Use school photos to decorate the party scene. Then, enlarge one of the recent photos and add it to a “Class of …” banner. For added fun, have guests autograph the banner and add words of advice for the future.

You can also decorate the party space with balloons in the graduate’s school colors. Affix balloon bouquets and clusters to party tables, signage and tents.

Games & Activities
To celebrate the graduate’s achievement, invite your guests to help make a memory book. Have a table with craft materials and ask guests share a memory and decorate a page. Be sure to ask guests to bring photos and keepsakes from the years to include in the book. Then, use the pages to create a graduation scrapbook. Don’t forget to take photos at the party to capture all the memories.

Refreshments
When it comes to the menu, have some fun by giving each dish a school-themed name, such as “Chip off the old block,” “Honor rolls,” and “Brownie-noser.” And give your entrees names such as “Science Experiment Surprise,” “Biology Broccoli” and “Kindergarten Paste Pasta.”

Favors
Create “fortune balloons” by writing predictions and words of wisdom on slips of paper then inserting them into balloons and inflating. Give the fortune balloons to guests and have them pop the balloons to get their fortunes.

Penny Warner has more than 25 years of experience as an author and party planner. She has published more than 50 books, including 16 specific to parties. Additionally, Warner writes a weekly newspaper column on family life, penned a column for Sesame Street Parents magazine and has appeared on several regional and national TV morning programs. Her latest book, HOW TO HOST A KILLER PARTY, debuted in February 2010 from NAL/Penguin.

2010-04-25T09:50:00.001-07:00

One Plus One Equals Ten

How did two suddenly become 10? My husband and I decided to go to Applebee's for dinner the other night and invited the kids along. When we arrived at the restaurant, I heard myself asking for a table for 10.

Ten? How did that happen? Seemingly overnight, our family has grown exponentially. It all began when I married my husband. We were living happily in a one-bedroom apartment, enjoying the occasional dinner out, when we decided to have kids. At the same time, we wanted to keep our sanity, so we settled on two — a boy and a girl.

By the time we had the second child, we knew we needed a bigger place to live, so we bought a house in Danville and settled in to raise our kids. Back then, when we went out to dinner we still managed to get a table for the four of us, as long as we were on the early side and the restaurant was family friendly.

When our children grew up and got married, we welcomed two more into the clan, bringing the number to six. If we went out to dinner together, we still managed to sit together at the same table, but usually had a longer wait while the restaurant easily seated parties of two and four.

But then the kids started having kids — two each, just like us — and in the blink of an eye, we became a family of 10.

Now we can't fit everyone around the family table without elbowing one another as we eat. I had to add two leaves and buy extra folding chairs
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just to accommodate all of us. As for dining out as a family, if we want to sit together, we can only go to places with lots of big tables, such as Chuck E. Cheese or Three Brothers from China. Unfortunately, Applebee's has only one large table, and it's always occupied.

We've had to make other adjustments for our now extended family. Instead of buying an Earth-friendly Baby Boomer-mobile for peaceful getaways to the Wine Country or Lake Tahoe, we had to get a ginormous SUV — plus car seats — to transport the multiplying grandkids on trips to Fairyland or the Exploratorium. And when we gather with our other relatives at the holidays, the numbers jump to more than 50, and there's no place to sit.

People often say how lucky we are to have our kids and grandkids nearby — and we are. We got to be at the hospital when our grown children had their babies. We get to watch our kids take on their roles as parents. And we'll be able to enjoy the entertaining antics of our four grandchildren for years.

But I guess we won't be dining out with the whole family much anymore. We'll have to be content with celebrating births, birthdays, weddings, anniversaries and achievements at the family table, elbowing one another as we try to eat pot roast on Sundays. Before we know it, the grandkids will be too busy to join us for dinner, what with their soccer games, sleepovers and their own social lives.

Until then, we'll keep gathering at the family table. Even if we have to knock out a wall and build a bigger dining room...

2010-04-11T12:28:00.000-07:00

I'm no Martha Stewart

I'VE JUST returned from Ohio where I did some videotaping for a public relations firm. I'd been writing monthly articles for a party Web site for years (for which they paid me enough to keep me in chocolate for, well, a month), but this year they wanted something different, something more lively that would reach millions of potential partyers using the latest technology — a YouTube video.

"We'd like you to fly out to Columbus, Ohio, and videotape six parties," the PR firm person said. Free trip to Ohio? Luxury hotel? Three days off from suburban routine? And the star of my own video? No brainer. Finally I was going to experience the glamorous life of a person like Martha Stewart.

