One of my favorite parts of the whole book writing process is when I get a new cover. The cover designer tells me they may change the font on my name (I hope not!), but other than that, this is the cover for my next book, Hot Tropics & Cold Feet! What do you think? Doesn't it look fun? (That's Maggie on the front, by the way.)

As a reader, I want the cover to grab my attention, or I’ll never read that first word. If I’m in the mood for suspense, I want something mysterious and sort of creeping looking. If I’m in the mood for a lit, I want something that has a bright, fun flair to it. A romance? Give me tall, dark, and handsome. Okay, rippling biceps wouldn’t hurt—but please, no bodice rippers. I mean, who looks like that?

So what makes you pick up that book—the author’s name? The title? The cover? Chocolate? Ooops, sorry. That last one just sort of slipped in there . . . .

AGE SPOTS
Sheesh, Denise, did you have to start that whole conversation about our faces? You may have one pore that has a bit of a problem, but I've got a whole faceful of problems. I realized what was wrong recently, thanks to Denise too. I said something about my freckles. I've had them since I was a child. Denise says, "You don't have freckles." I said, "I cover them up with makeup."

Wrong. I scrutinized my face recently and realized what I'd been calling freckles was skin discoloration and AGE SPOTS. The freckles were indeed gone. Eek! No one ever told me that I'd get age spots. I'm on hormones, people, and have been since my early twenties! Isn't that supposed to stop these dreaded things from appearing? After this revelation, I began piling on more makeup and haunting the counters at Ulta. Nothing. Nada. The skin just continued to look like I'd developed a bad case of measles.

I love my readers. They bring so much to my life. Trust one of them to rescue me. One of my readers, Emily Hildebrandt, emailed me to tell me how much she liked a book. We chatted back and forth a bit and a week or so later she asked me if I'd ever heard of Arbonne. Um no. I sensed a sales pitch coming. LOL She's a consultant and sent me some samples of the anti-aging system. I forgot them when I went on a trip (shows you how much I thought they'd help)and she asked me how I liked them. I dug them out from under the pile of books to be read, research material and old mail.

Two days later I'm in awe. I kid you not, my skin seemed to GLOW! And the discolorations are fading. They're not gone yet, but the lines at my eyes nearly are. This stuff is fabulous! Do you think I could bathe in it? LOL They have something for you young things too. If you're interested in having a sample, I asked Emily if I might pass along her email. Here it is: emily.hildebrandt@gmail.com

I think it's hilarious the way we women have to share these things. I went to church Sunday and told everyone about it. My friend Sandra peered at my face and said, "I can see a difference around your eyes." It was hilarious the way we take it so seriously. But hey, anything to battle Father Time. LOL

Want to share a beauty tip with me or the girls? Lay it on us! Just don't tell us to have plastic surgery. Shudder. I don't like knives unless I'm killing someone in a book.

PORE MANNERS

Was I not, just the other week, waxing sentimental about the sweet, honest things children say? Well, I take it all back.

See, I have this pore on my face that’s slightly smaller than the Grand Canyon. (I know this because I was just there a few weeks ago.) It’s right at the edge of my nose and when I apply foundation, well, let’s just say the word spackle comes to mind.

Apparently, I was distracted while doing my makeup the other day because my middle child, who happens to be my most—um—honest one, cocks his head at me in the middle of the restaurant and says (quite loudly, thank you very much), “Mom, did you know you have a hole in your face?”

Only someone with great insecurities would know he was not referring to my mouth or nose. I narrow my eyes at him, a look I generally save for Kevin, but this child is getting old enough for Angry Woman look and apparently he needs lessons on what not to say.

“It’s not a hole. It’s a pore,” I say, silently wondering if it can qualify as a pore if it can be seen from across a table.

“No, it’s not.” His eyes are wide and innocent, and I’m thinking about now that innocence is neither sweet nor cute. “Pores are too small to see. That’s a big hole.”

Kevin covers his mouth, and I’m pretty sure his cough disguises a laugh. I'm trying to decide whether to change the subject or make this a learning moment. The mom in me takes over and I launch into a lecture about manors boring enough to make all three boys fall asleep in their plates of spaghetti. Mission accomplished.

