How I Stumbled Into Writing Stories That Made Kids Giggle
It all started with a crumpled napkin and a bored niece. I’d never planned to write children’s books. In fact, if you’d told me five years ago that I’d spend my evenings sketching talking vegetables or inventing rhymes about misplaced socks, I’d have laughed and returned to my spreadsheet-filled corporate job. But life has a funny way of nudging us toward unexpected adventures—especially when we’re not looking.
The Napkin That Started It All
Picture this: A rainy Saturday afternoon. My 6-year-old niece, Lily, sat cross-legged on my living room floor, glaring at a pile of crayons like they’d personally offended her. “I’m bored,” she declared, as kids do when the universe fails to entertain them for 0.2 seconds. Desperate to buy myself 10 minutes of peace, I grabbed a napkin from the coffee table and drew a lopsided whale with a top hat. “Meet Sir Bubbles,” I said. “He’s a jazz-singing whale who’s afraid of water.”
Lily’s eyes lit up. “What happens next?”
That simple question sparked an hour-long improvisation about Sir Bubbles’ quest to perform at an underwater concert (with backup dancers shaped like jellybeans, naturally). By bedtime, Lily had tucked the napkin into her pajama pocket like it was treasure. A week later, my sister called: “She hasn’t stopped talking about that whale. You should write it down.”
So I did—mostly to humor her. I typed up the story, added terrible stick-figure illustrations, and printed a copy at the office when my boss wasn’t looking. Lily’s reaction? She hugged the booklet and declared, “This is better than broccoli!” (High praise from a kid who once hid veggies in the DVD player.)
When “Just for Fun” Went Viral (in a Preschool Kind of Way)
What happened next still feels surreal. My sister shared the story with Lily’s teacher, who read it to her class. Suddenly, I was receiving crayon-covered fan letters from 5-year-olds (“I lik the part wen the jelyfish dancd!!!”) and requests from parents: “Can you make one about a dinosaur who loves math?”
I kept writing—not because I saw a career path, but because it felt like play. My stories were messy, silly, and full of inside jokes only kids would appreciate. But that’s exactly why they worked. Adults often overcomplicate children’s storytelling, aiming for polished lessons or perfect rhymes. Meanwhile, kids just want characters who mirror their own chaos: a grumpy cloud who hates rain, a sandwich that refuses to be eaten, or a skateboarding grandma.
The Accident Becomes a Career
The tipping point came when a friend (who’d been bribed by her son to ask) convinced me to self-publish Sir Bubbles’ adventure on a print-on-demand site. “For the grandparents,” she said. To my shock, strangers began buying it. Then a librarian in Iowa invited me for a virtual “author visit.” Then a small publisher slid into my DMs.
Suddenly, I had deadlines, contracts, and a newfound respect for anyone who draws octopus tentacles for a living. But here’s the twist: Becoming an “official” author almost ruined the magic. The pressure to be profound or marketable made my stories feel stiff. My early drafts started resembling corporate reports—full of forced morals and vocabulary like “utilize” instead of “gobble.”
It took a 4-year-old critic named Ethan to snap me out of it. During a school visit, he raised his hand and asked, “Why does the dragon in your new book talk like my principal?” Touché, tiny human.
What I’ve Learned from Tiny Editors
Working with kids—the world’s most brutally honest focus group—taught me three rules for accidental storytelling:
1. Embrace the Absurd
Adults see a spoon. Kids see a potential spaceship, a magic wand, or a bridge for ants. My bestselling book? The Day the Refrigerator Ran Away—inspired by a toddler who once scolded our fridge for “being too cold.”
2. Let the Pictures Do Half the Talking
Children “read” illustrations as intensely as text. A raised eyebrow on a potato character can trigger giggles; a hidden ladybug on every page becomes a game. Now, I scribble notes to illustrators like: “Can the cactus in the background wear sunglasses? No reason. Just vibes.”
3. Forget Perfection—Aim for Connection
Kids don’t care about your rhyming dictionary or your MFA in Creative Writing. They care if your story feels like a secret between friends. One of my favorite fan emails came from a mom: “Your book made my son laugh so hard he fell off the couch. He wants to know if the carrot in Chapter 3 is okay.”
Why “Accidental” Paths Matter
Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t set out to become a children’s author. There’s freedom in creating without expectations—no comparing yourself to Dr. Seuss or fretting over Amazon rankings. My “career” began as a game, and that playful spirit still guides every story.
To anyone sitting on a silly idea: Share it. Test it on a kid. Let them edit it with glitter glue. The world needs more stories that smell like crayons and mischief. Who knows? You might accidentally bring a little magic to bedtime—one top-hat-wearing whale at a time.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go brainstorm a tale about a sock who becomes a yoga instructor. (Inspired by my nephew’s left foot. It’s a long story.)
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » How I Stumbled Into Writing Stories That Made Kids Giggle