Ah, but in these economic times, everyone is on a budget. I got a free flight, but on a plane that comes with extra fees for luggage ($25 each!), $7 sandwiches (unless they run out, which they did), and leg room as big as the backseat of my MINI Cooper. The turbulence came with no extra charge, which kept us from stretching our aching legs, and I had to sit in the dreaded middle seat between two guys who knew each other but didn't want to sit together.

The only thing that kept me going was the promise of room service when I arrived at the hotel. But they'd booked me into one of those budget inns, with only vending machines instead of real food. I fell into bed at midnight, hungry, stiff and too tired to watch pay-per-view. Besides, I had a call time of 7 a.m. (4 a.m. California time) in order to be on the set for the taping.

I didn't worry about the lack-of-sleep bags under my eyes, figuring the makeup artist would make me over with her magic brush. What I didn't figure was that there would be no makeup artist, and I would look like a hag for all the world to see.
The cameras and party set were ready by 8 a.m. for my first performance. Lacking a background in drama (aside from real life), I was offered a teleprompter so I could read the script as I demonstrated the party goodies. Turns out I can't really chew gum and demonstrate party goodies at the same time. Each time I read from the teleprompter, I garbled a word, mixed up a sentence, or just plain stared at the camera lens as if it were Anton Mesmer's swinging pocket watch.

"Cut!" the director called each time I fumbled a prop, forgot to smile, or cursed a string of bad words. It took nine hours to complete six three-minute party videos. That's longer than most of my parties.

I was too tired to party that night, let alone watch a movie, so I dropped into bed and dreamed of suburban life back in California. I don't know how the videos turned out. Not sure I want to know. Of course, the whole world will see them, once they go "live" on YouTube.

I may never be able to show my face again in this town, or even Ohio. But I did learn something valuable from the experience — I'm a long way off from living like Martha Stewart.

2010-03-28T10:00:00.001-07:00

Riding Around in my Bun Warmer

MY HUSBAND AND I have never owned a "luxury car." Before we got married, Tom had a 10-year-old Volkswagen bug (only rolled once), and I had a 10-year-old Austin-Healey Sprite. As college students, we wanted to drive cars that were fun, cheap, and cool.

When we got married, we wanted a car that got good gas mileage, cost a reasonable amount, and was reliable. So we sold the sporty cars and got a Honda Civic. Very sensible.

When the babies came along, we traded "up" to a Honda Accord, with all the amenities offered in the 1970s, like manual roll-up/down windows, oil change lights, and a "handy dashboard coin box." Back then, things like air conditioning were high-priced luxuries we couldn't afford. We did, however, splurge on an AM radio.

When the kids got bigger, we bought the first in a line of VW Campers. We figured, why buy a station wagon or a minivan when we could get a stove, refrigerator, and two beds (for the price of our first house)? We loved those campers, despite several engine blowouts, because we could plug in a portable TV and VCR, and let the kids watch videos during the long drives to the grandparents' house. That was way before today's "in-car theater systems."

After driving a third camper for the past 13 years, I decided it was time for a new car. But this time, I wanted a "luxury car." At my certain age, I'd had enough of loud, drafty campers and teeny-tiny sports cars.This time, I wanted something comfortable. I wasn't just talking push-button windows, a Sirius sound system, and a built-in video monitor.

I wanted seat heaters. Bun toasters. Fanny warmers.

You don't get more luxurious than that.

We found the car of our dreams at a discount price, thanks to a massive sale by a downsizing company. The car, something called an SUV, had it all — the push-button windows (the driver can control all four!), a sound system that even plays CDs (which we don't buy any more, thanks to iTunes), and MY OWN air-conditioning controller (automatically set on "Hot Flash Relief").

The car also has a "step bar," which is great for small kids who can't reach the seats, (but we don't intend to let any children in this luxury car.) It has a folding "kayak carrier" in case we ever buy a kayak and head for the river. It has "cargo organizers," which are basically nylon bags to hold your trash. It has one of those "red buttons" you can push in an emergency (but mostly push by accident, usually outside a funeral or church service).

And it has a TV/video screen so I can go in the back and watch a George Clooney movie while my husband drives.

Most of all, it's got seat heaters. That has got to be the most decadent, nonessential accessory ever made for a car. Yep, it's the perfect car for growing old, driving too slow, and forgetting to turn off the blinker.

Unfortunately, it's not fuel efficient, doesn't fit into parking spaces, and isn't good for the planet, so I feel too guilty to drive it.

But on a cold morning, I sit in the seat, pretend I'm driving to Palm Springs, and heat my rear.

2010-03-14T10:57:00.000-07:00

Blogging on a Blog Tour

THANKS TO THE PROLIFERATION of blog sites on the Internet, I'm on a "Blog Tour" with my new book. Two months ago I'd never heard of a blog tour. Now I'm an expert at virtual visiting.