If anyone has any pore shrinking tips, I’m all ears. Until then, I’ll just keep a putty knife handy.

www.denisehunterbooks.com

You can dress me up, but...
So my girlfriend invited me to her country club for lunch. "No denim is the only rule." No denim? No denim? Are you kidding me? Is there a world without jeans? And do I want to be a part of it? I mean, I wore jeans to the "Today Show" -- and even out of jeans, I'm still Kristin, is that really safe to bring me to your country club? I am a writer, we're supposed to be eccentric.

But I love my friend. She's one of the few who visited me in the desert, washed my double stroller back when I was sick with two babies. Her husband brings me handbags from China. For her, I will wear slacks.

The country club is to-die-for gorgeous and it doesn't feel stuffy or cold, just elegant. There are three of us. We knew each other when our children were babies and here we sit, looking out over the San Francisco Bay, in a country club, ordering Diet Cokes together. (never mind, Colleen!) Who would have ever known that these stressed-out Mommies would turn into "Ladies who Lunch" after the storms. We're all still standing. That says something.

I can't help but see the humor in the fact that my jeans cost $154 and my slacks today were $37.50. No denim. Who is offended by such things? My friend asked me to do it again, but I told her, "What do you want from me? I already wore my pants!" I'm back in my hovel, in my jeans. And if she ever asks me again for such a lovely lunch, I will be on my best behavior. In borrowed clothes.

www.kristinbillerbeck.com

TEENY TINY FAVOR

The four of us are gearing up to speak at a writer's conference on blogging, and we thought we'd get information from the experts--you!

So, if you're game (and we really hope you are), please take two minutes and answer the questions below. We know you're busy, so we kept it short. Isn't that considerate?

1. Are you a writer?

2. How did you learn about Girls Write Out?

3. Have you bought one or more of our books as a result of this blog?

4. Approximately how many times have you visited our websites because of Girls Write Out?

5. What keeps you coming back to Girls Write Out?

You can (pretty please!) list your answers by clicking on "Comments" below or by emailing me at denise@denisehunterbooks.com Simple answers are fine, but feel free to expound if you're feeling chatty. :-)

MENTORING
This is me and Robin Miller at the Women of Faith conference in Fort Wayne, Indiana last weekend. Robin won the contest my publisher ran last spring. The person who did the best job of publicizing Alaska Twilight would be awarded an all expense paid trip to the conference. Robin flew in on Friday from Little Rock and left on Sunday. We had a great time!

After the conference, I had to some time to reflect. Our relationship began with her being a fan of my books, then a mentoring relationship and now a friendship. We won't mention the way I've corrupted her in her chocolate tastes. Now only DeBrand truffles will do. LOL But you know, when we give back to others some of the same love and help that God gives us, we are always more blessed in the end. Maybe you don't write, but you know how to cook. (God will bless you if you send some of that ability my way.) Maybe you can work in the nursery to give young mothers a break. Maybe there's a young married woman in your realm of influence who needs to learn about being a wife.

If you think about it, there is someone around you that you can reach out to and be a friend to. I sometimes hear retired people saying no on comes or calls and they're so lonely. My heart breaks for them, but I always encourage them to get out there and DO something for other people. When we hear the adage it is more blessed to give than to receive, it's so true! Try it and you'll see what I mean.

And if you want to give DeBrand mocha truffles, my mouth is yours.

Since I’ve started writing, I’ve become a total slug in the kitchen. Okay, so I’ve never been a gourmet cook, but when our kids were home, we had a home-cooked meal most every night.

Then I started writing. Hello? Anybody notice that the writing profession takes TIME? It started out slowly at first. Even I didn’t notice that I hadn’t frequented the kitchen as often as before. Oh, I ventured in when I needed a bottled water from the fridge or a snack, but it wasn’t until I noticed cobwebs on my spice bottles that it hit me. I don’t cook anymore.

Now, before you get all hoity-toity about the fact that you throw potatoes in a kettle every night, let me just say that my husband and I eat well. We have merely changed where we eat. We now enjoy somebody else’s kitchen. I figure why mess up my kitchen when so many others are ready and willing to share their talents with us?

