I collect oxymorons—or to be more technically correct, oxymora—and like to pepper my conversations with same difference, random order, and open secret. When I use less common oxymora such as planned spontaneity, controlled chaos, clean dirt, and pontificatory salvos, I enjoy watching the puzzled expressions on the faces of listeners who wonder whether they should laugh or not.

But I was taken aback by the yoga oxymoron that appeared in the pages of my cozy mystery, A Season for Killing Blondes.

Continue reading on the Heroines with Hearts Blog.