Cindy Sample's Blog, page 5

The S Word

Written by Guest Blogger Camille Minichino

Congratulations to contest winners Pauline Baird Jones and Brenda.

Today I welcome my first guest blogger, Camille Minichino. Camille is a retired physicist and the author of three series.  As Camille Minichino, she's published eight novels in the periodic table mysteries. Her AKAs are Margaret Grace (The Miniature Mysteries) and Ada Madison (The Professor Sophie Knowles Mysteries).  Check out her Web Site to read the first chapter of The Square Root of Murder , her newest release.

Not only is Camille one of the most prolific authors I know, she's also the funniest physicist I've ever met.  Okay, she's the only physicist I've ever met, but she is a hoot! Check out her post on S*X and find out for yourself.

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Mine is not the generation of free-flowing dialogue about S*X. My mother's idea of S*X education was to warn me: "Stay away from boys!"

 

Though profanity in two languages was part of my vocabulary from my early years, I never heard the word "S*X," or any associated with it, like "PREG****" spoken aloud in my home or neighborhood.

 

I remember a lot of winks, especially at wedding receptions, waiting for the bride and groom to arrive from church. The old ladies would say, "I'll bet they're around the corner (wink)." The response: "I wouldn't be surprised if she's already (wink)."

 

For a good part of my life, I associated this prudish reluctance to use the S word with the climate of the nineteen forties and fifties and my immigrant, Catholic neighborhood.

 

But much later, in the late nineteen nineties, I found the same attitude in a WASPy young woman who was my editor at the time. I remember meeting the blond Ms. JK in her Sixth Avenue, New York City building. She swept into her office, all bright and energetic, wearing the professional version of a little black dress.

 

Here we are, talking about my fourth book.

 

"You know, about Gloria and Matt," she begins.

 

I nod. My protagonist in the Periodic Table Mysteries, Gloria Lamerino, meets homicide detective Matt Gennaro while doing her amateur sleuth thing, helping the cops in science-related cases.

 

"They're attracted to each other, right?" JK adds, hooking a chunk of hair over her ear.

 

I nod again. In the first book, Gloria gets "twinges" when Matt's around; in the second book, they hug briefly; in the third book, they neck. Really, only their necks.

 

(Hey, I wasn't writing romance. And my very first book was a nonfiction treatise on nuclear waste management, so not a lot of opportunity for S*Xual exploration there.)

 

"They're adults, right?" JK says.

 

"Right," I say.

 

"And they're free. I mean, no commitments, right?"

 

"Right."

 

"Then don't you think . . . ?" she asks.

 

I gulp. "You want me to . . .?"

 

"Yes."

 

"I should . . .?"

 

"Move them forward," she says.

 

"So they should . . .?" I ask.

 

"Yes, definitely, they should."

 

"Okay," I say.

 

And thus in book four, Gloria and Matt move forward to S*X. Behind closed doors, of course.

 

It's now 10 books later, and in my latest, The Square Root of Murder, there's more moving forward, and now and then the word sex is spelled out.

 

(OMG, did I really just write that word?)

 

I need lessons from my gracious host, Cindy Sample, who does better with the S word in her debut than I've done in 14 books.

 

Now that you've been duly warned about the PG-13 nature of my first books, if you still want a copy of my latest release, make a comment here, and I'll draw a name on Friday, July 22.

And the Beat Goes On

Congratulations to contest winner Kelly Morris (comment #14).

 

July is a month filled with fireworks and patriotic fervor. There is nothing like listening to a stirring rendition of The Stars and Stripes Forever to bring a tear to one's eye. That song makes me tear up too, but only because it brings back long forgotten memories of high school band. Memories I would prefer stay buried forever.

 

I was lured into joining the marching band by the promise it would turn me into a cool kid. I have no idea why I thought donning an oversized navy jacket with gargantuan gold epaulets and a military cap whose visor covered my face would increase my popularity. I didn't even play an instrument other than the piano. But evidently all those years spent whacking my little brother on the head with my tinker toys had prepared me for future stardom. I became the glockenspielist.