I’m all about helping the arts.

Before I sign off, I will admit that the autumn and winter seasons do spark my love for cooking. There’s nothing like homemade bread baking in the oven. (yeah, right--we haven’t smelled that scent in years). Then there’s always chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven (okay, this one we know—it’s our breakfast of choice).

All that to say, whether you eat out a lot or lend your creative flair to the kitchen, it’s all good. And if you have any great recipes, send them my way. I love to cook when I have the time.

You youngins!
You know nothing of our suffering! The other day, I was showing my daughter the video, "Stand and Deliver" by Adam & the Ants on YouTube.com, because she's my little 80's chick. Anyway, I was thinking, you youngins have it so easy! You can just call up a video and it's there at your leisure. But WE -- we children of the 80's, we had to come home and watch MTV with breathed anticipation that Adam might come on, and dance his little pirate/highwayman self into our living rooms. We were at the mercy of veejay Martha Quinn -- who luckily had her own little crush on Adam. We had to beg our Moms for "just one more video" hoping he'd come on before dinner and we had to set the table.

But you...you kids, just pull it up at your leisure. You have Tivo, YouTube, you can befriend your faves on myspace.com. When my girlfriend went to London, I had to give her money to get me all the British Adam Ant paraphernalia, but you just get to go to Ebay and buy from the worldwide garage sale! Life is so not fair. I was a stalker too early in life.

And while I'm harping on things, can someone please explain to me the difference between MTV and your local porn channel these days? Blech!! The 80's had class -- remember Sting in "Don't Stand So Close to Me". The raciest we got was J. Geils singing about his baby is a centerfold, and girls in ugly babydolls dancing around. Let me repeat dancing, not gyrating!! Ah, the times, they are a changing.

I guess the moral is, I was obsessive too early in history. The good news is that they make really great jeans for 40 year-olds now, and the hair dye is better than ever. This 80's memoir is dedicated to Beth!

Happy birthday to my best friend, who has seen me through all my crushes and stages. Example: On the day of our Adam Ant concert in Concord, had to go to my paleontology class at Ocean Beach, where the professor was ticked because the nudists were sunbathing in front of the geology rock lines. ROFLOL You just can't make this stuff up.
Or how I saw her through the dating incidents with "Fish Hands" and the guy she dated in college ( can't remember his name) but I do remember he was dancing in his chones on the roof of the fraternity at the time. -- Oh yeah, that one was a keeper!

Now, we're old and stable...sort of. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL!! We're 40 & Fabulous!!!

Yesterday, Colleen, Denise and I had a brainstorming session. For some reason, Kristin couldn’t work it in her plans to fly in from California, and since she just moved, we agreed to give her the day off. ;-)

Anyway, we’re plugging along on Denise’s story and I had a sort of surreal moment. It’s like I was listening to our comments and seeing our POVs really shining through. We were talking about one of the characters and it went something like this:

Denise: “We need to deepen the conflict here. Give this guy some problems.”

Such a Denise thing to say.

Colleen, sitting on the edge of her seat and looking every inch Odie of Garfield fame:
“Make him blind!”

(She can’t kill him, he’s the hero or she would have had that man dead and buried).

Denise’s face lights up and I’m mortified! A gasp lodges in my throat. “NO! We can’t make him blind. At least give him one good eye! You guys are twisted!” I slump back in my seat.

No doubt had Kristin been there she would have had the protagonist show up in a great pair of shoes and matching handbag.

I can only imagine what the people around us were thinking (we were sitting outside of Starbucks).

Have you ever seen Alex & Emma, where they brainstorm together on his story? It was so like that. You finally get one thing figured out then something else changes all that.

Because we’re so different in how we come up with storyline, I think each one offers a new twist and depth to the story, which is a good thing. Though I have to say sometimes we take so many twists and turns, my head starts to rattle and I want to bang it against the wall.

So how do you do the brainstorming thing?

