Penny Warner: Blog

Letters from Readers - and why I write for kids

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 10 May 2012 15:35:00 +0000

I write a column for a newspaper in my spare time and once got a cranky letter from “anonymous” who didn’t understand my sense of humor. I wish I could write “just kidding” at the end of every column, but my editor won’t let me. My editor said to “blow it off. People only write when they don’t like some, but rarely when they do.”

I’ve only received one negative letter about my Connor Westphal mystery series. The reader chastised me because she felt the dog in the series was neglected. “Connor never feeds the dog, walks the dog, grooms the dog…”

Now that I’m writing The Code Busters Club, a mystery series for kids, I get tons of letters! What a difference! I thought I’d share some of their wonderful comments with you today. Some are heartfelt, some hilarious. Watch out...you may want to write for kids yourself when you’re finished reading them…

Dear Penny Warner,
Thank you for showing us how to do the secret codes and it was very cool to learn about. I’m really going to miss you. PS. You are a great athor. Love Nami

Dear, Mrs. Warner,
Thanks for coming into our classroom personally to teach us about codes. My favorite code is the “semaphore” code (flags) because I can see it be used in sports and it is really cool to understand what the refs were doing. Sorry for not buying your books but I am not the biggest fan of books. Viln, Xozbtlm (in code)

Dear Mrs. Warner,
Thank you for coming to Mr. B's class. But what i really want to talk about are those AWESOME codes. I learned how to say, "Hi my name is Leah." And I'm going to buy Code Busters #1 from your series. Sincerely, Leah

Dear Mrs.Warner
This is Destiny Santiago. I learned so much just from you. Once again thank you email me back. I'll be doing the same. I'll be showing people this book for now and forever.

Dear Mrs. Warner
     Hello, My name is Natalie from Greenbrook/ When you taught us about sign language I fell in love with it because it was so fun, and now I do it daily and I am getting really good at it. I hope you come back to my school again, BYE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! From Natalie

Thank You Mrs. Penny Warner for coming to our class. It was amazing to learn about codes that i never knew about! I have never met an author and i think its amazing that i had met an author, an amazing author, you. Thank you for your time. Brianna

Dear Miss. Warner,
My name is Julia and I want to thank you for the amazing presentation you gave my class and I. I think Code Busters sound like a really great book and I already asked my parents if I could get it! My mom and I have a question though, what kind of people use semaphore code? Would be blind or def people? Love, Julia

Dear Mrs.Warner
Thank you for coming into to our class and telling all of us about your new book called Code Breaker. I am taking the slip home and getting your new, awesome book.     From, Casey

Dear Mrs. Warner,
I am super elated to get the book and i went on your website about a million times! From, Amelia

Dear Ms.Penny Warner,
    Thank you for the presentation. I hope your next book will be about dragon mysteries - I love reading about them . PS: I love your book. It has so much good description. Hope I learn to write like that.     From Christopher

Dear Mrs. Warner,
Thank you for your kindness of coming to our school and taking time from your own imperative life. By the way, the free, super-awesome gadgets you gave us are AWESOME. I really liked the origami pocket storage. Thank you for personally signing the books. Sincerely, Yusuke.

Dear Mrs. Warner,
Thank you for the cool codes—they rock!!! I love the invisible pen. You can draw on anything but only on things your aloud to draw on of coucse and know one can see it. I wish I had brought money for the book. It was so cool to meat an author. I love to read. Fondly, Laura

Thank-you Mrs. Warner,
Thank you for the evidence. I use it every day to crack the codes, like chapter 12, the food fight. I read that yesterday. Thank you for all the work you put into your presentation. From Michael

Dear Mrs. Warner,
I am writing to thank you for taking your personal time to fold the origami pockets. They are fun to play with when my mom is ouside watering the garden. I am using my code marker and putting notes under my mom’s pillow. Love, Kendall.

Dear Penny Warner,
Thank you so much for coming to the library. It was awesome. I love the gadgets cause now I can trick my brother. It was very fun. Sincerrly, Paulina

Dear Mrs. Warner,
I love your book Code Busters. Please make more books! Your fan, Gabriella

Dear Mrs. Warner,
You recently came to the San Leandro Library to do a Code Busters Club "meeting". Attached to this e-mail is my review for your new book Code Busters Club book 1 the search for the Skeleton Key. I'm sorry for the weird signs at the beginning, our computer has been broken and we just go it fixed. I hope that my review was helpful. – Tyler

Who else wanted to be Annie Oakley?

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 03 May 2012 15:27:00 +0000

I recently asked some kids who visited my child development class what they want to be when they grow up. The answers were standard—the younger girls wanted to be princesses and the younger boys wanted to be super heroes. The older girls wanted to be veterinarians and the older boys wanted to be pro athletes.

Little did they know that by the time they get to high school, they’d have more choices than they can imagine. When I was in high school, the choices were more limited—if you were a female. I was encouraged to choose from the following: airline stewardess (I get air sick), secretary (I didn’t want to type all day), nurse (I hated the thought of giving shots), or teacher (short days, long vacations—that was for me!)

    Some adult friends recently shared their “What I wanted to be when I grew up” stories, and I found their answers interesting.

    “I wanted to be a dolphin trainer until my mother reminded me I would need to be good at science.” – Lori (now in insurance business)

    “My guidance counselor suggested I become a secretary because it would be a waste of my parent's money to send me to college, only to have me get married and quit work to raise children.” – Denise (degree in psychology)

    “I wanted to be an astronaut and a trapeze artist and Batgirl. All involved flying through the air, which is something I only do now on vacation.” – Julie (nurse)

“At first I wanted to be an Olympic skater but then became a cop. I was in such good shape from skating, I had no problem passing the police academy physical, where I had to drag 160-pound dummy, run 200 yards and jump over a six-foot wall, complete an obstacle course, jump back over the wall, run 200 yards back within a set time frame.” – Robin (cop)

“I wanted to be a lion tamer. I used to make my dogs jump through hoops.” - Janet (writer)

“I made a list of princes to see if they'd still be eligible by the time I was old enough to marry. Then I realized that the occupation of princess was very limited.” - Nancy (mom)

“I wanted to major in English, but was told by my father that such a major was worthless.” – Linda (writer)

“I wanted to be Annie Oakley, then a biochemist, then an oceanographer, then an ecologist, then a lawyer, then a historian, then a filmmaker. It was a really long list.” – Jan (writer)

“I wanted to be a bride in a gorgeous gown. I didn't want to get married. I only wanted the gown. I also wanted to be a princess and a ballerina and an Ice Capades dancer, mainly because of the beautiful costumes.” –Diane (crafts woman)

“All I wanted to be was a pin setter in a bowling alley. I thought it was the most glamorous job in the world.” – Pat (writer)

As for me, I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I suppose I should make a decision, but there are so many great careers available today, I don’t want to miss out on any. Of course, being a writer, I can be anything I want—at least in my imagination.

Why I write mysteries

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 18:40:00 +0000

“I write my mysteries for pleasure, mine and I hope yours, and for money.”- Joe Gores

That's why Joe Goes writes mysteries, which got me thinking about why I write mysteries:

1. I like solving a puzzle.

2. I like the structure of the mystery.

3. I love bringing the bad guy to justice.

4. I like that you can add romance to the mystery.

5. I like that there’s a beginning, middle and end.

6. I like figuring out fresh ways to kill people.

7. I love researching different poisons, weapons, and household objects as murder methods.

8. I love the mystery community – everyone is so supportive and friendly.

9. I love bringing together characters, settings, and plot.

10. Most of all, I love reading mysteries.

So why do you write or read mysteries?