 

For those of you unfamiliar with a glockenspiel, it weighs slightly less than a Honda Civic. In those days, you strapped the vertical metal keyboard to your chest. Back then, it was the only thing sprouting from my chest and I couldn't wait to strut my stuff at the first football game of the season.

 

Injuries normally occur during a game, not during the half time show. But surely I can't be the only person to walk into a goal post during a half-time show? If I hadn't dragged half the band down with me, no one might even have noticed.

 

After that ignominious outing, I decided marching band was not my forte. I would concentrate on honing my skills with other percussion instruments. With no goal posts in sight, the band leader decided it was safe to assign me a solo for the annual Christmas program.

 

My first solo. It consisted of one soaring note on the chimes that would ring throughout the auditorium.  I was ecstatic. At last, my football mishap would be forgotten.

 

The night of the holiday concert arrived. The orchestra played loudly and skillfully. Then the music stopped. The audience held their breath and waited in silence. I took my mighty hammer and…THWACK!

 

The room rang with the sound of my mallet missing the aforesaid chimes which was immediately followed by the more subdued thwack of the band leader hitting his head against the wall.

 

The moral of this melodic tale is that adversity can help you become a better person. Or provide tons of material for your blog.

 

Leave a comment by July 20th about one of YOUR most embarrassing high school or college moments, and you'll be entered in a contest to win a $20 iTunes gift card which can be used to reminisce about some musical memories of your own.

 

Spring Cleaning and Buried Treasure

AND THE WINNER IS: Diana Orgain (Comment #22)




With rain deterring me from my normal sunny spring diversions, I decided to engage in an annual event my mother instituted when we were kids: spring cleaning. Spring in Illinois is almost as cold and dreary as the winter months, as opposed to California, where the sun normally lures you away from domestic duties.



This year I had no excuse. Plenty of rainy day opportunities to sift through boxes, scrutinize cabinets, and peer under beds looking for rambunctious dust bunnies (or in my case, dust elephants.) It's amazing the treasures you can find hidden in your closet.



One such treasure was a wedge-shaped piece of bright yellow foam with an indentation for a head. How could I forget that I own one of the infamous cheese hats worn by Green Bay Packer fans whose brain cells have evidently been impaired from spending far too much time in subzero weather. Question One: Why would anyone send me a cheese hat? Question two: Why have I kept it for the past 12 years?



Then there's the bird bath I found in a corner of the garage, a lovely piece featuring three yellow cats holding up the bath, their Cheshire cat grins mocking my incredibly bad taste. Since I bought this oddity myself, I have no excuse other than to blame it on too many margaritas. Surely alcohol must have been involved in that purchase.



I discovered never-worn clothes, their price tags screaming sizes I couldn't possibly fit into again. Time to share the wealth with Goodwill and hope their new owners will enjoy them.



By the time my day was done, I had accumulated four car loads of goodies to donate. I had also walked down memory lane and discovered a few precious mementos: the mint julep glass from the 1972 Kentucky Derby, the Santa mug my aunt hand painted, the child size rocking chair my daughter rocked in during her toddler years, and the homemade heart crafted by my son in preschool inscribed to "Mom."



Spring cleaning not only provided a treasure trove for others, but it provided me with the opportunity to savor some of the most cherished moments of my life.



So, what interesting items have you discovered in the back of your closet during spring cleaning? Any dead bodies? Ex-husbands? Dead exes?



Submit a comment by April 15 (that date has such a familiar ring), and you'll be entered into a drawing to win your choice of a $25 Macy's gift card (so you can buy more stuff to replace what you gave away), or a slightly-used Cheese Head hat!

How to (Really) Woo a Woman

Some years a woman will approach Valentine's Day with a smile and anticipation. Other years she averts her eyes from the overwhelming displays of red and pink heart-shaped items that abound. Some years she may choose to TOTALLY avoid any retail establishment during the month of February.



Not me–I'm in it for the chocolate! When I walk by those garish displays, my heart always beats faster and I begin to salivate. Seriously! Pavlov would have a field day with me. And I know I'm not alone.



