We were in the car.
Headed home after a long day at camp (kids) and writing a synopsis for the WIP (me). From the driver's seat I asked, "Any ideas about how to follow up my blog announcement that Losing Hope has been released?"
The kids paused in their complicated discussion of Beyblade powers long enough to give my question some serious thought.
"You said the book was kind of sexy. Maybe you should write about that. Like a how-to guide," said Child #1. In the background her brother launched into a version of "I'm Sexy and I Know It," using the "I'm Elmo and I Know It," lyrics.
If Sesame Street were a religion, I'm certain using Elmo as a synonym for the word sexy, as we are known to do, would be a sin. And one we commit on a regular basis.
"Good idea," I said. "But most of my readers are probably past the how-to guide stage."
"Poop! You should write about poop!" said Child #2.
"Or diarrhea!" added Child #1, not to be outdone by her brother. They entertained me for three solid blocks up East Burnside with refrains from the Diarrhea Song, which is something else most of my readers are probably familiar with, albeit from their childhood.
"How about vomit?" screamed Child #2 over the thump-ba-da-thump of the stereo system that I had turned up to drown out the Diarrhea Song.
"How about something that doesn't revolve around bodily expulsions?" I asked turning the stereo back down.
"Snot?" asked Child #1.
Before I could remind them snot is something else that comes out of the body, Child #2 added, "S'not as gross as you think it is. Really Mom, that's what the OMSI billboard says."
"So what's for dinner?" asked Child #1 because in her mind the question of blog topic had been resolved.
"Burritos, filled with squash and broccoli vomit mash."
"Mom! That's disgusting!! Say you're kidding or I really might vomit."
It's been a week full of victories. I released a book and claimed the title of potty-talkingest in the car. I leave it to you to decide which one took more fortitude.