An Interest in Pinterest

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 15:24:00 +0000

I need an intervention.

I’m addicted to Pinterest.com. I can’t seem to control my impulse to just “take a quick peek” at the latest social networking site. In case you don’t know about Pinterest, I’ll share the explanation I found on the world’s most trusted authority—Wikipedia.

    “Pinterest is a pinboard-style social photo-sharing website that allows users to create and manage theme-based image collections such as events, interests, hobbies and more.”

In other words, it’s a place where you can see cool stuff. And it’s updated constantly so there’s always something new to see. According to Wiki, it’s one of fastest growing social services in the world, with 11.7 million visitors. Not surprisingly, 83% of the site's users are females ranging in age from 34 to 44. I’m a little over that demographic, but then I’ve always been immature for my age.

    A “friend” turned me on to Pinterest about a year ago, and since then I’ve checked the site more often than I check my email. Before Pinterest, I used to spend what little free time I had doing something worthwhile, like playing Drawing with Friends, texting my kids, updating my Facebook page, and reading the latest news on TMZ.

Pinterest has replaced all of that.

    Unfortunately, while the site is fun to visit, it’s also very addicting. Thanks to Pinterest, I now own four pairs of Tom’s shoes (buy one, send one to a needy child), I’ve tried numerous new recipes (like Cake Mix Rice Krispie Squares), I’ve painted my nails to look like Angry Birds (mostly they just look angry), I’ve learned how to dress like a Disney Princess (Snow White, in a yellow top, blue shorts, and red Tom’s), I know what to do with leftover Peeps (turn them into Peep S’mores), and I’ve cut up a perfectly good t-shirt in an attempt to make it a shawl (mine looks like a cut-up t-shirt).

    Yes, there’s a plethora of information on Pinterest—How to make Pumpkin-Nutella-Jack Daniel Cupcakes, How to Hard Boil Eggs in the Oven, How to Use Glow Sticks in the Tub so Your Kids Will Take a Bath, and so many other ideas, I wouldn’t have time to try them all in my lifetime, let alone “repin” them.

    So why is the site so addicting? Maybe it’s because I’m bound to find important tips on making a hostess gift (stuff a bottle of wine in a Sock Monkey), creating beautiful artwork (out of melted crayons), whipping up a snack for the grandkids (Hot Dog/Noodle Octopus), and announcing my engagement to my next husband with Scrabble pieces (so far no need). The list goes on forever.

It’s only when you realize that you haven’t eaten for days (not even Cake Mix Rice Krispie Squares), haven’t gotten dressed (in that T-shirt/scarf), and haven’t turned off Pinterest since you logged on days ago, that you realize you need help.

Please feel free to join me at a P.A. meeting, where we can share stories of our addiction (and tips for making Sweet Potato Boats), enjoy some real-time social interaction (and “like” each other), and rid ourselves of this insidious disease called Neurotic Infectious Pinterism (PIN spelled backward).

I’ll be there as soon as I’m done getting a tattoo on my backside that looks like Ryan Gosling.

Sunday Family Dinner...open the wine...

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 15:20:00 +0000

Sunday dinner is a tradition in our family. Ever since the kids left home and married and had kids of their own, we've invited them all over for a weekly home-cooked meal.

My husband does the cooking -- I left the kitchen behind when my last child left for college -- and he always whips up something wonderful, like veal saltimbocca, chicken cordon bleu, or pork tenderloin carnitas.

The kids often ask what we're having, no doubt afraid that I might return to the kitchen and try to prepare my famous chicken Kiev (in which I accidentally left out the chicken.) So far, they've been lucky.

My daughter likes to eat early so she can get the kids to bed and therefore shows up at 5 p.m. My son prefers eating late and doesn't come until 6 or so. It's not a problem, because that gives me plenty of time to have a glass of wine.

When everyone is here, the grandkids play until they fight, then we serve them dinner. Since they won't eat what Tom cooks, their parents scrounge through our refrigerator in search of anything their kids might swallow -- cheese pizza (microwaved); frozen peas (still frozen); blueberry yogurt (with the blueberries removed); cheese slices (orange, not white); peanut butter sandwich (creamy, with the crusts cut off); avocado (meant for the salad); or bell pepper slices (also meant for the salad).

After the grandkids are done eating, 2-year-old Lyla hides in the pantry and helps herself to ice cream cones, sans ice cream. Three-year-old Stephanie heads for the play kitchen to make us "hot coffee" and "birthday cake." Four-year-old Luke wants to watch a video, but not the one 7-year-old Bradley wants, so we turn off the TV and they go to the guest room to jump on the bed.

Meanwhile, I have another glass of wine.

While the adults enjoy Tom's cooking, I bring up interesting topics to discuss, such as "How was your week?" or "Got any new apps?" but my grown children prefer to share stories about my latest embarrassing moments, such as how I got that big bruise on my backside (I was standing on the bathroom scale -- on one leg, of course, so I'd be lighter -- and lost my balance, grabbed the towel rack, which came loose in my hand, and ended up falling into the bathtub, bruising my tailbone.

Luckily, during their story retelling, I help myself to what's left in the wine bottle.

Once dinner is over, the grandkids return to the table for ice cream -- each one wants a different flavor. We adults try to play a game, like Rummikub or Farkle, until the grandkids try to take over and we lose track of who's winning.

Then my kids pick up their kids and head for home, leaving behind a family room that looks like a preschool after it's been ransacked.

When we're done cleaning up the mess, Tom and I collapse on the couch, put in a video we've been looking forward to seeing, and sleep through it, having survived another Sunday Family Dinner.

Can't wait until next Sunday for more "birthday cake," more jumping on the bed, more embarrassing stories, more interrupted games and lots more wine. It's a tradition.

Writing for Kids? Don't forget the Bows and Arrows

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 15:55:00 +0000

I generally read adult fiction, especially in the mystery genre. I stopped reading teen books when I finished the last Nancy Drew mystery back in junior high. But after hearing all the hype about a young adult book called "The Hunger Games," by Suzanne Collins, I decided to check it out to see why it was so popular.

Much like the "Twilight" trilogy, "The Hunger Games" has been translated into more than two dozen languages, has garnered positive reviews and is now a movie. So it has to be good, right?

But after reading only a few pages, I quickly learned this was not really a kids' book. The story features a 16-year-old girl named Katniss Everdeen, who lives in a very hungry, post-apocalyptic world. She volunteers to participate in the annual Hunger Games to replace her lottery-selected younger sister, Primrose. The games require that children between the ages of 12 and 18 must battle to the death every year to appease the government.

Only one will survive.

This is a kids' book?

It sounds more like a Grimm's fairy tale. Speaking of which, apparently, some parents today are refusing to read the old fairy tales to their kids because they're "too scary." These parents prefer to retell the stories with positive endings, hoping their children will learn a valuable lesson (instead of spending a sleepless night in Mommy and Daddy's bed.)

I can just imagine how they would rewrite the classic "The Three Little Pigs."
"The pigs work together to build their houses, then invite the Big Nice Wolf in for a vegetarian meal and a game of Candy Land. The end."

And how about "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?" Instead of having the evil stepmother chase Snow White from the castle, Snow White gives the ugly woman makeup tips, they bake an apple pie and start a special school for Little People.

And the dog from "Old Yeller" lives forever.

Goodness. The adult mysteries I read are much tamer than "The Hunger Games." While Katniss is trained to kill with a bow and arrow, most of the heroines in the books I read have a skill too, but instead of archery or swordfighting, they're more apt to bead or decoupage or scrapbook while they fight crime.