IT'S ALL IN THE NAME
My favorite book title so far is FIRE DANCER, due to ship September 12. The title is courtesty of my peep Denise Hunter. I'm now working on a new book that has a serial killer in it. The killer chooses his victims based on the verse in Proverbs 6:16-19. He lops off the appropriate body parts. Nice guy, huh? LOL How DOES my mind work? Sometimes I wish I knew! The killer calls himself Gideon and it's set in Rock Harbor where friends Eve and Bree will face their greatest challenge with their search dogs.

Now here are the questions, readers. Would that bug you? I'm not talking about graphic detail of this body part removal, just the mention of what he's done. And would a title like ABOMINATION appeal to you or do you think it's too harsh to attract a female suspense reader? We're tweaking my brand just a tad. Still romance and mystery, but I'm upping the suspense factor to mach speed. You ready for the ride or do you want to steal a spark plug? Honest opinions now!

BACK TO SCHOOL

It's that time of year again. I'm cleaning out last years clothes (ie passing them down from one son to the next), buying them new jeans (that look old), and trying to find all the items on the school supply list. (Can someone please tell my why I can never find everything at one store?)

The bookbags are ready to be stuffed with name-labled markers, pens, and boxes of tissues, the school menu adorns the refrigerator, and the kids are semi-eager to go back to school. But this is the first year I've been less than eager to send them back. It's been kinda fun having them home this summer. I've only heard the "I'm bored . . ." whine a dozen or so times, and besides, I can smell the homework coming.

The forms to fill out, the lunch money, the frantic We-have-to-leave-NOW! yelled out as I usher three kids out the door, counting heads, b00kbags, sack lunches.

"Did you get your math homework?"
"Take off those sandals, you have gym!"
"Mom, I need my field trip permission slip TODAY!"
"Is that the shower I hear? Who's still in the shower???"

Ah, yes, I can wait for that. One more week of summer before the madness starts. Until then, I'm not signing a thing.

LIFE ISN'T PERFECT...
I realized something in my three years in the desert. That the pursuit of perfection here on earth, is not only futile, but it is truly ungodly. For every moment I wasted thinking about the perfect bathroom fixture or appliance for my house, I missed an opportunity to be there for someone else. Here's another thing about the "perfect" ginormous house for those of you who might have an issue with coveting. An enormous house is bad for a family. I'm not kidding. Everyone has a place to go, and we all scurry like rats to our corners. It's an isolating way to live. If this sounds like a modern-day Ecclesiastes, I think it is.

Our rental is pretty dirty. It's half the size. It's not ours. But you know what? It's here and I'm home. I made homemade lasagna for friends who helped me with the kids this week. So I've had my first dinner party in my little kitchen and you know what? I really liked it. I could reach everything. I DID have to run the dishwasher twice (pots & pans before the guests got here, plates & silverware after.) But I'm here to tell you, the best part of living is in the imperfection. Some people actually have to WASH their dishes. Luckily, God hasn't called me to that, just yet.

I used to have a neighbor who would lounge in her pool and look up at the sky and she would say, "This is MY piece of the sky. It's only for me." This is where God meets you. Where he calls you to service. We came here on faith. There's a lot of prayer to be answered, but I am so grateful to be here. I'm thankful for every Eucalyptus tree, thankful for every mountain surrounding me. This is my perfect. Serving Him. That's my imperfect picture of the perfect day in Monterey on Friday. Also entitled, "Never trust a stranger with your camera."
"Here I am to worship. Here I am to bow down. Here I am to say that You're my God."

MIDDLE AGED?
The four of us have had our first fight. Okay maybe not the first but this one threatens to tear us apart from the inside. The girls have the audacity to tell me that they considered middle-age to be 40-50. Now I ask you, do I look middle aged? Of course not! Though I will concede I finally hit middle age at 50.

I looked it up and most people consider middle aged to be 40-60. Even when I was in my twenties, I never thought of 40 as middle aged. It was when someone was in their fifties, at least AFTER they hit 55 when they qualified for AARP.

So I ask you. What do YOU think of as middle aged?
Colleen, still young and hanging in there.

P.S.!!! I forgot to tell you that my editor, Ami McConnell, came up with a title for my next book: "Be Sweet." I told Ami I was afraid that title would come back to bite me. People are already using that phrase on me like a weapon (as if I'm not already sweet, can you imagine?). Anyway, at least she made a decision, something which I cannot seem to do lately. THANK YOU so much to all of you who offered title suggestions!!!

