What I Wish I’d Known is a regular series where we ask some of our favourite people in the book industry to reflect on their careers. In this instalment, authors share some of the unexpected and useful things they’ve learned along the way about writing for kids.
Top row, left to right: Tami Sussman, Tony Wilson, Arnold Zable, Megan Hess, Anna Zobel and Amelia Mellor. Bottom row, left to right: Tylissa Elisara, Brooke Scobie, Lauren Crozier and Shaun Tan.
Lauren Crozier – The Best Witch in Paris (winner of the 2023 Text Prize)
If you want to write about magical animals, you should write about magical animals. I once took the advice of a literary agent who strongly cautioned against it, and for a long time, I felt discouraged from writing what came naturally to me. Even worse, I felt ashamed of the kind of writer I was because I knew that if left to my own devices on the page one animal would invariably begin talking to another. (And a chair was just as likely to chime in.)
But children’s stories with magical creatures kept on being written and published, and I learned an important lesson that any child can tell you: grown-ups don’t always know best. Children understand why everything in a story is alive, and they understand why sometimes an owl says it best. That’s one of the many reasons I write for children, though children’s literature isn’t only for children of course. Enchantment is for everyone—as is the satisfaction of dealing with a monster or two.
Tylissa Elisara – Wurrtoo: The Wombat Who Fell in Love with the Sky
I wish I’d known how wonderful life as a published author would be. I would have enjoyed the journey more if that were the case. As a first-time author with little writing experience, I became caught up in my anxieties about the public’s reaction to Wurrtoo once he was out in the wild. I made myself physically sick in the lead-up to publication day, but what has happened since has been nothing short of amazing.
I love the school visits (despite my fear of public speaking) and the gentle curiosity and wholesome feedback the children and school staff would demonstrate. I wish I’d known how supportive the KidLit community would be. So many people have reached out with kind messages or taken me under their wing at in-person events and offered guidance. The support of these adults and children has created the softest foundation to fall back on. Wurrtoo and my identity as a writer are in safe hands, and negative feedback couldn’t hurt me now, even if it tried.
Megan Hess – Claris the Mouse series
I wish I’d known just how precise it would be! All of my children’s picture books are exactly eighteen double pages, and every story has to perfectly fit within that scope. I also wish I’d known just how important every single word is in a picture book. I find myself writing and rewriting over and over to get every single book as perfect as I can. Then once the book is printed and sitting on a bookstore’s shelf, I will read it for the millionth time and want to rewrite the whole thing!
I am making the process sound torturous and sometimes it is, but I also love the journey of creating a children’s book. Of all the things I work on in my creative world, it’s my absolute favourite.
Amelia Mellor – The Lost Book of Magic (out 24 September)
I wish I’d known how to sell books for children when I started my career. Kids’ publishing isn’t an endless festival of whimsy—it’s a business too. I wrote two other novels before my debut, The Grandest Bookshop in the World. Both won unpublished manuscript awards. The kids in my life seemed to adore them. But quality writing that engaged kids wasn’t enough! These two novels were rejected by agents and publishers forty-five times altogether. Now I know this was largely because they didn’t conform to established genres, age groups or topics of interest. I knew my work had to stand out in a crowded market, but I hadn’t figured out where it fit in!
Grandest only got three rejections before Affirm Press snapped it up. The concept and themes belonged in middle grade. It had clear genre labels: fantasy and historical fiction. It drew the eye of parents, grandparents and teachers who already knew the historical background. It even aligned with the primary school history curriculum. When I started it, I had an inkling that those factors might help to sell it. I only saw what a difference they made once it was published!
Brooke Scobie – Yarn Quest series
Just because writing in the KidLit world often means smaller word counts, it doesn’t mean it’s any easier than writing 80,000 words. Children are (on the whole) more critical than adults; they can smell inauthenticity a mile away. With significantly less page space to get your point across, every single word counts. During the editing process for Yarn Quest, I spent a significant amount of time cutting down my word count while still maintaining the authenticity and essence of the stories.
I also wish I had known the importance of ‘Own Stories’ for kids. Writing with the real-life kids who inspired my characters means each story truly belongs to them. Writing KidLit shouldn’t just be some adult (even if they are a parent) telling kids a story we think they want to hear. Kids are imaginative geniuses, and by actively collaborating with them we can amplify their voices and create stories that truly resonate, free from the decades of brainwashing we’ve accumulated as adults.