As for my own mystery series, I offer party tips, not how-to-stay-alive tips. And my protagonist only has to juggle party planning with murder solving. Poor Katniss struggles with getting enough food to eat while surviving killer teens. Sounds like I need to ratchet up the blood and guts and simmer down on the crafts and party tips.

My children's book, "The Code Busters Club," is about four children who solve a mystery by cracking codes, not skulls. Maybe I should rethink that and write about a kid who skips school, sneaks out at night, lies to his friends, smokes, hangs out in a graveyard, engages in witchcraft, runs away from home, pretends to be dead, breaks into a house, gets lost in a cave, nearly starves to death and plans to become a world-class robber when he grows up.

Oh wait. Mark Twain already wrote that book and called it "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer."
And we let our kids read that?
What's the post-apocalyptic world coming to?

What to do when a book bogs down---Spanx for those sagging middles...

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 14:54:00 +0000

You're working on your book. You have an exciting beginning and the perfect ending....but what about that middle part, that just seems to sag?
Here are some tips for Spanxing that sprawling middle:
* Accept the fact that your "book" is actually a short story, and cut out the middle.
* Add a subplot, such as an alien love story in the middle of your western/thriller.
* Change the scene – move the story to a haunted house or the circus.
* Explore what the protagonist really wants– to save the world or just increase her Facebook numbers.
* Add a new problem, such as sudden onset alcoholism or a sex change.
* Make things even more complicated, such as the protagonist is being chased, shot at, called names, publically embarrassed, and her mother-in-law is coming to live with her.
* Kill off a minor character, such as the mother-in-law.
* Add another love interest, then have the two love interests vie for the protagonist until things escalate into a swordfight.
* Foreshadow a future problem by using phrases like: “And then it got super bad…” or “Just wait until the next chapter when things got crazy.”
* Add a flashback about some mysterious circumstance, such as a suppressed memory of a bad date or a recurring dream about a posting on Pinterest.
* Start “the ticking clock”—place a bomb somewhere but only tell the reader, not the protagonist.
* Reveal something the main character has kept hidden, such as her affair with Arnold Schwarzeneggar or her secret compulsion to steal clothes from Neiman Marcus.
* Include a long back story to pad the middle and meet your word count.
* Turn the book into a trilogy.

Protecting us in the 'Burbs

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 16:37:00 +0000

My husband Tom loves warfare games, like “Call of Duty,” “Son of Call of Duty,” “Bride of Call of Duty,” “Call of Duty: the Musical,” and “Call of Duty vs. Zombie Apocalypse.”

I’m fine with his games of make-believe, as long as he isn’t too tired to take out the garbage when he’s finished playing.

But when my son Matt invited him and a few friends for a game of urban warfare, I assumed he meant they’d all gather on the couch with their controllers and battle it out on the big screen.

I was wrong. My son was talking about a game of Airsoft, a live-action simulation of “Call of Duty,” where a bunch of mostly 20 and 30 year olds play war at a warehouse in Stockton.

“Are you crazy?” I asked my husband sweetly. “You’re 30 to 40 years older than those guys and you haven’t even played Ping Pong in years, let alone Paintball.”

“It’s not Paintball,” he argued. He was right about that. It’s worse. The teams use tiny plastic BB pellets instead of soft plastic paintballs.

“Besides, I’ve always done extreme sports like this.” He was right about that too. In addition to playing numerous paintball games, my husband has rappelled into deep holes, spelunked through dark caves, bungee-jumped off bridges, leapt out of high-flying airplanes, driven midget race cars, and even climbed one of those rock walls like they have at Chuck E. Cheese.

But that was then, when he wasn’t twice the age of the guys he’d be playing with.

I had no choice but to let him go, as long as he promised to take out the garbage when he got home. But when he walked in the door after the six-hour event, I was shocked to see his body covered with hundreds of red welts.

“Whoa,” I said as he collapsed on the couch. “What happened to you?”

“Oh these. They’re no big deal,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Was it fun?”

“It was awesome—like playing a video game, only live. They gave us pistols, rifles, shotguns, and Uzis, and then divided up into two teams—the commandoes who play a lot and get to wear camouflage, and the insurgents, mostly rookies like us who just wear dark clothes. Then we all ran around this warehouse that was filled with plywood walls, open windows, alleyways, and abandoned cars. It was like playing in a small city. In fact, the real SWAT teams train there.”

After taking a few Tylenols, he went on sharing his war stories. “At first the guys were gung-ho, planning strategies like football plays, but the moment the first game started, it was every man for himself. Guys were running all over the place. Our team got slaughtered. Luckily we get to respawn.”

Respawn?

“Were you the oldest?” I asked.

“Yep, by about twenty years,” he said proudly, before checking his welts in a mirror.

“Any regrets?” I asked, as he switched on the laptop and started watching a videotape of the game my son had just put up on YouTube.

“Yeah. My own son shot me in the face. I can’t wait to get him back.”

This blog may be contagious...

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 23:18:00 +0000

Oh my God, I thought I was going to die.

For awhile there I was sure I'd be one of the lucky ones and escape this season's flu epidemic, despite the fact that I neglected to get my flu shot this year. I heaved a sigh of relief when everyone around me seemed to come down with this hideous flu except me.

And then I just heaved.

Yep, I got it. Bad. As much as I tried to avoid contagious "carriers" with bloodshot eyes, hacking coughs, and runny noses, nothing could prevent me from contracting the latest H1N1/Swine/Pan/Avian flu.

My son's family had had it, his in-laws had had it, their entire family had had it. It was only a matter of time before the CDC came to our house and quarantined us, with a big black X on the front door and a sign that read "Contaminated! Run for your lives!"

Naturally I went on Wikipedia to get the latest medical advice. That's where I learned what the flu bug looks like magnified a zillion times (a bunch of circles). I studied how to look for symptoms -- achy head, yucky stomach, demon red eyes, sensitive hair, tight-fitting clothes, bad attitude and poor handwriting. I had them all.

Next I checked the etiology of the disease -- which I learned from "House" meant where I might contract it. The list was endless -- my grandkids, my students, my family members, people at the mall, people near me, or people in general.

Finally I read about prevention. Besides avoiding any kind of human contact, I washed my hands until there was no skin left. I used Fantastik on everything from the kitchen counter to the cats. And I avoided public places like the plague, just in case the plague had somehow found its way to the local restaurants, outlet malls, hospitals, parks and shoe stores.

But "it" finally caught up with me in the middle of the night while I was sleeping, slinking in and replacing my gastrointestinal track like a poisonous snake.

Oh my God, I thought I was going to die.

I know you don't want the details. Let's just say for 36 long hours I alternated between the bedroom and the bathroom, wondering where I could get some heroin or whatever drug it was that made you not care anymore, but I couldn't even lift my cell phone.

After the worst subsided, I had a craving for red Jell-O, Saltines, and grape Popsicles. Once I kept those down, I was able to progress to good old Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Nothing tastes better than mac and cheese after a long night of heaving.

I spent the rest of my recuperation lying on the couch, dozing off during Lifetime movies and telling my cats how much I loved them. At some point, in the middle of all this, I promised a higher power that I'd never to do anything bad ever again if I could just hold my head up long enough to brush the scum off my teeth.

Now that I'm well, things are back in perspective. I can eat normal food and operate the remote, and shower again. But I'm not setting foot outside for the rest of winter without wearing a hazmat suit.

What's the difference between a cozy and a thriller?

