The Treat Down my Shirt, and how I owe Phil Mickelson a Virtual Kiss on the Cheek

Happy Friday, yo.


*Don't forget to sign up with Windy A if you want to be included on a list of local (to Utah) bloggers to pass around an ARC of my book EVERNEATH.


1.  So, last night my critique group (the SIX, ranked in order of crazy on the sidebar) had... a critique group. That sounds oddly redundant, but adequately explanatory. Anywho,  here's a list of what everyone is working on:


Me: EVERNEATH 2, Revenge of the Na'vi, 


Bree Despain: The Dark Divine 3: Daniel gets a Cavity, 


Emily Wing Smith: Her next book about a quirky girl, a camcorder, and a television show. (I don't know if I'm allowed to share more.) 


Kimberly Reid is working on Haunted: an awesome story that will change the way you think about time and space forever. 


Sara Bolton: Mostly she is working on feeding and changing her newborn, who has a tendency to puke on cue, especially when confronted with stupid questions. 

Emmi Bolton, in a rare non-puking moment.

On the side, she is working on a Historical fantasy, about a girl who becomes a knight. 


Valynne Nagamatsu: A collaborative book about a girl and a boy obsessed with making horror movies. 


For aspiring writers, I can't stress enough the importance of finding a good critique group who understands you and your work. I can honestly say I wouldn't be published if it weren't for these writers. 


So, last night, during the discussion, I went to pop a cough drop in my mouth. But I accidentally missed (Hey, aiming for your mouth is hard, especially without a mirror) and the cough drop went down my shirt to where it nestled comfortably in my cleavage. 


I dug around to pull it out, and along with the cough drop I pulled out a piece of popcorn. 

Well, where would you store yours?

My friends started cracking up. They asked me when I had last eaten popcorn. I told them I had it for breakfast (because it's smart to start the day with nutrition). So the popcorn had been stuck down my shirt for about 12 hours without me noticing.

I asked Sam what he thought this event said about me.

Sam: "I think it's a testament to the breadth of your cleavage."


Me: "Please, for the love of everything, don't ever say 'testament to the breadth of your cleavage' ever again. Never ever."


 2. A couple of days ago, my dad and mom went down to Houston, TX, to MD Anderson Hospital. (Known for their awesome cancer-fighting ninja skills). 


At first he couldn't get in, because MD Anderson is in high demand, and we weren't being successful in jumping through the right hoops. So we pulled every string we could think of, and called in every favor, which resulted in Phil Mickelson... 

Yeah, this guy...

...calling his good friend, the head doctor at MD Anderson. An hour later, my dad's cell phone rang, and it was the head doctor. He arranged for my parents to get in with a pancreatic cancer specialist later that week. 


The doctor was blunt, spirited, and quick to tell my dad his first mistake is thinking we don't have a fight. He then detailed a plan A,B,C,D, and E for extending my dad's life. 


I love doctors like this, and I'm grateful for people like Phil Mickelson who would do my family a solid. *High-fives Phil* *Slices one wide right, just for him*


Okay. This post is way too long.


Anyone going to the Utah book blogger social tomorrow night? Anyone doing anything fun this weekend? Can you join me in thanking Phil? Anyone know how I can get ahold of Lance Armstrong's doctor? We might as well assemble the best team possible...