Why is it so hard to make a decision? We go into Starbucks and have a million choices from which to choose—all before we’ve even had a drop of caffeine.

I twirl my hair between my fingers, wring my hands together, bite my lower lip while trying to decide whether it will be a double-shot Americano over ice with whipped cream or a grande coffee light without whipped cream—or maybe I’d rather have a mocha latte over ice or maybe—well, you get the idea. I want to bang my head against the wall and tell the cute little twelve year old barista, “Just get me the caffeine!”

As I’ve told you before my husband is an educator. July is his month off from school. I asked him a question two weeks ago and with his nose pointed Heavenward his answer was, “I don’t make decisions in July.” I was a little put out at the time, but last Friday when he asked me to help him decide on which shirt to wear, I decided to steal his line.

“I don’t make decisions in August.” It worked. He picked out his own shirt. Course, it wasn’t the one I would have picked, but still.

I’ve been sharpening my decision-making skills of late on—Kristin will be so proud—shoes. The Women of Faith gals know how to pick shoes, let me tell you. Spiked, sparkly, fun, you name it. They have cool shoes.

Colleen and I decided we wanted to get with the program and went shoe shopping. There were so many choices my brain almost blew a fuse (you’re surprised, right?). Well, I’m happy to say I finally settled on a pair that will look great with jeans. They’re not even the comfortable old lady shoes like I usually wear! We’re talking spiked heels! My daughter was so proud.

I’ve pranced around in them a little, but the reality is, they scare me. I’m not all that tall (5’6”), but I feel like a walking redwood in those things. I could rescue baby kittens from trees without the help of a ladder. I can check the earth’s atmospheric conditions, for crying out loud. All without my feet ever leaving the ground.

So today I have DECIDED to have a decision-free day. I will yank clothes from my closet at random. I will skip the coffee shop today--well, okay, maybe not—but I’ll have a coffee light, period. With whipped cream. Grande. Absolutely nothing else.

It’s gonna be a good day. It might rain, though. Wonder if I should take my umbrella or leave it at home? I could take my rain coat, since it has a hood, but it’s kind of hot . . . .

First Draft Blues

The day has finally arrived. You’ve spent months poking out your story on the computer and you’ve finally reached The End. Glory, glory, hallelujah! you shout to the fixtures in your office, your dog, whoever will listen.

Then you shuffle the manuscript pages in your eager fingers and read—it’s the moment of truth, and as your eyes read line after line, a nasty feeling crawls into your gut. You’re sure segments of it could have come from the fat pencil of seven-year-old. Other parts are so boring you nod off then wake up and wipe your drool from the pages.

You whine. You lament. You rent your clothes. I thought I was a writer! you say to yourself. But you can’t be because your writing is sludge. No, it’s worse than sludge. It’s the stuff that settles at the bottom of sludge.

Been there. Felt that. But after ten years of writing, I’m realizing my first draft is usually a Pile Of Dog Doo. Maybe it’s negative to call my newborn baby ugly, but it’s a relief to arrive at this place where I can read my first draft, feel the fear, then remind myself it’s okay. It’s only my PODD.

I recall the words of my college English professor. Writing is re-writing. I don’t remember anything else she said. (If I’d known I was going to be a writer I would have listened better.) But that one thing I do remember is important stuff—and as it turns out, my favorite part of the process.

Colleen and Diann are in St. Louis signing at the Women of Faith conference, Denise is probably actually working, and me? I should be packing, but instead I'm thinking about how the Middle East is falling apart, and our world is concerned with Mel Gibson's drunken ramblings. Now, doesn't tell you why chick lit sells? BTW, check out his mugshot if you haven't. Drunk or not, this man is still hot.

But I digress. Isn't it interesting how no matter how old we get, we're still basically in high school? "Oooh Mel said this about the team captain, and we are SO not going to his show. Pass it on."