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 16:40:00 +0000

If you're wondering how a cozy mystery differs from a thriller, here are some tips:

1. A cozy centers around a small puzzle, like “Who Killed The Cat Lady?” while a thriller is concerned with a larger crime, such as “Where is the President’s Birth Certificate?”

2. A cozy heroine uses her hobby to solve the crime, such as her quilting skills or cooking knowledge, while a thriller hero uses his contacts with the police or hookers.

3. A cozy has more to do with figuring out whodunit, like “Was it the ex-con or vicar?” while a thriller deals with emotions, such “What kind of person would kidnap a dog?”

4. In a cozy, the sex and violence take place off the page and behind closed doors, while a thriller offers lurid and explicit details of throbbing thighs and rare poisonous darts.

5. A cozy is set in a small town, such as Podunk, Iowa or Flat Skunk, California, while a thriller takes place on a larger stage, like Berlin, Moscow, or the Antarctica.

6. A cozy offers clever clues like broken lipsticks and strange keys, while a thriller provides shocking surprises, such as secret safe deposit boxes and iPhones with microchips.

7. A cozy keeps the killer’s identity a secret until the end, such as the butler did it, while a thriller tells you the butler escaped from an insane asylum and is a ticking time bomb.

8. Cozies are usually series, filled with victims who are friends or family members, while thrillers are usually standalones, with larger-than-life victims like Enron presidents.

9. Cozies look for suspects, like men with scars and women who work as “masseuses,” while thrillers look for betrayers, such as your own husband, child, or hairdresser.

10. Cozies have ordinary protagonists, like beekeepers, seamstresses, and cupcake makers, while thrillers have disgruntled CIA agents, nearly retired cops, and reformed ex-cons.

11. Cozies are often humorous, with comical sidekicks who work as inept prostitutes, while thrillers aren’t funny, because they’re really serious.

12. Cozies have cute tongue-in-titles, like Dead Body Language or How to Host a Killer Party, while thrillers have pithy, dynamic titles, like Murder One! or Perfect Alibi!

From Cozy Writer to Thriller Writer in a Single Penstroke

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 21:36:00 +0000

I’m what you call a “cozy” mystery writer. That means I write mysteries that don’t contain any on-page sex, violence, or bad language. The worst “crime” a cozy writer can commit is harming an animal, especially a cat. We’re allowed to “kill” bad people, bratty teenagers, and the like, but if that cat so much as loses a whisker, our books will never be read in this town again.

Some would question “Why read a cozy at all, if there’s no sex, violence or bad language?” but the cozy mystery has many fans who prefer solving the puzzle to skimming the grit. Plus, there’s almost always a love interest, and creating that particular character fulfills any writer’s fantasy. My love interests are usually men who have the minds of poets and the bodies of construction workers. Naturally my husband thinks he’s the role model for this fantasy man, in spite of the fact that he has the mind of a construction worker and the body of a poet. Let’s not spoil it for him…

So yes, I write cozies, and while some authors who write in the genre prefer to call themselves “traditional,” the word “cozy” suits me fine. I like the idea of a reader curling up by a fire (on “burn allowable” days, of course), sipping a cup of tea (perhaps with a splash of vodka), and petting the lap cat (rescued, naturally), while reading my book.

Now imagine my surprise when I was asked to participate in the prestigious San Francisco Writers Conference next weekend. I immediately looked up the list of speakers. Oh my goodness (as they say in cozy mysteries.) Lisa See (Dreams of Joy). Ellen Sussman (French Lessons.) Lolly Winston (Happiness Sold Separately). Michael Krasny (KQED, Spiritual Envy).

What was a little old cozy writer doing in a literary place like this?
Being awestruck, like everyone other reader and writer, that’s what.

I looked up my assignment, skimming past the incredible lineup of workshops like, “Putting your passion on the page,” “Crafting wickedly effective prose,” “Designing a killer online promotion plan,” and the essential “Getting paid to write your book.” Those are workshops I needed to attend!

And then I saw it: My panel. “BLOOD MONEY: Writing Thrillers and Crime Fiction.” I was to be sandwiched between bestselling thriller writers Robert Dugoni (Murder One) and Sheldon Siegel (Perfect Alibi). Wha-what? Granted it was the perfect sandwich, being right in the middle of two handsome men who could easily have played the parts of my love interests in my cozy novels. But I don’t write thrillers. I was out of my league with my terribly cozy How to Party with a Killer Vampire.

I emailed back the people in charge. “Are you sure you don’t want me on a nice little cozy panel? Or perhaps a workshop on writing for kids, since my no-sex, no-violence, no-cursing novels are perfect for the eight-to-12-year-old set?”

“Oh, we’re putting you on the writing-for-kids panel too,” came the response. “And as for being ‘sandwiched’ between Bob and Sheldon, you’re more like the baloney in the middle.”

Ha. Apparently, I’m to be the comic relief. Still sounds cozy to me.

The San Francisco Writers Conference runs Thursday, February 16 through Sunday, February 19 at the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco. For more information go to www.sfwriters.org.

How To Fake it at a Super Bowl Party

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 20:38:00 +0000

    Cooped up in our RV last weekend, isolated in a giant redwood forest without Internet access, and unable to set foot outside for fear I might freeze to death, I was forced to watch some football games. Four of them. Practically in a row. Talk about a weekend in hell.

    I actually felt sorry for my husband, who only had me to talk to about the games. I tried to look interested, even asked questions like “Why’s that guy crying?” and “Who would name their kid “He Hate Me” or “Ochocinco.” But I’m not very good at faking it. At least, not when it comes to sports.

    During the games I entertained myself by focusing on the important details, like “Who picked the colors Red and Gold?” and “John Harbaugh? I thought it was Jim Harbaugh.” That’s the only thing that kept me from going crazy with boredom. Truthfully, I’d rather watch “Ice-Road-Trucking New Jersey Housewife Hoarders” than football.

    My husband, on the other hand, seems to experience a wide range of emotions while watching the games. For example, that game the other day between those Red and Gold guys versus those Black and Gold guys? I was afraid I was going to have to sedate him but I couldn’t get him out of his “lucky chair.” First he was shouting. Then he was crying. Then he was biting his nails. Then he was screaming. Then he was outside jumping up and down with some RV neighbors he didn’t even know.

    I felt so sorry for him that I offered to host an upcoming Super Bowl Party. I told him I’d make some cute little invitations written on mini footballs and stuff them into large puffy envelopes filled with crushed peanut shells. I would ask our guests to come dressed as cheerleaders, referees, or food vendors.

    To create the right atmosphere, I’d set out sports equipment, like hockey masks, baseball mitts, and tennis racquets. Then I’d mark the party room floor with field yard lines using tape. As for a centerpiece, I’d set out Ace bandages, Ben-Gay, and crushed beer cans. And each guest would get one of those big foam “We’re Number One” fingers so they could have pretend swordfights during commercials.

    When the game inevitably becomes slow and boring, I’d keep the party alive by having the guests place bets on everything from “Who will win the coin toss?” to “Which player will spit next?” Then we’d play a sports trivia game, with questions like “What’s the name of the team we’re rooting for?” and “Who’s the cutest guy in tight pants?” At halftime, we could go outside for a brisk game of balloon badminton or planking.

    Finally, I’d serve typical ballpark food, such as Pigs in a Blanket, mini-quiches, Jell-O shots, and Vodka lattes. Then, depending on whether his team wins or loses, I’d send the guests home with either a Team Logo celebration banner or an embroidered crying towel.

    “I think I’ll just get some beer, make some chili, and call a few friends,” he said when I finished telling him my party plans.

