Penny Warner: Blog

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

2012-02-16T08:40:00.000-08:00

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

2012-02-09T13:36:00.000-08:00

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

2012-02-01T12:38:00.000-08:00

    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

2012-02-01T12:02:00.000-08:00

    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

2012-01-12T09:53:00.000-08:00

    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

2011-12-31T11:36:00.000-08:00

          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

2011-12-17T19:29:00.000-08:00

'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

2011-12-01T11:26:00.000-08:00

    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!!

2011-11-18T15:41:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-10T07:41:00.000-08:00

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"

2011-11-03T11:00:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-25T16:29:00.000-07:00

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!

2011-10-23T09:11:00.000-07:00

     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...

2011-10-14T08:32:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-10-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-09-26T18:11:00.000-07:00

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!

Summer's last hurrah?

2011-09-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

What is it about a holiday weekend that compels us to leave behind our comfy homes, with all the accessories we could ever need, drive in traffic for hours, and then live in a vehicle the size of a refrigerator box in the middle of nowhere for four days?

It was Labor Day weekend and that meant we had to participate in the last-day-of-summer ritual of leaving town, despite the price of gas, the lack of money, and the blazing heat. So we packed up "everything" we thought we'd need for four days in the wilderness, including four grandchildren and their parents.

Two hours later we arrived at the Gold Country Campground, where we were directed to a slot the size of our home driveway in the RV section of the park. There, under an even hotter sun than we'd left behind, we set up shop. Which meant we closed up all the windows and turned on the air conditioner.

To cope with the heat, we headed for the water park, where the grandkids were sprayed with giant sprinklers and doused with tipsy buckets of cold water while we watched them scream. Then we hit the pool, which was filled with glacial runoff and billions of kids who think cannonballing -- repeatedly -- is the best way to enter freezing water.

By the time I got used to the arctic pool water, it was time to move on to the next activity: miniature golf. Exhausted from the "fun," I opted to hike back to the RV -- a half-mile straight uphill -- and tried to take a nap surrounded by

miniature dogs who kept yapping about their territorial rights.

The bikes we'd brought were useless, because what goes downhill must come uphill and there was no way I could pedal that thing up a mini Mount Everest. Instead, I took full advantage of the folding chairs, placing them in the slivers of shade between RVs, and watched the heat waves bounce off the pavement.

When nature's furnace finally died down and most of the bugs had made their marks and left, we barbecued hamburgers (but forgot the ketchup), drank wine (until we ran out), and listened to conversations from RVers parked only steps away ("Frank! The alarm bell's going off!").

I'd hoped to spend some of the time away from home distractions working on my book, but I found it harder to concentrate in the forested surroundings than in my own family room, where I have access to TV, the phone, three hungry cats, and the sound of neighbors' lawn mowers.

There's something about being under a bunch of trees that's disconcerting to a suburbanite like me. It's too quiet (aside from the yapping dogs), there's too much fresh air (I miss the smell of cat litter in the morning), and it's just too relaxing. I must have a touch of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, because I need to be doing something -- in fact, doing 10 things -- while I "relax." (Oh, look, a squirrel!)

Next year I'll just park the RV in my own driveway, set up my deck chair on the front lawn, and turn on the sprinklers. And when I get tired of the great outdoors, I'll go to the mall.

Outlining vs Winging It

2011-09-14T10:11:00.000-07:00

My new middle grade book just came out and it's been a long road to publication. What started as a basic outline soon eventually became a detailed story of four thirteen-year-old kids who create and crack codes to solve a mystery.

When I gave a talk about the book the other day, the question arose--as it always does--Do I outline my story before you write it? While the other writers often write “organically,” I need a map. Seriously. I get lost going from one place to another, and if it weren’t for my GPS, I might never make it to my destination.

So I use a sort of GPS/outline when creating my stories that includes how the book begins, all the way through who dunnit. That doesn’t mean I don’t take a wrong turn now and then, or deliberately go off the main road to explore an unfamiliar neighborhood. But it helps to know that I have a backup plan in case that left turn into Timbuktoo leads to a dead end.

Here’s an example of how I might outline a book on “How to Get your Book Published.”

