My daughter read part of my work-in-progress today.
She said: “It’s really good, but you can’t swear in middle-grade, Mom.”
“I didn’t swear!”
“Replacing one letter with an asterisk still counts as swearing.”
Me, swearing under my breath: “Really?”
“Yeah, and you can’t say that other word, either.”
She’s talking about this line…
“Josh?” Holden says. “I always thought he was more of a benign dictator than an actual dick.”
“That’s such a good line! It’s not even a real swear word!”
“It’s a middle-grade book, Mom. You can’t say that.”
Me, glaring: “Fine.”
Who knew I’d one day be censored by my own forteen-year-old? And why am I writing middle-grade fiction when I can’t use swear-jokes?
As my mom once told me to say, when I was about fourteen… fooey.