     That’s fine. If he needs me, he knows where to find me. At the mall.

The Perfect Place to Write Your Book

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 20:02:00 +0000

    I began my writing career typing on a Commodore 64 in a corner of my bedroom. After my son left for college, I moved into his room (boy was he surprised when he came back for winter break…), and enjoyed the quiet and seclusion there.
    But a few years ago when I was under deadline—and had already planned a trip to Disneyland with the family—I found myself writing at a café table on Main Street. While my kids headed for their favorite rides, I ignored the crowds, the noise, and the commotion, and amazingly, was able to focus on my story.
    From that I learned this: I can write anywhere. I don’t need a garret or a coffee shop, a quiet bedroom or a table at Disneyland, to write. In fact, no matter where I go, each location offers something no doubt finds its way into my book. Except Hawaii. By the time I’ve had my third pina colada, I can’t even remember the alphabet.
Here are some suggestions for places to write that you may not have thought of:
1.    Hospital cafeteria. Think about all the drama that’s going on at a hospital and you’re right in the middle of it! And if you need medical advice, just grab a nearby nurse or doctor on lunch break and grill them!
2.    Airport waiting room. Absorb some of that glamorous jet-setting crowd and writer your book as you watch passengers come and go. You may even spot a movie star you can weave into your plot.
3.    Hotel lobby. Find a comfy chair at a hotel like the Claremont or Mark Hopkins, pull out your laptop, and write your book in the lush surroundings of upscale accommodations. Need a latte while you work? Drop by the hotel coffee shop and pick up a pick-me-up to keep you going.
4.    University library. I used to hang out at my university library to meet smart guys, but now it’s the perfect place to pen your novel—and have access to all those resources you might need along the way. Plus, you’re in good company, with the works of your favorite authors.
5.    Secret Passageway. Find an old mansion, do a little wall-tapping, and find yourself a secret passageway. Then hide yourself away and don’t come out until that book is done (or the residents come home.) Talk about atmosphere!
6.    DMV or Post office lines. Instead of wasting your time waiting for the next available clerk, write your next chapter on your portable, lightweight iPad. Tap into that seething emotion from other line-waiters and your story will be filled with passion.
7.    Jail. If you can’t get yourself arrested, you can at least find a spot in the waiting room to write that dramatic action scene. Plus, you’ll find lots of character archetypes and may even overhear some good plot twists.

So what’s your favorite place to write?

Making Cookies Memories with the Grandkids

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 17:53:00 +0000

    During the holidays, I decided to have my four grandchildren over to make cookies, thinking it would be the start of a wonderful tradition. After all, who doesn’t like making cookies at grandmother’s house, right?

    Well, now that I’ve done it—and lived to tell about it—I thought I’d share some helpful tips, in case you’re contemplating a cookie-making day with your grandkids.

1.    Be sure to prepare the supplies ahead of time and set them aside, otherwise the grandkids will wear the bowls on their heads, throw the flour around like it’s snow, and eat frosting right from the tube.

2.    Cover the work area with parchment paper so the cookie dough won’t stick to your table and dry to the consistency of cement and have to be removed with a chisel and sander.

3.    Throw the parchment paper away after the grandkids decide to tear it into confetti “snow.”

4.    Sprinkle liberal amounts of flour on the table in another attempt to keep the dough from sticking. When the grandkids are done making life-size snow angels in the flour, give each one a lump of refrigerator dough to work with. (Never make cookie dough from scratch. There’s no point.)

5.    Set out rolling pins. To keep the grandkids from dueling with them like light sabers, threaten to call Santa.

6.    Once the grandkids have pounded their balls of dough into lumpy misshapen pancakes, give them cookie cutters in fun shapes, such as snowmen, gingerbread boys, Barbies and army men.

7.    When they’re done using the cookie cutters as action figures, let them make popular free-form designs, such as snakes, balls, and more lumpy pancakes.

8.    Give them bottles of sprinkles to decorate the cookies. After they pour the entire contents onto one cookie, let them eat the rest of the sprinkles that have fallen onto the floor.

9.    Place the haphazardly decorated cookies on a cookie sheet and bake them for various lengths of time depending on how unevenly thick and thin they are.

10.    While the cookies bake and cool, let the grandkids squirt tubes of frosting directly into their mouths to stop them from asking, “Are they ready yet?”

11.    When the cookies are cool—and if there’s any frosting left in the tubes—have the grandkids see how high they can tower the frosting on one cookie before the tower falls over onto your shirt.

12.    Finally, offer the grandkids a cookie. If they’re too full from eating the sprinkles, dough and frosting, let them feed the cookies to the dog and then go play, while you clean off the furniture where they’ve wiped their dough-covered hands.

13.    When the parents arrive, show them the cookie snakes and balls and pancakes that their gifted children have made, then collect the cookies into baggies, and send everyone home with a promise to repeat “Cookie Making at Grandma’s” again next year. (Next year buy premade cookies, give them to the grandkids when they arrive, and send them outside to play the rest of the day.)

14.    Eat the broken cookies that are covered with red hots that nobody liked, wash them down with a vodka latte, and make plans to spend the holidays in Hawaii next year.

15.    That’s how memories are made.

Biking for Bruises

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 19:36:00 +0000

          I hadn’t been on a bicycle in twenty years. And now I have proof—a bruise the size of Nebraska on my left thigh. That old adage, “It’s as easy as riding a bike?” For a five-year-old kid, maybe. For me, not so much.

            We’d decided to get away from the hustle and bustle of the holidays and spend a few days at the beach. Since we don’t have access to any beachfront property, the best we could do was take the RV and park it near the water. Half Moon Bay had just the site we were looking for, located only a short walk to the beach. And just down the street was the Ritz Carlton Hotel, where we could sneak in, have a drink, and watch the sun set over the ocean while pretending to be rich.

            After arriving in the early afternoon, we couldn’t wait to see the local sights. The only problem was, we didn’t have a car. While we like having a portable condo to take on these mini-vacations, we can’t exactly drive it around town, so we brought along our bikes for transportation.

            When the kids were in school, I used to ride my bike all the time—down to the library or the grocery store or café. I’d pick up whatever I needed (as long as it was lightweight, easy to carry and wouldn’t spill) and be back in time to greet the kids. Back then I could even ride with no hands—and no helmet!

            But obviously some time has passed since my trick-riding days. After hopping onto my bike at the RV park, seconds later I found myself lying on the pavement, entangled in the bike, my leg throbbing. My thigh soon looked as though it had been hit by a meteorite, when in fact I’d been betrayed by my own planet Earth.
“Are you all right?” called one of the many nearby RVers who had witnessed the humiliating scene. I jumped up quickly, brushed myself off, and said through the pain, “I’m okay! I’m okay!”

            To prove I wasn’t a bike wimp, I remounted the bike and slowly made my way out of the park. Ten minutes later I arrived at the Ritz, huffing and puffing like a lifetime smoker at high altitude. And that was after spending most of the ride walking my bike up the small inclines while pretending to stop and take in the stunning view.

            A woman who had left the RV park at the same time as I had—on foot, mind you—passed me several times during my oxygen-recovery breaks, and eventually beat me to the hotel. I complimented her on her athleticism; she asked me if I needed an ambulance or a defibulator. When we returned to the RV, I admired my humungous bruise in the mirror, swallowed some Ibuprofen, and took a two-hour nap. Later that afternoon, my husband suggested we take another bike ride, this time to a nearby restaurant for dinner. I showed him my bruise, which I hoped would provoke sympathy, but instead brought about mocking laughter and childish name-calling.

