How a Park Bench and a Curious Kid Turned Me Into an Accidental Children’s Author
One rainy afternoon, while sitting on a park bench scribbling grocery lists and half-hearted poetry, a little girl in a dinosaur raincoat plopped down beside me. “Are you writing a story?” she asked, peering at my notebook. Before I could answer, she added, “It should have a dragon who hates broccoli but loves skateboards.” That surreal moment—equal parts whimsical and bewildering—marked the beginning of a journey I never saw coming.
The Spark That Ignited a New Path
I’ve always loved storytelling, but children’s literature wasn’t on my radar. My writing background? Technical manuals. Yes, the kind that put even me to sleep. But that chance encounter with a tiny, opinionated stranger made me realize something: Kids don’t just want stories—they demand them. They ask bold questions, challenge logic, and embrace the absurd.
So, I took her dragon idea and ran with it. What started as a silly exercise—imagining a broccoli-phobic dragon practicing kickflips—turned into a 32-page manuscript. I shared it with friends’ kids, teachers, and librarians, tweaking the story based on their giggles, eye-rolls, and demands for “more lava scenes!” Within months, that scrappy draft became my debut book, Grumpy Gus and the Skateboard of Doom.
Why “Accidental” Authorship Works
Looking back, the randomness of it all taught me valuable lessons:
1. Kids are the ultimate editors.
Children have zero patience for pretentious language or convoluted plots. If a character’s motivation isn’t clear by page two, they’ll toss the book aside and ask for ice cream. Their honesty forced me to simplify without dumbing down—a skill I wish more “serious” writers would adopt.
2. Constraints breed creativity.
Picture books have strict limits: tight word counts, repetitive rhythms, and the need for visual hooks. At first, this felt stifling. But these boundaries pushed me to find clever solutions—like using onomatopoeia (WHOOOSH! CRUNCH!) to replace lengthy descriptions.
3. The best ideas come from weird places.
My second book, The Moon’s Sticky Shadow, was inspired by my nephew’s insistence that moonlight is “glue for ghosts.” Kids see metaphors everywhere, and leaning into their quirky perspectives keeps stories fresh.
Navigating the Publishing World by Trial and Error
Without an agent or writing degree, I relied on hustle and humility. I cold-emailed illustrators on Instagram, bartered editing help with teacher friends, and even printed early copies at a local copy shop. Rejection stung—one publisher returned my manuscript with a note saying, “Dragons don’t skateboard.” (Tell that to the 7-year-old in the dinosaur coat, buddy.)
But small wins kept me going: A librarian in Ohio hosted a Grumpy Gus-themed story hour. A third grader in Australia wrote me a letter asking, “Does Gus ever try zucchini?” (Spoiler: He does in Book 3.)
What I’d Tell Aspiring “Accidental” Authors
If you’re doodling story ideas during Zoom meetings or making up bedtime tales for your kids, lean into it. Here’s how:
– Steal from real life.
Overheard playground debates and bizarre family traditions are goldmines. My cousin’s obsession with collecting cereal box toys inspired Captain Crunch and the Cereal Box Revolution.
– Collaborate early.
Share drafts with kids before you think they’re ready. Their feedback is ruthless but invaluable. One 5-year-old told me, “This princess is boring. Make her spit glitter when she’s angry.” Done.
– Embrace the chaos.
Children’s publishing isn’t a linear path. Attend local author events, join online critique groups, and don’t be afraid to self-publish a zany idea. As one indie bookstore owner told me, “The weirder, the better.”
The Joy of Unplanned Adventures
Becoming a children’s author “by accident” taught me that creativity thrives in unpredictability. Some days, I still can’t believe I get paid to write about talking volcanoes or robots who collect bellybutton lint. But every time a parent says, “Your book is the one they want to read 12 times a day,” I remember that park bench—and the kid who saw storytelling magic where I saw a grocery list.
So, keep your eyes open. Listen to random suggestions. And who knows? Your dragon moment might be hiding in a coffee shop, a subway ride, or a toddler’s insistence that clouds are actually marshmallow factories. The best stories often begin where plans end.
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