I don't care what you think about Mel Gibson's situation, why are we so extremely catty? Why do we enjoy seeing people destroyed publicly? Isn't that shameful for us as a nation? I'm not excusing Mel for what he did. He could have killed someone! But I guess I don't really see the point of destroying people because they made a mistake either -- especially when they own up to it. Clinton owned up to it, the world forgave him. If we are going to be forgiving, maybe we should think about being forgiving regardless of that person's politics and show some real forgiveness.

But it feels so good to take someone down in our righteousness -- which I do believe God said was like filthy rags. I want to believe the world is more mature than the snarkiest cheerleader on campus, but I'm thinking, nope, that's pretty much what you get.

God says to dwell on the good things. So go check out the mugshot. : ) Bad Kristin!

For those of you who have endured my saga (ie., whining), I'm proud to announce I'm going back home to Silicon Valley; where the rocket scientists (engineers from NASA) take on warring with children at Laserquest and coffee is an artform.

You see, living in isolation is not for me. I just went to see my grandmother and my daughter announced she'd been camping with her dad. "Did Kris go?" Grandma asked. "She always hated camping."

Okay, there it is. This is not a new thing. I was born with it. I am not into dirt or natural beauty (though I will take a house in Montecito and I love to be in the redwoods, so I'm not completely anti-nature). It's just that I prefer the banana slug to the rattlesnake.

This move is not without a cost. I'm leaving a custom built home with a killer bathtub and Viking stove (for looks, not my cooking ability!) for a tract home half the size, but I will be home, home, home! Back to my people, where my church celebrates "National Mustard Day" with a wiener dog race and my mini-van will be the object of scorn amongst the German car snobs.

Silicon Valley, here I come!

Picture one is the wiener dog race at church this past Sunday and two is my homeys who made life in the country bearable. Praise God for these fantastic women!
http://www.kristinbillerbeck.com

(Denise and boys near Jackson Hole, WY, with Jenny Lake and Tetons in background)

KIDS SAY THE CUTEST THINGS

Kids have such a creative way with words. Having three of them, I hear all kinds of clever thoughts and interesting interpretations. The writer in me takes note.

Here’s how one of mine described the first time his foot fell asleep when he was four. “Mommy, I have sparkles in my foot.” Sparkles. Isn’t that better than pins and needles?

When my youngest was five, he saw a beautiful sunset in which clouds obscured the bottom half of the sun. He gasped. “Uh-oh! Somebody broke the sun.”

Recently when we drove through the University of Notre Dame, he asked if we could camp out. “We not allowed to camp here,” we answered.
“Then why do they call it a campus?” Why indeed?

“If battery acid eats through everything, how come it doesn’t eat through the battery?”

Upon learning about crescendos and de-crescendos in music class: “Is there such a thing as a night crescendo?”

This from a friend’s little girl while he talked to her on the phone. “Daddy, can you see in my ear?”

Precious, all of it. Parents, listen, laugh, and learn. And don’t forget to write down these gems, because if you’re like me, you’ll forget them all too soon.

CONFERENCES

I just got back from the national RWA conference in Atlanta. This is WestBow editor Natalie Hanemann with me when I received the National Readers' Choice award for best inspirational. Isn't she darling?

I love a good conference. I got to thinking about how much conferences have changed my life. I met Kristin at a conference. I roomed with Diann and Denise at a conference and we bonded like sisters. I met my beloved Ami McConnell at a conference and my career was plotted from that moment on. I've learned to write better, to deepen my characterization, to enhance my settings--all at a conference. I've broadened my network and strengthened my career, all at conferences.

Every writer who is serious about their career needs to attend at least one conference a year. I think the American Christian Fiction Writers Conference (http://www.americanchristianfictionwriters.com/conference/)is the best one for fiction writers. An editor from nearly every CBA house will be there as well as agents. And they're all so accessible. If you don't get an appointment with them, you can sit with the editor of your choice at a table during mealtime.

I love helping new writers too, and this conference is a great place to reach out to others and help lift them up. Are you looking for a crit partner or a mentor? A conference is the place to find them. My buddies have become like family to me. No one else understands the writing life like other writers. The bonding that goes on at a conference is life-changing.

So if you're on the fence about going to conference this year, commit! And I'd love to share any great conference memories you have so let me know what your favorite part of conference is.