Did you know that more chocolate is sold on Valentine's Day than any other day of the year? As far as I'm concerned, that's reason enough for a holiday. My friends refer to me as a chocoholic, and it's a status I wear proudly. Between the anti-oxidants and endorphin lift, I see no reason why chocolate isn't its own required food group. In fact, it's practically medicinal. Why else would my HDL be 120?



I'm also a chocolate purist. That means don't mess with my chocolate. No nuts, no fruit. If you must smother something with chocolate I can tolerate a raisin or two, but as far as I'm concerned, this bean was meant to be savored in its true form. (As for those new bacon-flavored chocolate bars, I won't even lower myself to discuss them. Pork and beans should meet in a pot, not in a candy.)



Men frequently wonder what to give the special woman in their lives for Valentine's Day. Flowers are lovely, but their beauty and fragrance are short-lived. Diamonds are forever, but they are also expensive. Lacy lingerie? Honestly, who's that gift really for?



So what's the best way to woo me? I may as well admit it–I'm easy. Thrust a box of gooey chocolates in my direction, and I'm yours. Every day, as I savor a piece of joy from the box you personally chose for me, I'll also savor your love.



On the other hand, I probably wouldn't refuse a chocolate-covered diamond.



So gals and guys, I would love to have you share your best or worst Valentine's gift or experience. (And if the best one wasn't from or with your spouse or the worst one was, I promise not to tell.)



Since February is heart awareness month, I will donate $1.00 to the American Heart Association for every commenter on this blog. Comment by February 15th, and you'll also be entered to win a $25 Godiva gift card.



Remember, dark chocolate is a heart-happy food.

MY 2011 TOP TEN NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

AND THE WINNER IS: Cynthia Farrell (Comment #23)






10. I will never use the words "I should have or I could have" again. Yes, I should have bought Apple stock last year instead of apples. But I didn't. So be it.



9. I will not spend $100 in order to save $50. No matter how great a shopping deal I can find, it is just not good arithmetic.



8. I will exercise every day. My exercise program will not consist of short jogs to and from my emergency stash of Kit Kat bars.



7. I will dance naked in the rain. (I'm just checking to see if you're still with me.)



6. I will write every day. My grocery list will not be included in my word count.



5. I will clean out my garage. (Hmmm, I think that's a repeat from my list in 2007, 2008 and 2009.)



4. I will not give my children unwelcome advice. (My kids are probably ROFL at this one.)



3. I will encourage my friends to take yoga classes. It's wonderful for the body and the soul, AND I'll actually start taking them myself.



2. I will remember to use the coupons accumulating in my junk drawer before their expiration date. (I might even clean the junk drawer!)



1. I will strive to be a better person, to appreciate the many joys in life, and to share them with my family and the wonderful friends who are such a significant part of my life.



Let me know what your # 1 resolution is for 2011. If you comment by midnight January 8th, you could win a little piece of paradise – a gift basket composed of Kona coffee, chocolate covered macadamia nuts, and whatever cool things I discover when I visit the big island in a few days. It's the perfect place to hibernate and finally finish DYING FOR A DANCE!



HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

TO DIP OR NOT TO DIP

With holiday festivities in full swing, visions of sugarplums should be dancing in our heads. Unfortunately at this time of year we're rocking out to the flu bug blues. The sweet scents of cinnamon, peppermint and pine commingle with the not so sweet aroma of Vicks Vapor Rub.



Newspaper columns abound with helpful medical advice. Steer clear from people who cough, sneeze or just look weird. Wash your hands. And don't eat food that's been out on public display.



What? After hours spent trolling through Costco for bargains, I can't partake of those mini quiches that smell so delicious? That's the best part of shopping. What about those delightful chocolate truffles? Chocolate is full of antioxidants. Doesn't that automatically make them germproof?



How about my neighborhood holiday potluck? If Mr. Smith from down the block, appears with red-rimmed eyes, does that mean I have to beat him to the punchbowl before he gives the gift that just keeps on giving — the flu? Should I add more rum to the eggnog? If alcohol can destroy your liver, can it also destroy flu germs?



