I’ve written books before.

Page-turning action-survival thrillers .

Expansive ensemble-led space operas.

And Greek-myth harnessing urban fantasies .

But this time was different. For a start, I couldn’t just blow things up or kill off main characters midway through the book (my real and actual trademarks.) No, kids are not so into watching their favourite characters bite the dust as we are.

This time the story had to be fun, but purposeful. The message had to be clear, not hidden. And the characters had to be real AND fantastic.

Fortunately, research was hardly a problem. Our tiny bookshelf overflowed with tales of both the sublime and ridiculous. I knew by heart the lengths a Caterpillar would go to for food, how seriously great some seriously Ugly Animals can be, and a Frog eventually taught me what Dogs sit on.

After that, I got to work. I tried out a talking pig who loved the smell of bacon. An alien who was afraid of space. And a fish that couldn’t stand the sea. Each had their moments, but none of them felt right. None of them felt like me. Something was missing. So, like any good scholar, I went back to the books. What did these books have that mine was missing. I turned page after page, searching for the answer in the pictures and the rhymes. And it wasn’t until I was on the verge of giving up that I found the missing link.

There. Hidden on the very first page of the Hungry Caterpillar. The page you end up skipping from the 2nd to 400th time of reading. The dedication.

These books weren’t just written for everyone. They were written for someone and everyone. What I was missing was the books raison d’être. That special connection between me and the ones I love. I was trying to write a story that everyone would love when all I needed to do was write a story that two people would love. My daughter and me.

So I burned that chatty pig and cowardly alien to the ground and started from scratch. From reality.
A girl was bored. And she needed something creative to do. A place every parent has found themselves in the past, and a place we’ll continue to find ourselves in the future. And I didn’t wrack my brain too hard to find the answer, because I’d already found it a hundred times before.

Imagination was the answer.

It’s the answer to most questions. And once I knew that, the adventure began to write itself. My story finally had legs…. Unfortunately what it actually needed was rhymes….