Blog tours are becoming standing operating procedure when an author has a new book published. It's nothing like the old fashioned book tour. For that I had to cold call some far-off bookstores, ask if I could come and talk about my book, and then try to find my way home from Fresno, Modesto or Palo Alto when my GPS died.

On the old fashioned book tour, I had to wear clothes, bring bribes in the form of cookies and bookmarks, and sit at a table watching readers buy Stephanie Meyer's books by the armload.

An old-fashioned book tour is expensive, too, what with the cost of gas, a GPS, cookies and clothes, not to mention time consuming — a long drive, a two-hour "event" and an extra-long drive back after getting lost.

I would be exhausted by the time I arrived home, my cheeks were cramped from all that smiling (and sitting, if you get my drift), and my arms ached from hauling still full cartons of books.

Now it's perfectly clear to me why blog tours are the way to go. Making an appearance as a guest on popular blog sites related to my genre couldn't be easier. There is no traveling long distances, no hauling heavy books, no baking cookies. I don't even have to wear clothes if I don't want to.

All I did was send out a dozen queries to my favorite sites, like DyingforChocolate.com, LadyKillers.com and FemmesFatale.com, and ask if I might "stop by." To my amazement, they all responded positively to my request, and I found myself with blog stops every other day for nearly a month.

Along with my queries, I sent a list of possible topics related to my new book, such as "How to Plan Your Own Killer Party," "How to Survive an Old-Fashioned Book Tour" and "How to do Research for Your Romance Scene."

Some sites chose a topic from my list, while some sites had specific topics for me to choose from, such as "Please include chocolate recipes." Others just wanted Q & A interviews, and the rest said I could write whatever I wanted. How cool was that.

Another blogger recommended that I stockpile a bunch of articles ahead of time, but I'm more of a deadline writer. I jotted the dozen or so dates on the calendar, and then wrote each blog while lounging on my couch, listening to music. I never got lost while traveling the entire country. I got to eat all my own cookies. And I could wear my PJs (or not) all day long if I wanted to.

When my articles went "up" on the Internet sites, I dropped by throughout the day to see if there were any comments, and responded to each of them, feeling as if I'd made some new friends.

Thanks to blog tours, I may never leave home again.
Or get dressed.

2010-02-28T20:28:00.001-08:00

PARTY WITH A MOUSEFUL OF KIDS

Been to Chuck E. Cheese lately? We hadn’t, not for about 25 years, when the place first opened in San Ramon and we had young kids. Back then it was Kids’ Birthday Central. That part hasn’t changed, although there are more options today, what with Super Franks, Boomers, The Jungle, Party Palooza, and dozens of other packaged party places in the area.

The original Cheese House is long gone, but there’s a new and improved one in Dublin that’s brighter, safer, and louder than ever. I know because I had to spend two hours there attending my two grandkids’ combined birthday party. Bradley was turning five and Stephanie was celebrating her first birthday, so my son and daughter-in-law decided to keep it simple this year and opt for a dual party package at the Big Cheese.

When we entered the place, we were met by a security staff member who stamped the kids to make sure each one went home with the right adult. Once we were cleared, we headed over to the party room, filled with nearly a dozen tables, all decorated with festive party ware. Immediately we played a game called “Search for Right Table” and nearly joined the wrong party until my son found us.

My husband and I were each given a grandchild to watch. Tom got the one-year-old, I got the fiver. We were also handed some Cheese Chump Change to use on the various kid-level games located in adjoining rooms. Little Stephanie played a mean game of “Whack a Mole” with her bare hands, while Big Brother Bradley nailed berserk dinosaurs, drove high-speed race cars, and wildly tossed basketballs. When he’d won enough tickets to exchange for a ten-cent rubber spider, he ran off and disappeared into the giant “hamster trail” overhead. I didn’t see him again until it was time for pizza.

After seemingly hours of play time, one of the Cheese Hosts announced the commencement of the party pizza. Hoards of kids ran to their respective tables for a slice of cheese pizza and some lemonade. During the meal, Chuck E. and his band played popular songs at ear-piercing decibels, and the Mouse Himself presented each of the guests of honor with inflated crowns filled with game tokens.

Bradley beamed at the attention from the Cheesemeister and wore his crown with pride for the next five minutes. Meanwhile Stephanie, clueless to the festivities, grabbed handfuls of the chocolate cake sitting in front of her and smeared it over her face as if it were foundation makeup. I don’t know how much went up her nose, but she seemed to enjoy finger painting with the stuff, and I wasn’t about to interrupt her birthday fun.

Leaving half-eaten pizza slices and frosting-licked cake behind, the kids took off again for more games, more tokens, and more rubber spiders. At that point, having forgotten to wear ear plugs, take Tylenol, and dress in chocolate-colored clothes, and Tom and I decided to sneak out.

