I’ve never written a children’s book before. I’ve always written stories about rebel teenagers going on magical adventures. I’ve written stories about college kids struggling with identity issues. But never a children’s book. I thought I wouldn’t be able to relate, that the plot would be too simple, too playful, too something.
But fast forward an odd number of years and two kids later and I find myself sitting on the floor reading a children’s book. In fact, I’ve probably read more children’s books these past few years than I have “adult” or YA novels. Now, I find myself engrossed in the pictures. I find myself varying the tone of my voice as I read aloud to the kids. I find myself asking them what’s going on in the picture. What do they see? What are the characters doing?
I guess it’s only right that I write a children’s book now.
But the thing is, I’m stuck. I wrote a few paragraphs the other day. Reading it now, I don’t like it. I want to delete it and start over. The characters are in my head. The basic plot is too. But I just can’t get the words out.
So, what do I do? Previously, I would just push forward and do what I do best: RAMBLE. Oh my, how I do love to ramble on and on and on.
I think what the problem is is that I feel a bit more restricted writing a children’s book, or even attempting to write on. Children’s books are shorter than an adult or YA novel. According to Google, children’s book are about 1000 pages. Only 1000 pages. I’ve written essays in college that were way longer than that. How am I supposed to be concise enough to write and get my point across in only 1000 pages? It seems impossible.
I think the only solution here is to just write. Just write. I shouldn’t worry about how long it is, or if there is too much detail. I should just write, get the story out, and then edit it later. I can shorten it in the rewriting/editing stage.
But another thing! I feel so much pressure. The only thing I’ve written lately are blog entries. I’ve barely written fiction. I think the last time I wrote fiction was Nanowrimo a few years ago.
So, I’m a bit rusty. I remember being in school and I would write pages upon pages of stories for English class. I used to just love dreaming and imagining the characters and plot. Sometimes I would let the characters run away from me. I used to be so proud to have an overactive imagination. Now, I don’t know where my imagination is. I feel like it ran away from me. How do I get it back?