Tami Sussman – Tiny Tradies
Literature has so much potential to be an intergenerational experience. I remember the first time I read one of my mum’s novels and how much we both enjoyed chatting about the protagonist’s dilemmas. It was such a meaningful way to connect. (In hindsight, that particular book probably wasn’t age appropriate though…ah, the noughties.)
When I’m writing for kids, I often have their adult loved ones in mind too. My hope is that my middle grade books can be a springboard for conversation—especially the vital, albeit awkward conversations between young readers and the important people in their lives across the age spectrum. Adult engagement is even more central to my picture books. Sure, it’s partly a commercial decision (adults are the ones seeking out and purchasing the books), but for me it’s more of an empathetic choice. It’s not uncommon to have to read the same picture book to the little ones over and over (and over again), so the content might as well be relatable and enjoyable for parents and carers too.
Shaun Tan – Tales of Light and Dark
I wish I’d known earlier that writing for children is not really about writing for children. It’s about writing for everyone, telling universal stories—in my case, mostly visual fables—that are so good they can even be read by children but without sacrificing any complexity or ambiguity. I once avoided children’s literature, thinking oh, it’s just for kids. Then I saw great examples of work which straddled both critical adult artistry and childlike openness: Raymond Briggs, Tove Jansson, Peter Sis, Maurice Sendak and many others (and particularly people who work in picture book form). I also realised much older, pre-modern storytelling was also more inclusive—and strange. Grimms’ Fairy Tales, for instance (which is not really for children), all the way back to cave art narrative.
When I began to just focus on telling good, interesting stories for humans, regardless of age or background, I actually found some success. If anything, I’m a good children’s writer precisely because I’m not a ‘children’s writer’. I just make stories for people.
Tony Wilson – Selwood Boys series
I became a children’s book author because I thought of a pun one night doing the dishes. It was about my mum turning into a dinosaur when she gets migraines, making her ‘Migraineysaurus Rex’. I suspected little kids wouldn’t read a book about migraines. But I kept saying it, and it morphed into My Grannysaurus Rex. Genius title, surely! I figured if I could execute, we’d sell millions! What I didn’t know about the industry is that children’s author millionaires are as rare as 169-storey treehouses. (Grannysaurus was a good idea though. This has been proven by the fact that David Walliams is now making millions from the same title. Well, not exactly the same. His is The Grannysaurus.)
I didn’t know that picture book manuscripts should be 32 pages and about 500 words. I didn’t know that not being able to draw would be a career impediment. I’ve published a dozen picture books, but they don’t really have a unified ‘look’.
It’s been a joy writing for kids. For me, it’s a vehicle for silliness, a combination of storytelling and joke construction, that’s made easier if you’ve grown up listening to songs and poetry. If you’re writing kids’ books because they’re shorter than adult novels, it’s not going to work for you. But do you know what’s great? They are shorter than adult novels. I must do another one.
Arnold Zable – The Glass Horse of Venice (out 3 September)
The Glass Horse of Venice was inspired by a tale I heard in Venice in late 2013. I knew immediately it could form the basis of a great story for children, and adults too. Little did I know how long it would take to come to fruition. I wrote the first draft in 2016, and it went through many drafts as it evolved into the story it became. Writing for young children is an exacting art form. Each word counts, as do the rhythm, fluency and tone. With young readers in mind, I was also acutely aware of the subtext, what the story was trying to convey, the underlying themes of displacement, the impact of sudden change, the need for belonging, and of finding a way back home. Jane Pearson, my longtime editor at Text, backed it and was involved all the way, from the start, through its various drafts.
In writing for younger audiences, I would say, allow your imagination to take flight. Let the story take you where it will. Children love stories that take them to unexpected places, driven by the impulse: What will happen next? As do adults too.
Anna Zobel – This Camp is Doomed
I’m glad I knew very little about writing for children when I started. My first book, Little Gem, sort of sprang forth organically and remains my favourite for that reason. I had no sense of writing for a particular audience, no educational intention and no understanding of the market; I was writing for pleasure. At that time—in 2018—I would have been horrified if I’d known about the publicity circuit and the number of children’s book makers who take stand-up classes. I had a terrible fear of public speaking, but I’ve acclimatised.
I do wish I’d known more about writing itself—everything from punctuation to plot structures. I had no metacognitive awareness, no explicit sense of what I was doing. It made things difficult for my editors; we must have gone through fifteen drafts of Little Gem for that reason. Now, when I run workshops, I ask: What are you doing? How? Why?