The party was a success, the parents were pleased, the kids were delighted, and the price was right. For a quick and easy party, these package places are the way to go. I’m thinking of hosting my husband’s next birthday there. He loves pizza and Whack a Mole.

2010-02-25T08:50:00.000-08:00

THE MYSTERY OF ROMANCE WRITING

While I write primarily murder mysteries, I always include a love interest in my stories. All murder and no sex makes mysteries a dull read, don’t you think?

As for me, I prefer “sexual tension” to on-the-page sex, mainly because I find the “game of love” a more compelling page-turner than reading about a comfortable relationship between a couple. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s what I’ve had with my husband of 40 years.

Still, fantasy romance is fun. In my first series, my deaf protagonist, Connor Westphal, meets attractive Dan Smith in DEAD BODY LANGUAGE. Connor publishes her own weekly newspaper in the town of Flat Skunk, located in the California Gold country. Her office neighbor is a mysterious guy, newly arrived in town, looking for his private investigator brother. When bro turns up dead after following a case, Dan takes over his job, using his former police officer background to help Connor solve the mystery.

But it’s their first meeting that was the most fun to write.

“Who the hell are you?” asks Connor when she discovers the man with arms of steel in the office next door. When he tries to flirt with her by saying, “With that accent, you don’t sound like you’re from around here. Where’d you get it?” But the attempt falls flat when Connor responds, “Meningitis.”

Right off the bat, the reader knows this will be a cat-and-mouse game of love between the two very different personalities. Through the series Connor takes the romance slowly, having been burned by an old boyfriend who cheated on her. But by book three, Connor finds herself in bed with Dan. Instead of writing the details of their “body language,” I turn the sex into sex play—and have fun with it.

For example, when Dan is awakened in Connor’s bed by fairly violent shaking, he fears it’s an earthquake—common in the area—and jumps up, stark naked, to brace himself under a door jamb. Meanwhile, Connor enjoys the view of Dan’s naked body, then pushes a button on the side of her bed. There’s been no earthquake. Connor, being deaf and unable to use a standard alarm clock, has a “Shake-Awake” alarm attached to her bed, which causes it to tremble in the morning, waking her for the day ahead. Mortified, Dan returns to bed, but his embarrassment quickly disappears when he realizes Connor’s bed has other uses in the romance department….

So you see, I like to have fun with it. That way if my mother reads it, she may blush but she won’t die of a heart attack.

Now that I’m starting a new series, HOW TO HOST A KILLER PARTY, I’ve got a new protagonist, Presley Parker, event planner who lives and works on Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay Area. She meets Brad Matthews, an attractive Crime Scene Cleaner, who joins her in her pursuit of truth, justice, and the solving of mysteries.

When they first meet, Presley calls Brad a “lunatic,” and he tries to check her breath for alcohol. Not an auspicious beginning—but just the kind I like. And between murders, the two characters enjoy some back-and-forth repartee, often laced with sexual innuendoes.

Brad reached over to accept Pandora’s box. As he did, his shirt rose, revealing a glimpse of his tan, tight waist. That wasn’t all. There was a definite bulge in his pants. As flattering as it would have been, Brad Matthews wasn’t necessarily happy to see me.

That was a gun in his pocket.

So while I’m not quite ready to write a full-on sex scene for the page, I’m looking forward to doing a lot more research on the topic….:0

2010-02-19T09:04:00.000-08:00

DYING FOR CHOCOLATE

Like most readers of Janet Rudolph’s Dying for Chocolate Blog—aw let’s face it, like most women on the planet—I’m a Choc-addict. That’s like being a crack addict but more fattening.

Currently my drug of choice has me in trouble with my daughter. I just introduced the out-of-control substance to my two-year-old grandson—I gave him a Hersey’s Kiss—and now all he talks about is getting more “shock-lit.” He’s already a Choc-addict like his grandmother.

Naturally both protagonists in my two mystery series have my disorder. Connor Westphal (DEAD BODY LANGUAGE) keeps chocolates hidden in her desk, while Presley Parker (HOW TO HOST A KILLER PARTY) deals them to unsuspecting crowds at her parties. But when she’s not sharing them, she uses chocolates for medicinal purposes. She has ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and the caffeine in chocolate and coffee are similar to drugs like Ritalin and Adderall, which calm her down instead of revving her up.

So she self-medicates. Often.

Unfortunately for Presley, her chocolates are sometimes lethal. As a party planner, she always includes some form of chocolate on the party menu. But after hiring local TV chef Rocco Ghirenghelli to create chocolate Maltese Falcons for Mayor Davin Green’s Alcatraz Wedding Party, she soon realizes a couple of the brown birds have been injected with cyanide. She discover this when the bride-to-be is found floating in the San Francisco Bay, a victim of poisoning. And dead guests of honor aren’t really good for the party business.