       A.   Outline book

       B. Actually write the book

       C.    Or just think about writing the book but don’t actually do it.

II.     Finish The Book

       A.    Send it to…

                I.    Relatives
                       1.    Gets lots of praise
                       2.    Write thank you notes to relatives

               II.    Agents
                       1.    Get lots of rejections
                       2.    Wonder what’s wrong with agents

              III.    Publisher
                       1.    Get more rejections
                       2.    Consider giving up

      B.    Give up or keep sending…

                 I.    Bury the book in the backyard and wallpaper bathroom with rejection slips

                II.    Drink bottle of wine and keep sending out the book

     C.    Finally get agent representation…

                 I.    Celebrate with rest of bottle of wine

                II.    Be thankful you’re avoiding the slush pile

               III.    Consider proposing marriage to agent

     D.    Get a publishing contract…

                  I.    Make a good advance, thanks to agent’s negotiating skills

                 II.    Give 15% to agent and wonder why

                III.    Work with editor/publisher who wants you to rewrite the book

                 IV.    Work with copyeditor who wonders if you’ve taken any English classes

     E.    Spend the next year…

                   I.    Working with art director on cover

                  II.    Working with editor on back cover blurb

                 III.    Working with publicist on reviews

                  IV.    Preparing promotional materials at your expense

                  V.    Arranging your own book tours

                 VI.    Doing media events, blogs, websites, Jerry Springer

                VII.    Spend entire advance on the above

      F.    Book publication date arrives

                  I.    Book is a bestseller

                          1.    Sell movie rights to Hollywood
                          2.    Appear on Oprah Network
                          3.    Begin next blockbuster
                          4.    Be worshipped

                  II.    Book just sells through

                          1.    Barely make back advance
                          2.    Appear in local newspaper
                          3.    Begin new midlist book
                          4.    Don’t quit day job

                 III.    Book goes to remainder pile

                           1.    Sell book door-to-door
                           2.    Handout coupons for deep discount
                           3.    Begin updating old resume
                          4.    Apply to Burger King

III. Write new outline...

2011-08-31T09:19:00.000-07:00

If I could be anyone...even when it's not Halloween...by Penny Warner

The topic this week is “If you could be anyone…”
Sounds like a Halloween Party Theme, which is right up my alley!
So if I could be anyone, for Halloween or otherwise, here are my choices:

Little Lulu, because she had great friends (Tubby, Annie, and Alvin), she had a great imagination (always making up stories about Witch Hazel), and she made a mean snowball.

Nancy Drew, because she drove a cool car (blue roadster), she knew more than any other girl her age (how to break a horse, use Morse Code, send message via carrier pigeon and much more), and she wore awesome retro outfits (especially the Cloche hat.)

Mrs. Sarah Winchester, because she had a lot of money (although I’d spend it on clothes and shoes, not staircases that go nowhere and hallways with no doors.)

Agatha Christie, because she never ran out of plot ideas (and once had all the suspects commit the murder!)

Kate Warne, because she was the first female Pinkerton detective – and how cool would that have been (plus her outfit would make a great Halloween costume!)

I guess I'd better start planning my Halloween party....

Les Miz vs. The Chicken Dance

2011-08-29T11:42:00.000-07:00

I’ve been to some amazing theatrical performances in my life, productions such as “Les Miserables,” “Phantom of the Opera,” “Rent,” even “Urinetown.” But I’ve never had as much fun as I did the other day, watching a live performance of the “Chicken Dance,” presented by a group of preschool kids at the School of Imagination in Dublin.

It was hilarious.

The annual event began with a clever retelling of “Going on a Bear Hunt.” Imagine, if you will, a dozen kids between the ages of two and three, all wearing paper bear ears and standing on the stage in a large auditorium—in front of a huge and enthusiastic crowd. As the small performers looked out over the audience—a room full of grinning faces, waving maniacs, and amateur paparazzi—they seemed to suddenly realize the enormity of it all.

Talk about your bear-in-the-headlights…

As soon as the teachers began leading the song, a couple of the performers got into their roles, mimicking the gestures and chanting the story about, well, going on a bear hunt. “American’s Got Talent” here they come.

But the rest of the pint-sized singer/dancer/actors were the ones who captured our attention and our hearts. Like the little girl who stared out at the audience, frozen in a hypnotic daze. Like the one who lifted her skirt in time to the beat of the music. Like the one who cried “I want to get off of here!” to his mother across the room. Like the one who constantly waved to his grandpa throughout the performance. Like the one who threw her tambourine...

Those were the kids we audience members identified with, the ones who took us back to our childhoods when we were coerced into taking the stage. Back then, it was all we could do to keep from wetting our pants, let alone remember the lyrics, hand gestures, and dance steps—or even where we were supposed to line up. Thank goodness those days are over and we can now inflict them on our kids and grandkids.
Like my grandson Luke, who made his debut appearance in a rousing rendition of “YMCA.”