            That’s when I called a cab.

Crafting a Christmas Party

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 03:29:00 +0000

'Twas only a few weeks until Christmas and I still wasn't in the holiday spirit. I thought about making cookies (too fattening), going shopping (can't afford it), writing a letter to St. Nick (he doesn't have email), and wrapping gifts (don't have any yet), but nothing seemed to do the trick.

So when my daughter-in-law Sue suggested we host a Christmas crafting party at my house, I jumped at the idea like a reindeer to a roof. Since she's the talented one, I put her in charge of teaching a bunch of our friends how to make festive Christmas cards, gift tags and paper decorations.

Meanwhile, I prepared the snacks (sandwich roll-ups from Costco), desserts (chocolate balls from Costco), and drinks (apple cider from Costco, spiked with caramel sauce). Unfortunately, Costco was out of sugarplums.

I got my husband to haul out the Christmas decorations from the attic and we went through the boxes to see which ones hadn't been eaten by mice. My Santa's Village was chipped, my peppermint stick candles were lopsided, and there were holes the size of oranges in all the personalized stockings we were supposed to hang by the chimney with care.

So my husband and I dashed away to the store to replace our heirlooms and, while we were there, we bought one of those inflatable decorations to set in the yard. They were out of miniature sleighs with eight tiny reindeer, so we opted for the ginormous RV that featured a tipsy-looking Santa who pops out
of the door whenever he feels like it. As soon as we set it in the yard, last week's hurricane immediately blew it into the neighbor's yard.

Finally it was party time. Sue set up tables filled with craft supplies and cookies. I turned on the Christmas Music Channel that plays "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" every hour, and lit the fragrant candles to cover the smell of cat litter down the hall.

When the herd arrived, I sedated everyone with chocolates, cookies and cupcakes. Then Sue showed everyone how to make gift card holders out of brown paper lunch bags. Despite my misgivings, I was impressed with the end result, mainly because I can only make lunch bags out of brown paper lunch bags.

The clatter of women chatting could probably be heard clear up at the North Pole, but it was nice seeing mothers and daughters and friends and family sharing shopping horror stories (the stores are out of Fijits!), recipes for Christmas cheer (Rudolph the Red-Nosed Mojitos), plans for the holiday vacation (returning gifts), and the latest episodes of "Hollywood Housewives" ("Oh no, she did-ENT!")

The time flew by in a flash and, in a twinkling, I had three dozen Christmas cards ready to go. They turned out so cute, I decided to keep them and email electronic cards to all my friends instead.

I can't wait until next year. I'm planning to have a bunch more Christmas parties -- a cookie-exchange party, an ornament-making party, a tree-trimming party, a fruitcake-tossing party, and even a party for every one of the 12 days of Christmas!

I'd better get to work making the invitations. Maybe next week I'll have a party invitation-making party. Meanwhile, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good holiday.

Occupying Disneyland for a Good Cause

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 19:26:00 +0000

    Everybody seems to be occupying some place these days. But I’m confused about all the various reasons. It sounds like some folks want the rich people to give them their money, others want the banks to give them their money, and still others want Wall Street to give their money to someone other than Bernie Madoff.
Basically, people just seem to want more money.

    Back in the days when we used to protest, we didn’t turn the event into a camp-out/street party/dog park. We held signs, chanted “We Shall Overcome,” then went home and did our homework and fed the dog and took a shower. These days it’s all about “occupying.”

    So I decided to participate in the Occupy Disneyland movement. It required spending a lot of money, but I like to think I was helping the economy while sticking it to the man—or the mouse—as my editor suggested. Truthfully, I just wanted to take the grandkids to the Happiest Place on Earth while I could still afford it.

    Along with my daughter, son-in-law, and two grandchildren, four-year-old Luke and eighteen month-old Lyla, I arrived at Disneyland and joined the other occupiers, who were all in good spirits, wearing goofy grins, goofy T-shirts, and Goofy hats. The park was lit up like a Christmas tree, with more lights than National Lampoon’s Griswold house. We immediately noticed a crowd gathering at the It’s a Small World ride and headed over to find families of protesters riding in little boats, holding cameras, and singing along to holiday tunes. (Apparently previous occupiers had demanded that the annoying “It’s a Small World” theme song be replaced it with “Jingle Bells.”)

    By the time we were done occupying most of the A-list rides, the Castle Fireworks were about to start. As we stood united with our brothers and sisters, all there to help the economy, we watched the sky come alive with actual Disney-made snow! It was, well, magical, and I felt proud that part of my admission fee of eighty dollars helped pay for at least a few flakes of that snow.

    While we didn’t bring any tents to the Occupy Disneyland event, we did stay in a cheap hotel across the street, so we’d have more money to spend on the ten-dollar hamburgers at the park. Each day the grandkids rose at 5:45 am and jumped on my fold-up couch-bed until I awoke and got them the 99-Percenter’s breakfast-of-choice—McDonalds.

As we waited for their parents to wake up, the grandkids played with the mini refrigerator, the hotel key, the ice bucket, the window shutters, the paper cups, the coffee filters, my purse, and the fold-up couch-bed. They probably had more fun than on the rides at the park, but that wasn’t really helping the economy, so we returned to the Magic Kingdom and stayed there until we ran out of cash and credit. Finally we packed ourselves into the car—parents in the luxury front seats, me in the back sandwiched between the two grandkids in their ginormous car seats—and began the seven-hour drive home.

    All in all, we had a great time occupying Disneyland and accomplished our goal of helping the economy. Now, with Christmas coming up, I’ll soon be occupying the mall. For a good cause, of course.

Thanksgiving Hype--Stop the Madness!!

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 23:41:00 +0000

Egads. I just realized there are only seven more days until Thanksgiving and I don’t even have a tree yet!

Where did the time go? It seems as if we just finished Fourth of July and it’s already Turkey Day. And when did Thanksgiving become such a huge, commercial holiday?

I have a feeling the stores are nearly out of everything turkey related. I should have started my shopping right after Valentine’s Day, when there was still a bunch of good stuff to select from. Now I’ll be lucky to find a decent Thanksgiving Tree that I can decorate with the dried leaves, turkey feathers, and strings of pumpkin seeds that I save every year.

I like to set a festive Thanksgiving table, so I need to make a bunch of those traditional turkey-shaped placemats out of construction paper. Then I’ll hit one of those specialty “Thanksgiving Stores” that spring up in abandoned furniture stores and pray there are still some decorations left. Last year all they had were broken cornucopias, naked scarecrows, and torn pilgrim costumes. Luckily my husband was able to grab one of those giant inflatable turkeys that’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and holding a pina colada. It’s already set up in the front yard, waiting to greet the relatives and cheer the neighbors.

Every year I ask my guests to come dressed in costume for the occasion, so we can remember why we’re thankful, and then act out scenes from that movie, “It’s a Wonderful Thanksgiving.” Just in case they forget, I’m setting up a craft table so we can all make our own Pilgrim hats and bonnets out of crepe paper, sequins, and pipe cleaners.

I’m keeping the food traditional, as long as the stores aren’t already sold out of “ready-to-eat” turkey dinners. All the do-it-yourself turkeys were scooped up months ago (my neighbor bought hers in June!), so we may end up going to that wings place to order a couple hundred.

As for Thanksgiving gifts, most of the stores are sold out of those Talking Tom Turkeys and “Call of Thanksgiving” video games. I’ll just have to give everyone food gifts, like jars of Cranberry Jell-O and bags of Pumpkin Seed Trail Mix. After all, this is a food holiday.