So how did Presley get herself into this chocolate mess? That’s the way I wrote her. After all, it’s a murder mystery. And while I haven’t had much experience injecting chocolates with cyanide (see the Internet for instructions), I have had a lot of experience with chocolate, as well as party planning, writing party books for kids and adults, and creating mysteries. Since “they” often say, “Write what you know,” I decided to make my new sleuth a party planner (she prefers “event planner”), put her on Treasure Island where she lives and works, and have her solve mysteries all around the San Francisco Bay Area.

Presley, recently downsized from her teaching job at San Francisco State University, agrees to the career change after being encouraged by her mother, once a popular party girl and member of the City’s café society. But after developing early stage Alzheimer’s, Mother has retired to a care facility, leaving Presley to fill her party slippers.

After that it’s just one party foul after another…

Although the book doesn’t include recipes, HOW TO HOST A KILLER PARTY is like having three books in one. 1. It’s a mystery, 2. there’s a complete party plan at the end of the book, and 3. Presley offers party tips throughout the mystery. Tips like:

Party Planning Tip #2: "Like MacGyver, a good event planner can fix any party mishap with a toothpick, duct tape, or crepe paper.”

Party Planning Tip # 3: “Don’t drink while hosting an event. Especially when the police want to question you about a murder.”

Party Planning Tip #13: “Choose your event caterer carefully. Nothing ruins a party faster than a bunch of toilet-hugging guests who’ve been poisoned by bad sushi or tampered chocolates.”

I’ll leave you with one last Presley Parker tip that’s guaranteed to make your party a success: “When your dessert soufflé falls flat, dump the disaster into the disposal and bring out your backup stash of gourmet chocolates. One bite of a Christopher Norman, Marie Belle or Lake Champlain chocolate and your guests will be eating out of your hands.”

2010-02-15T11:28:00.000-08:00

Romance vs. Revenge on Valentine's Day

WHEN I WAS a kid, I loved Valentine's Day, mainly because my teacher had us decorate shoeboxes with pink and red hearts, bring in Valentine cards featuring our favorite cartoon characters (mine was Little Lulu), and then collect as many cards as we could from our classmates. Plus we got chocolate.

When I first fell in love with my husband, I went to a lot of trouble picking out the perfect Valentine gifts—chocolate-covered strawberries, heart-printed boxer shorts, and homemade "I Heart You" cards. And he'd always give me dyed pink daisies from the grocery store and a heart-shaped box of drugstore chocolates.

Eventually we started showering our kids with Valentine goodies. My husband would sneak into their bedrooms early in the morning and sprinkle princess- and Star Wars-themed valentines all over the kids' beds and floor, while I made pink heart-shaped pancakes, pink scrambled eggs, and pink milk.

Now that I've got so many Valentine recipients in my family, I've decided to keep it simple and just pass out chocolate roses wrapped in pink foil, along with a humorous card from the stationery store.

When I mentioned Valentine's Day to a friend of mine who recently got dumped by her husband, I realized not everyone loves Valentine's Day like I do (mainly because of the chocolates). So I quickly created a party for my "Valentine's Day Sucks" friend to help her get through this mushy time. If you prefer to celebrate "Valentine's Day Sucks" too, here are some suggestions:

# Begin with invitations. Create your own, using the "Roses are red" formula. First cut a valentine card in half using a zigzag pattern so it looks like a broken heart. Then write a poem to invite your guests, such as, "Roses are red, Violets are blue, Butch is a pig, So let's kiss him 'Adieu!' " or "Roses are dead, Love is a lie, Bozo's a jerk, So let's roast the guy!"

# Suggest what to wear. Instead of dressing up in fancy or sexy outfits, have the guests come as slobs and be comfortable. Better yet, have T-shirts made with Bozo's face, circle it with red permanent marker and run a line through it, then pass the shirts out to guests.

# Time to decorate. Have guests create their own banners to hang on the walls, such as "Valentine's Day Sucks," "Men are Pigs," or "Love Hurts." Play lady-killer music, such as Shania Twain's "Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?" Place a chocolate rose at each place setting.

# Get your game on. Play some killer games to keep from actually murdering the guy, such as "Venus vs. Mars." Write down some question prompts about men, such as, "Why don't men like to shop?" "Why do men have only three bathroom products?" "Why don't men like cats?" "Why do men act like children?" "Why don't men put the toilet seat down?"

# Have the players write down funny answers and read them aloud. Then watch a marathon of chick flicks featuring strong women, such as "Thelma and Louise."

# Time to eat and drink. Serve junk food, decadent chocolate desserts, and wash it all down with champagne!

#When the party's over, send the girls home with gourmet chocolates, a poster of Tiger Woods, and a good murder mystery — in which the boyfriend gets it.

