When your new book is the number one New York Times bestselling children's chapter book for three weeks in a row, you get a lot of reporters and the like, calling to ask you things.
And the number one thing people keep asking me lately is how I feel about being labeled a “chick-lit” author.
I guess there's some kind of controversy going on—some authors who write funny books for a predominantly female readership object to having their books called chick-lit, because they feel like it is sexist and/or demeaning.
While I would argue that the target audience for the majority of my books is on the young side to be reading chick-lit, making what I write, for the most part, technically “Fluffy Yellow Baby Chick Lit”, I have no problem with being called a writer of chick-lit.
Or, to put it another way—and as I tell the reporters who call me–there is no instrument known to man that is small enough to measure how much I don't care about this so-called controversy.
What concerns me right now is this: Am I going to have to march on Washington again, like I did last time women's reproductive rights were threatened by a Supreme Court nominee? Because I would really rather not have to, as I have a lot of deadlines right now.
But of course I will, if necessary. I'm going to wear a bra this time though, because it took me days to get over the chafing from last time.
I'm just saying.