When the family arrives, I plan to offer a warm glass of cranberry-apple-guava-cantaloupe juice, then we’ll gather at the table and share something we’re thankful for, such as good health, a supportive family, and the iPhone 4S. Once we’ve gobbled down the turkey and trimmings, we’ll open the gifts that have been waiting for us under the Thanksgiving Tree.

Finally we’ll sing songs appropriate to the holiday, such as “Eat It” by Weird Al, “Mashed Potatoes” (Dee Dee Sharp), and selected songs from the Broadway hit, “Sweeny Todd.” Of course, no Thanksgiving is complete without doing “The Turkey Dance” (AKA “The Chicken Dance”) to work off all those calories.
When it’s all over, we’ll collapse on the couch and watch some Thanksgiving specials, like “Lady Gaga’s Thanksgiving Freak Show,” “Thanksgiving IV: Pumpkinhead Returns,” and the last eight hours of the “Macy’s Day Parade.”

Oh, and just a reminder, so you aren’t caught by surprise like I was. There are only eight more days until Black Friday. Better hurry. Most of the Black Friday Trees and decorations are already gone!

Childhood books that influenced my writing

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 15:41:00 +0000

Looking back on my reading life, I find it interesting to recall the books that influenced me as I grew into a writer. It’s an eclectic collection, seemingly random, but the stories share one thing in common—"What’s going to happen next?" While reading Nancy Drew mysteries goes without saying, I’ve listed some of the other books that offered valuable tips on writing. Here are just a few...

Eloise by Kay Thompson was one of the few books that featured girls as the protagonists. Girls who get into trouble, do mischief, and solve their own problems. That led me to write about girls as lead characters who solve their own mysteries.

Freddy the Detective by Walter Brooks. Freddy was the book that got me excited about solving mysteries at a very young age. I figured if a pig could be sleuth, maybe anyone could solve a mystery. . . even moi?

To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street by Dr. Seuss, not only taught me that playing with words was just plain fun, it also taught me spelling was important. I had to memorize how to spell Seuss (instead of Suess) in order to find his books at the library.

Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson showed me how much imagination played a part in creating a story. With my own purple crayon, I could “draw” a story about anything.

Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White reminded me how important relationships are in developing a story with depth. The friendship between the two main characters made the story real, even though it was heartbreaking!

Robinson Crusoe, by Daniel Defoe, had a huge influence on my love of vicarious adventure. What would I do if I were stranded on an island for years and years? Would I be as resourceful and perseverant as Friday’s boss? Defoe made that island come alive for me.

James Bond by Ian Fleming taught me that a protagonist could survive all kinds of dangers and still live to have another martini.

The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank showed me how personal, revealing, and tender a story could be, even when written by such a young writer.

Finally, Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger taught me to search for my own voice, write a realistic, not cardboard, character, and to be subversive.

Next year I'll go as "Stranger with Candy"

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 18:00:00 +0000

My 4-year-old grandson Luke asked me what I plan to be for Halloween. Actually, I hadn't planned to be anything but "Grandma," but since he was dressing up as a knight (or a dragon or Ironman, a Ghostbuster or maybe even a princess--he hadn't completely committed), he thought I should wear a costume for Halloween too.

I figured the Naughty Nurse costume I used to wear was out of the question. I miss those days when I could fit into mesh nurses' tights and a cleavage-altering uniform. But no more sexy French maid or roller-skating carhop or Sandy-after-her transformation-in-"Grease" costumes for me.

After I had kids, I was more likely to dress as Pregnant Housewife, wearing orange-juice-can rollers, green facial masks, stained housecoats, and bunny slippers, all borrowed from my personal collection.

So when had life itself become Halloween, and the clothes I owned become costumes? It was about that time I gave up on "Halloween" costumes all together, and just focused on handing out candy to cute little gremlins, ghosts, and goblins.

But this year the pressure was back on. When my grandson asked what I was wearing for Halloween, I knew I had to find a costume so as not to disappoint him.

I headed to one of those temporary Halloween stores that pull into town every year like circus trucks, and checked out the latest alter-ego fashions. Going as Lady Gaga was tempting, but too scary for the grandkids, which left me Angry Birds (a colorful round ball that hid all the extra Halloween candy I'd already eaten this year), Princess Katherine (wear my old bride dress from my kids' dress-up box), or a cartoon zombie (did I really want to look like the living dead at my age?)

In desperation, I searched the Internet for "Hip Grandmother Costumes," but all they had were accessories like gray-haired buns, knitted shawls, and wire-rimmed glasses. I'd been fighting that stereotype since I turned middle-aged and wasn't about to go there now.

My other choice was "Biker Grandma in Leather with Tattoos." Way too scary for my grandkids -- and my husband.

I thought about wearing normal clothes and go as a Nudist on Strike. Or attach a big S to the front of my shirt, put on a black mask, a green ring, and a blue cape, and come as a Confused Super Hero. Or maybe I could just wear a towel and come as Caught in the Shower. But my grandkids don't do puns well.

I continued to look for something more appropriate for my age and my dignity, something that would delight the grandkids without humiliating me, something that was cheap, quick, comfortable, creative, and fun to wear for hours on Halloween night.

After helping myself to another handful of "fun-size" candy bars and washing them down with a glass of Halloween punch (wine), I had an epiphany and knew jus which costume would meet all the criteria for my grandkids and myself.

I bought myself an extra-large red sweat suit from Target, put on a red knitted cap, held some cotton candy in front of my face, and voila: I was Santa Claus, another of my alter egos.

And after eating all that Halloween candy, it's the only outfit that still fits.

Best Writing Advice Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 23:29:00 +0000

When I teach creative writing classes, one of my first handouts is "Writing Advice" to help inspire the students. Here are some of my favorites, that have inspired me over the years:

There's nothing to writing.
All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.
~ Walter Wellesley Smith

I try to leave out the parts that people skip.
~Elmore Leonard

If there's a book you really want to read,
but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.
~Toni Morrison

Writing became such a process of discovery
that I couldn't wait to get to work in the morning:
I wanted to know what I was going to say.
~Sharon O'Brien

The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion,
some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it.
~Jules Renard

I love being a writer.
What I can't stand is the paperwork.
~Peter De Vries

What no partner of a writer can ever understand is that
a writer is working when she's staring out of the window.
~Burton Rascoe

You can't wait for inspiration.
You have to go after it with a club.
~Jack London

Circle the Wagons - It's all you can eat!

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 16:11:00 +0000

     The main reason my husband and I like to travel is not so much to visit distant relatives, check out famous museums, or see the local sights. No, we go to eat. Wherever we are, we love to tour the regional restaurants and taste local delicacies, everything from Texas chow to Wisconsin cheese, from New York egg creams to Gilroy garlic ice cream. It’s all about the food.

    When we heard the Food Truck Phenom would be invading the Alameda Fairground in Pleasanton, we decided to check it out. Instead of spending all that money on gas traveling throughout the country for a taste of the nation—even the world—we figured we could find it all in one place (other than a shopping mall food court, that is).

   We sort of knew what to expect after watching “The Great Food Truck Race” reality show on TV, which always left us drooling: Invite friends so we could order a variety of foods and share bites. After arranging to meet Ann Parker, Colleen Casey, and Staci McLaughlin, along with Staci’s two kids, Jake and Connor, and we headed for the fairgrounds.

    We paid the eight dollar parking fee and three dollar entry fee, then found ourselves in a wonderland of mouth-watering aromas. Trucks that had once hauled mail, carried overnight packages, and even bussed school children were now painted bright colors, given festive names, and turned into mobile mini-kitchens. They’d circled up like wagon trains, surrounding the grassy picnic area to await hungry customers.