2010-01-31T09:56:00.000-08:00

Where's a good plot when you need one?

DON'T YOU JUST want to slap the next person who blurts out the overused phrase, "Get a life!"?

I have a life. In fact, with writing and teaching and baby-sitting grandchildren, I have more than enough lives.

Truth is, what I need right now is a plot. Not a cemetery plot, a story plot. A plot is similar to a life, but it's fiction and has a deadline — although I suppose you could argue that life does, too.

I'm glad I have a life because writing a column every couple of weeks requires it. If I don't experience something interesting, then I have nothing to write about. But when writing fiction, that's — to use another overused phrase — "another story."

Making stuff up is much like being a good liar, only you have to lie for about 300 pages. And for that, you need a plot.

After writing two books in my new mystery series, I need a plot for my third. I've already poisoned a bride, drowned a socialite, bludgeoned a philanthropist, and creatively murdered several other fictional characters. I've got the murder stuff down. What I need now is a cleverly twisting story full of red herrings, misdirection, and cliffhangers.

And it has to sound like real life.

Therein lies the problem. While I have "a life," it doesn't include mayhem, malice or murder. Living here in the valley, while it has its ups and down like any valley, is mostly peaceful and pleasant.

If I want drama, I turn on the TV and watch shows like "The Mentalist," "Castle," and "Criminal Minds." Sometimes these shows give me ideas for my own plots. But I have to be careful I don't steal the stories outright. That could lead to courtroom drama of another kind.

At book signings, I'm often asked, "Where do you get your plots?" My fellow writers usually give a witty response, like "At the plot store" or "Walmart." But the truth is, plots are difficult to come by, especially when your amateur sleuth isn't a police officer or attorney or private detective. Plots just seem to fall into their laps.

In my new series, my protagonist is a party planner. Only problem is, so many people have been dropping dead at her parties, she's going to be out of business soon. That's called the "Jessica Fletcher Syndrome."Remember how Jessica Fletcher, in "Murder She Wrote," was always tripping over dead bodies in quaint little Cabot Cove? It's a wonder there was anyone left in the town. So who's going to hire Presley Parker to host a party when inevitably one or more of the guests will be found dead in the punchbowl? In real life, her "Killer Parties" business wouldn't last the party season.

But luckily, writing fiction isn't like real life. You can make up anything you want. That's called plotting. And now I'm right back where I started this lament.

Maybe I should take a break from the world of fiction and get back to real life by throwing a party, with finger foods (not literally) and chocolates (poison-free). And, what the heck, signed copies of "How to Host a Killer Party."

I just hope no one falls facedown in the punch bowl. I'd like to keep fiction and real life separate as much as possible.

Join me Monday, Feb. 8 from 7 to 9 p.m. for a book-release party at Peasant and the Pear restaurant, 267 Hartz Ave., Danville.

2010-01-27T16:58:00.000-08:00

Penny Warner pens a culinary mystery

This appeared in the Times, Herald, Mercury News, and Oakland Tribune.

By Jackie Burrell
Contra Costa Times

Forget those locked-room mysteries of yore.

These days, some of the hottest crime fiction revolves around caterers and chefs. The latest author to venture into culinary mystery territory is Danville's Penny Warner, whose Bay Area hero — party planner Presley Parker — runs into homicidal high jinks all over the Bay Area, starting with an Alcatraz wedding gone awry.

Gourmet mayhem may not seem like a recipe for bestsellerdom, but there's no denying the genre's popularity. Perhaps the best known practitioner is best-selling author Diane Mott Davidson, whose Colorado caterer Goldie Schultz trips over corpses as often as she slurps up high-octane espressos — which is to say, every few hours.

The stories are fun and frothy, and the recipes for Fatally Flaky Cookies, Sour Cream Cherry Coffee Cake and the like are so tasty, many have found their way into avid readers' permanent recipe files. Davidson's 15th book, "Fatally Flaky" (William Morrow, 336 pp., $25.99), will be released in paperback this spring.

Other popular authors who mix Bearnaise with poison include Jerrilyn Farmer and her Hollywood party planner hero, Madeline Bean; Katherine Hall Page and her New England caterer (and preacher's wife) Faith Fairchild; and San Francisco native and UC Berkeley grad Joanna Pence, whose books revolve around sometime chef Angie Amalfi.

The much-published Warner is an Agatha award-winning author whose books include the Connor Westphal mystery series and a Nancy Drew handbook. "How to Host a Killer Party" (Signet, 320 pp., $6.99) lands on store shelves Feb. 2 and it's a lark. No recipes, which may be just as well, considering what the corpses-to-be ate just before, er, exiting the party. But there are plenty of hosting tips, including, "Like MacGyver, a good event planner can fix any party mishap with a toothpick, duct tape, or some crepe paper. Especially those pesky blood spatters."