I've already decided that noshing on cashews is a no-no, but what about my favorite guacamole dip? Ms. Manners has informed us that double dipping is just not done. But did you see that big bowl of Tostitos? I could swear Mr. Smith's pinky grazed the top of my tortilla chip.



Rather than allow the holidays to make me even more neurotic than usual, I've decided to go with the flow. I will hug but not shake. I will savor but not slobber. And I will stock up on my favorite holiday brew. A gallon of chicken soup.  With a chaser of chocolate chips.  It's time to rock around the Christmas tree.



I'd love to know about your holiday traditions or favorite holiday pick-me-ups. Leave a comment by midnight PST Monday, December 20, and you could win a copy of KILLER RECIPES, a compilation of recipes from your favorite mystery authors.

 

 

[UPDATE: WE HAVE A WINNER! Congratulations to Judy Alter who's getting her very own copy of Killer Recipes.]

 

Formerly Hot (or Not)

A new book hot off the press discusses the woes of a forty-year-old mother who has just discovered that she is "formerly hot." I would love to sympathize with the author however the only time I've ever considered myself "hot" was when a hot flash terrorized my body for a few brief minutes.

When I was young I wanted to be cool, but my "pointy blue glasses" and orthopedic saddle shoes designed to correct my young bunions proclaimed that I was a total dork. So I'm not even formerly "cool." As for "currently cool," even though my bunions are no longer housed in two tone leather but instead are allowed to roam free in straw mules, they are now about as large as a third world country so it appears that I am still the Duchess of Dork.

This leads me to a difficult question. If I wasn't cool enough to be formerly cool or hot enough to be formerly hot, what am I? Lukewarm?

My friends describe me as warm and fuzzy. That's not such a bad description. I guess that means my personality is kind of like a Golden Retriever. Like that overgrown and overfriendly dog, I do like almost everyone and I assume they like me. I'm kind to dogs, cats and most small children. I'm friends with ex-husbands, ex-boyfriends and ex-bosses.

Or maybe the retriever and I share one other characteristic. We're both big softies. As I approach one of those monumental birthdays we experience every ten years, I am overwhelmed with gratitude at the wonderful friends who have entered my life, and the support I've received as I embark on a new career as an author.

So let me proclaim to one and all, I am perfectly fine with the fact that I will soon be…formerly fifty nine.

The girls' guide to golfers

Having grown up in corporate America, I was forced to put in my time on the golf course. After taking home a trophy for highest score, it was obvious I wasn't slated to be a female Tiger Woods. No matter how adorable I looked in my pastel golf attire, it didn't detract from the fact I couldn't hit the ball more than fifty yards.

What I did take home was a valuable dating tool. Where else can you determine the character of a person in one afternoon? How someone plays golf is often reflective of how they live their life. For those single women out there, forget about romantic dinners or strolls on the beach. If you want to know a man's true colors in less than five hours, head to the greens. Grab a club and a man and try them on for size.

His butt may look cute clad in khaki or even pink plaid, but do you want to spend your life with someone whose ability to add disappears once he hits the golf course? If he lies about the number of strokes he took, what else will he lie about?

What about his ability to cope with frustrating situations? If he wraps his Big Bertha around a tree when his ball lands in a sand trap, is he still your Mr. Right?

Does he willingly relinquish the golf cart to you? A man who is comfortable with a female driver has a lot of potential. A man who lets you drive four holes back to make a pit stop is definitely a keeper.

If you ask for suggestions to improve your game and he gives you eighteen different tips, this may not be the man you want to trim the Xmas tree with. On the other hand if his only comment is that your beauty distracted him, this fellow has potential.

How about his attitude? Is he a glass half full or half empty kind of guy? Does he grin remembering the great putt he made? Or gripe about the drive that landed in the woods.

That's my tip sheet for the day. I would love to hear comments from gals and guys. Has a perfect ten guy ever dropped down to a two? And for you guys out there, what turns your dream gal into a dud?