Cameras ready, we watched, holding our breath, as the three-and-four year olds took the stage. All but Luke, that is, who required a personalized “escort.” While the rest of the kids did their interpretations of the classic Village People song—a song I’d seen my grandson perform many times before—Luke was had to be “assisted” by one of the teachers who moved his frozen limbs like a marionette.

Still, we cheered him on as if he had the lead role in “Les Miz,” until he bolted from the stage as if it were on fire.

Hey, I remember the feeling. Not even a well-practiced “Chicken Dance” could get me onto the stage today. But the kids from the School of Imagination were a hit. And after it was over, there wasn’t a dry eye—or pair of wets pants—in the room.

A note about The School of Imagination: This Dublin-based preschool, educating over a hundred typical learning kids and a-typical learning kids for the past five years, is finally moving to their permanent 13,000 square foot facility in the fall. For more information, go to www.soi4kids.org.

How to tell a video from a DVD

2011-07-31T08:52:00.000-07:00

My kids teased me the other day for calling a “DVD” a “videotape.” Apparently that’s like calling a “refrigerator” an “icebox,” a “Kindle” a “book,” or a “landline” a “telephone.” But as hip (do they still use that word?) as I try to be for my kids, I realize I’m fighting a losing battle when I mention things like “travel agent,” “wristwatch,” “long distance call,” “encyclopedia,” “fax machine,” and “TV set.”

I remember when my dad bought our first TV, long before there were HDTV Plasma Flat Screens. I was four years old, just had my tonsils out (remember those?), and came home from the hospital to find a 23-inch black-and-white RCA sitting in the living room. There were only three channels back then, with live programs like Sid Caesar’s “Your Show of Shows,” Martin and Lewis on the “Colgate Comedy Hour,” and “The Red Skelton Show,” but that was enough for us. We didn’t even mind getting up off the couch to change the channel, since “remote controls” were figments of sci-fi shows like “Captain Midnight.”

Now my kids own several TVs, all the size of plate-glass windows. And instead of three channels, they get over 300, everything from BBC news to Spanish soap operas.

Music technology has also changed over the years. Back in the day I treasured my pocket-sized transistor radio, the forefront of giant boom boxes and portable Walkmans, even though mine was limited to the tunes I could pick up while turning the dial (like “The Wolfman Jack Show” bay-bah!)

Today my grandkids can listen to a tune like “Forget You” (AKA the “Asterisk Song”), have it identified (Shazam), download it (iTunes), and play it back (iPod) in seconds.

When I was a kid, I wanted to learn Morse Code so I could communicate with faraway friends over a shortwave radio, saving money I’d have to use for expensive long-distance telephone fees. I never did get past the letters S O S, but today I don’t have to. I can email, IM, text, chat, Facebook, Twitter, Skype, or Tango anyone, anywhere, any time. And instead of memorizing a complicated Morse Code, all I have to do is learn a few text codes, like LMAF (laughing my asterisk off) or PLOS (parents looking over shoulder.)

Remember the dot-matrix printers that looked like pointillism art? Three-inch floppy discs that filled up faster than you could type “save?” Typewriters that made a clatter, letting you think you were writing something important? Dictionaries instead of spell-check? Road atlases instead of GPS? Yellow Pages instead of Google? Mailing a letter instead of pushing a button (sometimes by accident)? Wondering what your friends are doing at this very moment instead of checking Facebook and Twitter? Using film in a camera instead of not? Coffee percolating on the kitchen counter instead of standing in line to buy it? Car keys instead of push-button remotes? Watching the scenery go by instead of viewing in-car movies?

Now if only they could invent something that teaches the videotape generation how to use these gadgets, we could really stay hip. Or cool. Or Sweet. Or Rad. Or Fresh. Or Tight. Or Dope. Or whatever…

Worst Opening Lines?

2011-07-20T13:36:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d drop by the American Book Review’s list of 100 Best First Lines from Novels and see if I agree with their choices. Here’s a sample—and how I might rewrite that first line to use in my own mystery series…

1. “Call me Ishmael.” - Herman Melville, Moby-Dick.

Yeah, the name Ishmael just doesn’t work for me today. I’d change it to “Call me Justin” or maybe “Give a shout-out to L’il Wayne.”

2. “A screaming comes across the sky.” - Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow.

Come on. A scream can’t come across the sky. A bird maybe. Or a rainbow. How about “A pterodactyl screamed across the primordial ooze that would soon be known as sky.” Now that’s an opening line!