Meet Warner at her book launch party from 7 to 9 p.m. Feb. 8 at Danville's Peasant & the Pear, or at readings at the libraries in San Leandro (Jan. 30), Castro Valley (Feb. 16) and Antioch (Feb. 22), at Pleasanton's Towne Center Books (Feb. 26), and San Mateo's M is for Mystery bookstore (March 3). Details: www.pennywarner.com.

2010-01-17T09:38:00.000-08:00

BABYSITTING IN THE 21ST CENTURY

My daughter Rebecca is due to have a baby at the end of the month. She’s asked us to babysit two-year-old Luke during her stay at the hospital. The last time she went to the hospital to have her first baby, she asked us to take care of her cats. I’m afraid this time will involve a little more than opening up a can of foul-smelling food and setting it on the floor of the garage.

To make sure we were up for the task, my daughter decided to give us a test run.

Now, back in the day when we had young children, we were so grateful to get out of the house alone, we didn’t insist that Grandma Mary follow a bunch of babysitting rules. She could have fed them chocolate for dinner and let them watch horror movies and we’d have been happy, as long as the kids were alive when we got back.

But my daughter isn’t quite as grateful as I was. So when they went off to a wedding last weekend, I figured all we’d have to do was feed Luke some dinner (at the table), play Buzz Lightyear for a while, and then put him to bed. No sweat; we’d raised two kids of our own.

And then she gave us “The Rules.” Seriously. Here’s an excerpt from her manifesto.

“Food Rules:
1. Please hide your cookies and chips and candy.
2. If he’s thirsty, give him hot milk, heated to 110 degrees for one minute in the microwave, in his Mickey Mouse sippy cup.
3. When he’s hungry, pick one food from each category:

“Breakfast: Category 1:
a. Whole grain frozen waffles with cinnamon—cut into fourths. Put a piece in his hand and he might feed himself.
b. Peanut butter on whole wheat toast—cut into fourths—then feed him bites.
c. Sesame seed bagel with cream cheese—cut into fourths. He might feed himself but never has for me.

“Category 2: a. Precooked refrigerated bacon – two pieces. Microwave for a minute so it’s extra crispy and he won’t choke.
b. Precooked frozen sausage – two pieces. Microwave for 1 minute, cut into little bites, and feed him with a fork.
c. Bowl of dry cereal: Cheerios or Crispex (he calls them spikeys.)”

Lunch and dinner meals are even more complicated so I won’t go into those. Let’s move on to Bedtime.

“Bedtime: Give him warm milk at 7:30 and bring him into his bedroom. While he’s drinking it, change his diaper (standing up) and put him in his Lightning McQueen PJ’s. Then tell him to pick out a story. When you finish the last story, give him his ‘wu’ (blanket), pick him up, and go say goodnight to Benny and Roxy (cats) and everything in his room. Turn on the sound machine, select “Wind,” and turn the light off. Tell him that everyone (including Spiderman) is going to sleep. Get him his bat and his ball (they should be in his crib) and rub his back. Then say “Good night, Buddy” and “I love you,” walk out and close the door. If he cries, start the timer for three minutes. then go in and repeat the process. Do this at least three times before you give up.”

By then it’ll be time for some chocolate and a horror movie.
Seriously.

2010-01-14T09:51:00.000-08:00

MY BLOG CHAT WITH RHYS BOWEN AT JUNGLERED.COM

Hi Rhys,
I’ve been looking forward to guest blogging on Jungle Red—what a great site! And what a great bunch of mystery writers. I’ll bet you all put on some great parties—lots of jungle prints with splashes of red, poison chocolates, a game of Truth or Dare... Now, on to the interrogation…I mean, interview…

Where did this interest in party planning come from?

It all started when I was three and had my first birthday party. I got to dress up like a princess, invite all my friends over, open a bunch of presents, and eat chocolate cake decorated with M&Ms. I knew from that point on that parties were my destiny. Trouble was, my birthday only came around once a year, so I had to think up other reasons to party. (Don’t you love that “party” is also now a verb, as in “to party!”)

