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Guest blogger Trish Perry

Captain’s Log, Stardate 08.24.2006

Fabulous chick-lit author Trish Perry is blogging with me today!

Trish's debut chick-lit novel is THE GUY I'M NOT DATING.

Kara Richardson has finally suffered one breakup too many. She's decided to go the no-dating route to romance, although she's not quite sure how that works.

She couldn't have picked a worse time to meet Gabe Paolino. Gorgeous men hardly faze Kara. A personal trainer, she works with hunks every day. But Gabe, the handsome young deli owner in town, proves way too available and way too challenging for Kara's vow of friendship. How will she adhere to her new lifestyle without scaring Gabe away?

Enter matchmaking friends, a strange elderly aunt, three demanding teens, and one hard-to-take vixen with eyes for Gabe. Add an overcrowded road trip and plenty of God's blessings, and Kara may discover that the guy she's not dating is the best boyfriend she's ever had.

And now, here's Trish!

My hubby and son left for a week of youth camp yesterday. More writing time for me!

Ahem. They left 22 hours ago. In that time I have accomplished the following:

1. Edited a chapter in a manuscript that’s due this week.
2. Grocery shopped.
3. Picked up enough carryout Chinese food to last until Thanksgiving (I like a lot of choices).
4. Read 35 emails.
5. Belted out “When I Fall” with Rachel Lampa on my Karaoke machine. Three times.
6. Watched two chick flicks while grazing, Chinese style.
7. Soaked in a hot tub while reading reviews in Book World.
8. Slept fitfully—I’m a wimp when the men folk go away.
9. Awakened and had a cup of coffee and a fruit smoothie.
10. Visited with my daughter, SIL, and grandson.

So . . . whom do I get to blame for my only writing half an hour in the last 22 hours? I need my guys to come home!

What is it about us writers? We live, live, live, to write. But we go through these weird stages when you’d think writing was like shaving your legs; something you put off until you’re just plain disgusted with yourself.

Personally, I think there’s a little battle going on, constantly, between the left and right hemispheres of our brains. The right side wants to fantasize, to consider stories and situations and possibilities. The right side even wants to put those ideas down on paper. But the left side wants to take those fantastic thoughts and organize them now. Put them on paper between 9:00 a.m. and noon, and again from 12:30 to 7:00. The left side wants to see production, not just ethereal thoughts floating around in the mind and occasionally landing on the keyboard.

Now, I love my brain—both sides. But that left side scares me just a little, and I rebel against it. It’s like physical exercise: if I think I’m just having fun moving around, I’m good to go. But if I have to work out to stay healthy? Ick! And I love reading books and discussing their merits with people. But if I reviewed for a living? I don’t know if I’d enjoy reading quite as much.

So I’m wary of giving that rigid, organized left hemisphere too much power. Don’t want the freedom and joy of the right hemisphere to be overcome by structure and obligation.

But, unless we’re writing simply to write—and some people do—we’d better rope in that right hemisphere once in a while. If I didn’t want others to read my work, I could ignore that party pooper on the left. But I don’t just live, live, live to write. I live, live, live to be read. And to play a role in spreading His Word through a truly fun medium.

So now I’m going to sit at my computer and dive back into that fun medium. Right after I thank Him one more time for blessing me with the desire to write.

And right after singing “When I Fall” one more time. Let’s go, Rachel, honey.

Camy here: You go girl! Thanks for blogging today, Trish!


I have a confession (Camy hangs her head). Last night I had 6 pieces of shortbread. Homemade. With oatmeal in it. And toooooooooooooooonnnnssss of butter.

I felt so guilty that today I did THREE exercise programs. I skipped the commercials, so the actual time of exercise was something like 63 minutes.

Alas, that third exercise program probably only took care of one or two shortbread cookies.

I have not touched the shortbread today.

(Sounds like a poem, don't you think?)

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