3. “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.: - Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Big mistake. The author gives away the ending in the first line! That’s just not the way to write a book. Marquez should probably read a few Nancy Drew mysteries before attempting to write another book.

4. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.” - Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

Sounds like a romance novel to me. If you want to write this stuff, you need to use words like biceps, not “loins.” And “Lolita” sounds like a hooker’s name. Try Kimberly or Khloe.

5. “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” - George Orwell, 1984

Okay, you want your novel to ring of verisimilitude, then don’t start a book with a clock that strikes thirteen. That just isn’t plausible. Get an editor, Orwell.

6. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Vague, vague, vague. Be specific when writing your story, and avoid contradicting yourself right off the bat. Try “It was a dark and stormy night… ” and see where that leads.

7. “You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter.” - Mark Twain, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Obviously this guy needs to review Strunk and White before writing a book or whatnot. This is simply unreadable.

8. “If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.” - J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye.

What a put-off! If the author doesn’t even want to write about all that crap, then why should I bother to read it? Hey, we all had lousy childhoods. Get over yourself and write something uplifting, like “Heaven is for Real” or “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.”

9. “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.” - Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway.

If I wanted to read a book about flowers, I’d buy a gardening book. Start your book off with a bang, like “Mrs. Dalloway, an escaped mental patient who’d murdered her gardener that morning, decided to bury him under the roses because he’d make good mulch.” See how that line grabs the reader in a way that “buying flowers” just doesn’t?

10. “All this happened, more or less.” - Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five.

Last but not least—well, maybe least—you just don’t tell the reader that the story you’re about to reveal may or may not have happened. I mean, what’s the point? If it happened, then write it down for us to read. If it didn’t, then go buy flowers or something.

Are there any first lines that don’t work for you? (You know I’m kidding, right?)

A day in the glamorous life...

2011-07-17T10:14:00.000-07:00

Adam Mansbach, the author of Go The Heck To Sleep (or something like that), became a bestselling children’s writer BEFORE his book was even published. Now he’s richer than Donald Trump (probably) and more famous than Harry Potter.

I thought that when I became a writer, fame, fortune, and a glamorous life would follow—margarita lunches with editors, world tours with publicists, and intimate chats with Oprah (oops, missed that window.)

The truth is, for most writers, the literary life is about as fictional as a character in a Dan Brown novel. I should know. I live it every day. Here’s a sample of my literary life, in case you were wondering why you haven’t seen me on “The Jerry Springer Show” yet (he still won’t return my calls.)

6:00 am – Still asleep. Are you kidding me?

7:00 am – Open one eye. Find three cats sleeping on my legs. Legs are numb. Dreamed I was paralyzed. Get the newspaper. Scan the obits to see if anyone my age has died.

7:30 am –Roll out of bed, trying not to disturb cats. Take shower, dress, put on makeup so I don’t frighten my cats or grandchildren.

8:00 am – Feed cats, take drugs, and open laptop. Check email. Ignore irate letter regarding my gall bladder surgery column. Reply to a dozen Facebook posts regarding a spelling error I made. Watch six videos from my cousin featuring funny animals.

9:00 am - Read publishing newsletter to find out how much other writers like Adam Mansbach are making instead of me. Say “heck” a lot—out loud. Google my name and find an article about “Penny Warner coping with head lice.” Different Penny Warner.

9:30 am – Decide I should get to work, since I have a book due in two weeks and am only half way through the rewrites. Think about making a margarita.

Noon - Stomach growling, brain fried. Treat myself to a trip to Target to get some exercise walking the aisles and buy candy. Purchase colored chalk for the grandkids. Eat a pizza to replenish energy.

1:00 pm – Return home, exhausted from Target exercise and sleepy from eating Target pizza. Check what’s on Syfy, FX, Chiller, Lifetime, and TCM. Seen everything. Take a nap.

3:00 pm – Wake up to find grandkids standing over my bed yelling, “She’s awake! She’s awake!” Play with them for the next couple of hours instead of getting back to work. Driveway is soon covered with multicolored chalk. Kids drew super heroes. I drew murder weapons.

5:00 pm – Say goodbye to grandkids and have a “glass” of wine. Wonder if there’s still time in my life to become an alcoholic. Watch news. Nothing about me.

6:00 pm – Eat dinner of leftovers—chicken thigh, Chinese takeout, and egg salad. Take Zantac and other drugs and wash them down with another “glass” of wine. Husband asks how book is coming. Wonder if wine bottle has been used as a murder weapon.