Tell us about your new sleuth

Presley Parker (named after Elvis—her mother was a big fan), was recently downsized at her abnormal psychology teaching job at San Francisco State University. Forced to move from her Marina apartment and find work, she ended up renting a condo on Treasure Island and setting up her new business in an old barracks there. Her mother, once the party queen of San Francisco café society, encouraged her to try the event-planning business, since Pres often helped her mom at various functions. Reluctantly Pres gives it a try, promising herself she’ll donate a percentage of her profits to important causes like the Alzheimer’s Foundation—her mother has early stage Alzheimer’s. After the City’s premiere party planner mysteriously dies, Presley finds herself hired to plan Mayor Davin Green’s “surprise” wedding on notorious Alcatraz—with a “ball-and-chain” theme. But a major party foul occurs when the bride-to-be is later found dead floating in the bay, a victim of poisoned chocolates. When Presley becomes prime suspect, she gets help from her quirky Treasure Island co-workers, as well as the mysterious crime scene cleaner Brad Matthews who helps tidy up her tarnished reputation. She realizes that if she doesn’t solve this mystery, she’ll be exchanging her party dress for prison stripes.

You're not new to the mystery genre, but your former series, featuring a deaf sleuth, Connor Westfall, was serious and dealt with many social issues. This one is all fun. Which is closer to the real Penny Warner?

I love them both, but I have to admit, since I majored in partying the first two years at the University of Oregon, I’m more like Presley. Unfortunately, they didn’t offer a degree in the subject, so I got my teaching credential and taught deaf kids and sign language for a number of years. Still, I never gave up my love for hosting creative parties, and began writing books on the subject for both kids and adults. It’s not easy juggling a life of partying with teaching and writing, but thanks to my ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder—Presley and I also have this in common), I manage.

You're a lady of many talents--you've written children's mysteries and a non-fiction Nancy Drew bible. Obviously you have a strong connection with children. Were you ever a teacher?

I’ve been teaching Child Development and Psychology at the college level for the past 30 years. My readers often question why a child development instructor would want to write murder mysteries. I think, when you raise children, it’s obvious, but I do promise my readers that no children—or cats—are harmed in the making of my mysteries.

What is next for you and your sleuth?

I plan to have a margarita, but my sleuth has, what you’d call “a life,” so she’s busy hosting parties. In her next book, HOW TO CRASH A KILLER BASH, she plans at Murder Mystery Party at the de Young Museum in San Francisco. Naturally, someone winds up deader than a decaying artifact. When she’s finished solving that case, she’ll head to the Winchester Mystery House and learn HOW TO SURVIVE A KILLER SÉANCE.

When is the new book out in stores?

Tuesday, February 2—any time after midnight…And it’s only $6.99!

2010-01-03T15:23:00.000-08:00

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS...AND CAVEATS

I SPENT A LONG TIME making my list of New Year's resolutions — about as long as it takes for me to shower. That's where I do my best resolution work.

I came up with a bunch of resolutions that I plan to keep this time — more or less.
Caveat: This should not be considered a legal document.

First, I plan to save more money and shop less. That means I'll buy underpants and other necessities by the crate at the big-box stores instead of hitting the mall twice a day.
Caveat: Unless there's a sale at Victoria's Secret.

I plan to exercise more and sit less on my rear. That means I'll get my own snack from the refrigerator when I'm hungry instead of waiting for my husband to return home from work and bring it to me.
Caveat: Unless my grandson is tall enough to reach the snack shelf.

I plan to cook more and dine out less. That means the kitchen will be littered with snack wrappers and frozen food boxes instead of doggy bags and restaurant receipts.
Caveat: Unless there's a new menu at the Peasant and the Pear.

I plan to spend more time with my grandchildren before they're all grown up and less time doing things that can wait. That means I'll be playing Mario Brothers marathons and having tea parties instead of showering, brushing my teeth and changing out of my bathrobe.
Caveat: Unless I have an urgent scrapbooking page to complete.

I plan to clean the house more and let the cat hair pile up less. That means I'll be buying a new vacuum cleaner (because there may be an actual cat in the old one), instead of just moving to a new house.
Caveat: Unless the Winchester Mystery House goes up for sale.

I plan to use Facebook more and e-mail less. That means I can send all my Facebook friends the same personal note all at once instead of copying and pasting it into an e-mail over and over.
Caveat: Unless I push the wrong button and send an embarrassing mass message that features video footage of my colonoscopy.

I plan to diet more and weigh less. That means I'll have to cut out all food instead of trying to duct tape my pants together.
Caveat: Unless it's chocolate. Obviously.

I plan to read more books and watch less TV. That means I'll be looking for books with titles like "E! News Daily" and "So You Think You Can Dance" instead of wasting time watching them on TV.
Caveat: Unless there's a Three Stooges marathon on.

I plan to be a more hip and inspiring teacher like Will Schuester on "Glee" and a less boring lecturer like that guy from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." That means I'll sing and dance to cool music in class instead of blabbing on about the "theoretical frameworks and cultural rituals of childhood in the diverse contexts of ecological semiotic, and sociolinguistic terms."
Caveat: Unless they boo me off the stage.

Yep, these are my New Year's resolutions. More or less. Unless...