   It took us nearly thirty minutes to check out all twenty trucks and peruse the various tempting menus. We had to make some tough decisions. Should we sample Chairman Bao’s pork belly buns or go for the Lobster Shack’s lobster mac and cheese? We’d heard good things about Nom Nom’s Vietnamese tacos, but the Tikka Masala burrito beckoned from the next truck over. And what about Babaloo’s Cuban Ricky Ricardo sandwich? Or the Korean Fusion at Bulkalbi? Or the Asian soul food at Soulnese’s?

   Those were just the main course items. What would we do when it came time for dessert? Would we head for Twisted Chill’s soft serve ice cream, Sunshine Susan’s Solar Ice Cream sundaes, Sweet Constructions chocolate crackle cookies or That’s Sweet whoopee pies?

   We split up, each heading for a different truck. Overwhelmed, I made my first stop at the wine vendor for a plastic cup of chardonnay to whet my palate—as if it needed whetting. The weather was perfect—unseasonably warm for October—and strolling past the crazy, colorful trucks, inhaling the fragrant odors of food cooking, was a slice of heaven.

   We met back at the picnic table to cut up and share our finds, while the kids played on the grass and listened to the live music. After sampling everything, I couldn’t remember what I ate or which truck it came from, but it was all good. I barely had enough room left in my stomach for a Zantac, let alone dessert. We resolved to come back again when the trucks returned to the fairgrounds.

   But next time I’m eating dessert first.

Ten Ways toi Tell You've Finished the Last Draft of your Manuscript...

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 15:32:00 +0000

You’ve been working on your book for weeks, months, even years, and it feels like it might be done…but you’re not absolutely sure. Maybe it needs another read-through? Another draft? Another polish? So how do you really know when it’s time to let your baby go face the cold cruel world of publishing? Well, here are ten ways to help you recognize it’s time to step away from the manuscript.
1.    You’ve read your book so many times, you have it memorized and have recited it verbatim to your long-suffering family.
2.    You family has moved out of the house and you didn’t notice they were gone.
3.    Your hands are numb, you have no fingerprints left, and you’ve worn away the letters on your computer keyboard.
4.    You’ve included your grocery list, your college thesis, and your will within the body of the manuscript.
5.    Every time you rewrite the manuscript, you add another 90,000 words.
6.    Your editor has passed on and the publishing house has closed.
7.    Your agent has forgotten you name and has asked you to stop calling her, whoever you are, or she’ll get a restraining order.
8.    You’re starting to wonder if you should add recipes to your story.
9.    You can’t remember what you’ve written and don’t care anymore.

10. You’ve run out of alcoholic beverages.

Am I as savvy as a fourth grader?

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 16:51:00 +0000

They say public speaking is more terrifying than death, paying taxes or baby-sitting all four grandchildren at the same time. However, I'm used to speaking in front of large groups, since I've been doing it for more than 30 years.

I teach a morning class at the local college, where I try to keep 40 post-adolescents awake for an hour and a half so they will learn something about child development.

Over the years, I've talked to rooms full of professors, doctors, women's club members, business professionals, writers, and elderly people who are hard of hearing and miss most of what I say. I've even presented information on TV to millions of viewers across the country.

Yet there is nothing more terrifying than speaking to 120 fourth-graders for 30 minutes.

Why the terror? They're just kids, right? How frightening could they be? Well, if I remember my fourth grade correctly, I spent most of class time writing and passing secret coded messages to my friends behind my teachers' backs instead of paying attention to the lesson.

How did this all come about? After writing several mysteries for adults, I decided I wanted to pen a mystery for kids, based on my extensive experience in writing and passing secret codes in fourth grade.I felt I could justify the topic because, as an educator, I knew codes offered benefits beyond just entertainment. They help increase language, math, and cognitive skills, (but please don't tell that to the kids).

So when my book, "The Code Busters Club," came out last week, I gave a copy to my neighbor Connor Brien, a fourth-grader, to see what he thought. Apparently he told his teacher about the book, and soon I had an invitation to come speak to the entire fourth grade at his school.

OMG, as they say in text-messaging code. What would I talk to 120 kids about for 30 long minutes? My exciting writing life? My excellent typing skills? My love of Dr. Seuss books? There wouldn't be an open eye left in the place if I did that -- everyone would be sound asleep.

OK, how about codes? I would supply the kids with "code-busting kits" filled with secret origami-folded message holders, Caesar cipher wheels, invisible ink pens and Morse code whistle/lights, then teach them how to make and break codes. So I quickly whipped up a bunch of code-busting kits and tested my theory on Ms. Vamvouris' fifth-grade class at Greenbrook Elementary School in Danville, with only 30 kids. It went well -- at least, nobody asked if it was time to do math instead.

After making 120 more kits, I was ready to face all those fourth-graders in the Greenbrook School library. Moments later, the four classes filed in, accompanied by their teachers: Ms. Hegarty, Ms. Edgren, Ms. Caldera, Ms. Ravin and Ms. Cowles.

To my surprise, these weren't sleepy-eyed, fidgety students just waiting for the recess bell to ring. They were actually excited to be there and learn how to cracking codes -- everything from Morse to semaphore. Before I knew it, 30 minutes was up. I could have stayed another three or four hours.

I hope they learned something. I certainly did.

Giving 120 fourth-graders whistles for Morse Code was a mistake. When I talk to another fifth-grade class next week, I'll know better...

Are you smarter than a fifth grader?

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 01:11:00 +0000

I’ve been a fan of puzzles and codes since I was a kid. I used to talk to my friends in Pig Latin, write the secret notes in Alpha-Numeric Code (each alphabet letter matches a number), and learned the American Sign Language Manual Alphabet so I could communicate with my friends in class without the teacher knowing.

After writing several mystery series for adults, I wanted to write a mystery for middle-grade kids, and thought it might be fun to include a code for the readers to solve in every chapter. THE CODE BUSTERS CLUB: SECRET OF THE SKELETON KEY was just published last week and it’s full codes for fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-graders to solve, such as Morse Code, Braille, Fingerspelling, Alpha-Numeric, Caesar’s Cipher, and even Semaphore. Each reader I meet gets a code-busting kit to go with the book.

While most codes have been around for centuries, one of my favorite codes is called the LEET Code, also known as 1337 Code. It’s a recent high-tech creation based on computer keyboard symbols—and it’s just as challenging for adults as it is for kids!

Try to decode the following message in LEET Code. If you can’t, read hints below. If you can solve it, then you’re welcome to join the Code Busters Club, where you’ll find more codes to solve (www.codebustersclub.com).

Here goes:

( 4 /\/   \|/ () (_)   ( |2 4 ( I<   + # 3   ( () I) 3   ?

For some people, this is as easy as ABC to decipher the code, but for others, it looks like nonsense. If you’re having trouble reading the sentence above, here’s a hint: Each letter of the alphabet has been replaced by a keyboard symbol that resembles the letter. For example, the parenthesis ( becomes the letter C. Now can you see what’s right before your eyes?

Still stuck? All right, here’s the key:

A = 4     B = 8      C = (     D = |)     E = 3      F = |=   G = 6     H = #      I = !       J = _|

K = |<     L= |_    M= /\/\   N = /\/    O= ()    P = |*    Q = (,)    R= |2     S = $      T = +

U=(_)     V = \/     W= \/\/    X = *     Y = \|/     Z = 2

I hope that was fun. Now you can communicate with your friends via email, using the LEET Code—and all you need is a computer keyboard!