8:00 pm – Watch “My Yard Goes Disney” and “Cupcake Wars” to relax. Decide a Cupcake Mystery set in Disneyland would sell a heckalot of books.

10:00 pm – Go to bed and read a Rubber Stamping Mystery. Fall asleep and dream about being stamped to death by my own grandkids while trying to write a sequel to “Go the Heck to Sleep.”

MYSTERY OF THE HAUNTED CAVES

2011-06-20T11:23:00.000-07:00

Being a Brownie and Girl Scout changed my life.

Not only did I learn a number of skills and earn a vestful of colorful badges, I also wrote a play for a Girl Scout production, never knowing it would lead to a career as a writer. I grew up, went to college and studied child development, married my sweetheart and had two kids, and became a Troop Leader for my own children. When the kids went off to school each day, I went to the computer and began to write stories.

Today I’ve had over 50 books published, for children and adults, but I’m most proud of my Troop 13 mysteries. After growing up reading Nancy Drew, I returned to my days as a scout, and created four strong female characters who solve mysteries using their scouting skills.

When my first book, MYSTERY OF THE HAUNTED CAVES, won both and Agatha and an Anthony award-winning for Best Juvenile Mystery, it was a dream come true! I recently complete the second book in the series, MYSTERY OF THE MISSING MUSTANGS, and am currently working on MYSTERY OF THE DISAPPEARING DOLPHINS. What fun it’s been to gather with my fictional friends and have adventures while solving mysteries!

I hope you enjoy reading the Troop 13 series as much as I enjoyed writing them. I’ve made them available online (Amazon and Smashwords) at a special discount price so scouts all over the world can enjoy them. I hope you’re visit my website and email me at www.pennywarner.com. I’d love to hear about your adventures and mysteries….maybe for my next Troop 13 book!

What Dad Might Say on Fathers Day

2011-06-19T12:05:00.000-07:00

My dad died a few years ago, but I still have the feeling he’s only gone to the store to get some milk. That’s the kind of dad he was – always doing something for us, whether it was buying milk because we drank it all, teaching us to drive the moment we turned sixteen, lending us money when we bought our first house, or rocking the grandbaby who refused to go the f*** to sleep.

But he left us with plenty of memories and a bunch of catch-phrases we still use to this day. My dad was raised in the south, which means they speak catch-phrases as part of their English curriculum. Here are a few of my dad’s favorites that are now mine:

“Come in out of that rain or you’ll catch the epizootic!” (What’s epizootic? No idea.)
“Watch out or you’ll be up a crick without a paddle!” (What’s a crick?)
“Wish in one hand, poop in the other, and see which one fills up faster….”
I particularly love that last one. And by the way, he didn’t say “poop.”

Dads are always tossing out catch-phrases. It must be in their male DNA. I hear my husband using them from time to time. On day, when some kids at the park were throwing sand at my young son one day, my husband went over to the boys, got down at eye level, and calmly talked to them. They immediately quit throwing sand and ran off. When I asked what he’d said to them, he replied, "I just told him if they threw sand at my kid again, I'd beat the crap out them." He has a way with words. Now we use that catch-phrase all the time.

I thought it would be fun to check out some famous father quotes for Dad’s Day, in case Pop needs some new material this year. Remember these?

“Can I see the wine list please? And I’ll have a beer while we’re waiting.” – Dan Connor from “Roseanne.”

“Well, Wally, as unbelievable as it may seem, they did have cars in my younger days.” – Ward Cleaver from “Leave it to Beaver.”

“Today we need organization and planned activities.” – Charlie Hinton. “No, we need Ritalin and leashes, that’s what we need.” – Best Friend Phil from “Daddy Day Care.”

“Well, great! Let’s see how I can screw the fourth child up! Hey, let’s have five. Or six. Let’s have a dozen and pretend they’re donuts!” – Gil Buckman from “Parenthood.”

“Hey, hey, easy kids. Everybody in the car. Or perhaps you don’t want to see the second largest ball of twine on the face of the earth, which is only four short hours away?” – Clark Griswold from “National Lampoon’s Vacation.”

“There, there, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you. I promise I will never let anything happen to you.”- Marlin from “Finding Nemo.”

“It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived. – Scout Finch from “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

“I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.” - George Banks from “Father of the Bride.”

“Well, I suppose Father knows best.” – Jim Anderson from “Father Knows Best.”

Happy Father’s Day!