PLEASE PIN THIS IMAGE - My return to my first love of writing picture books.I shrunk into my seat, half embarrassed, half proud. I didn’tknow my teacher, Mr. Gilbertson, was going to photocopy each Thanksgiving storythat his third-grade students had written, then hand a copy out toeverybody. Looking through the stapled mass, I wondered if some of my peerswould have done a better job if they had known of our teacher's sneaky plan. Some of the kids hadn’t writtenmore than a paragraph. The next longest story besides mine was a page long.

My Thanksgiving story? Four pages. 

Okay, so my printedhandwriting was pretty big, but it arguably outdistanced every other story by amile in word count.

When Mr. Gilbertson had made the assignment, I hadn’tintended to create the biggest and the best. But he’d told us to write aThanksgiving story, and in my eight-year-old mind, a story had interestingcharacters and a beginning, middle and end with an interesting plot. With allmy heart I believed most of the other students had thought that, too, and weregoing to write a story-story, not a boring retelling of the pilgrims or amundane description of Thanksgiving at their house.

It was the first time I had an inkling that I had a knackfor writing stories that other people didn’t.

But it wasn’t my first “publication.” That summer, I hadwritten, illustrated, and bound (stapled the pages together) a children’s bookentitled, “Anne Learns to Spell.” I wrote another title in what could have beena long series related to this little girl, “Anne’s Birthday Party.”

That one I never finished illustrating, probably because myADHD brain got bored with the project.

After my brilliant masterpiece entitled “Turkey Escapes,”the harrowing journey of a domesticated fowl desperately trying not to be themain course for the upcoming Thanksgiving menu, I continued writing the longeststories of my classmates all the way through seventh grade. My teachers must have thought I had some talent, too, as I earned aCreative Writing award at the end of the school year three years in a row.

Not to brag, but that was before elementary teachers wererequired to give every child somesort of certificate at the end of the year. (And with that, she remembers oneof the most annoying year-end tasks during her years as a teacher in the 90sand early 2000s.)

In the late nineties, creeping up on thirty years of age, Iwrote several stories that I hoped one day would be turned into children’spicture books. One of them was entitled, There’s an Elephant Sitting in the Apple Tree. I’m not sure why I never triedsubmitting it to agents or publishers; maybe all the rejections from children’smagazines for my perfectly good (really!) stories had disheartened me.

I think I also decided I’d make a lot more money if I couldpublish novels, so put all my focus there.

And there’s where I went wrong.

All creatives* know that once money becomes their priority,creative expression – even true calling – goes down the drain. Although even asa teen I enjoyed reading novels, I secretly wished I could keep on readingpicture books. I didn’t because I knew people (including siblings) would makefun of me. In fact, I remember reading picture books as long as I thought Icould get away with it – into the fifth or sixth grade, I think.

But not just any picture books. Not the kinds with serious,real-life stories. Not the historical fiction, or the ones with main characterswhose parents were fighting all the time, or who were faced with a tragic loss.

Nope. Not me.

I mean the ones with talking animals, fairies and light magic,children getting into silly scrapes. Ones with either cartoonish illustrations, or illustrations full of color and warmth and whimsy.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was drawn to the "little kid" picture books (though, early-reader chapter books like the “Mr. Putter and Tabby”series qualify). One of the joys of an otherwise stressful teaching career wasbeing able to read aloud such books to my students.

I enjoyed them as much as they did. In many cases, probablymore.

Finding my way back.

If you clicked on the title of the “elephant in apple tree” bookabove, you’ll see that I recently self-published it.

Now, I wish I hadn’t.

Well, sort of. I was happy to help out a work-at-home mom bypaying her to illustrate my book. Colleen did a perfect job, in my view.

But.

I found out too late that purchasing book promos is nolonger a profitable way to market. And that had been my original marketingplan, to promo the e-book, and make a profit when parents purchased thepaperback. Eventually, the profit would equal enough money to pay Colleen toillustrate the next book in what I’d intended to be a four-book series.

But the self-publishing landscape has become over-saturatedduring the past few years (thanks in no small part to the immoral, lazy cheatersasking AI to write books for them), such that it now takes a lot of upfrontmoney to build an email list and buy enough promos and enough ads in order toget enough readers who will potentially buy enough of your books so that yourbank account will eventually get – and stay – in the black.

But there is no guarantee, and chances are really small these thatwill happen. 

I don't care what a fake self-pub guru on a YouTube ad promises in their ad copy. 

Which brings me to the point: I wish I had worked up thenerve to query agents regarding the book. It’s the best in the series I hadintended to create, “Adventures in Silly,” and I wanted to be able to tellwhichever agent might have been interested that I had three more suchmanuscripts ready to go, if a publisher were interested.

My mistake notwithstanding, I’ve decided to take the nextbook in the series and pitch it to an agent who represents children’s picturebooks.

And I’ve decided, whether anyone ever accepts it or not, tokeep writing for children my primary fiction focus.

The little girl inside me demands it. She finds it much moreenjoyable and fulfilling than writing novels. She doesn’t care about makingmoney, she just cares about expressing herself.

Hmm. Could this have been part of what Yeshua meant when Hesaid, “Let the little children come onto Me…for of such is the Kingdom of God”?

Anyway.

What silly childhood dream has been knocking on your heart lately? Maybe it’s finallytime to answer.

With a big, hearty “YES!”

 

*By “creative,” I mean people who create their own authenticproduct. Cheaters who ask AI to generate product and then put their name on itare excluded from this precious group of hardworking, imaginative individuals.