Beyond the ordinary: crafting stories that stand out
I spent my weekend in bookstores. On Friday night, I met friends at a very trendy bookstore-bar where we talked, ate cheese, and scanned the beautifully curated shelves. This place truly was too cool for me, but when the owner told me I looked familiar, and she thought I’d been there just a few days ago at an event, like a regular, it made me aware of how well I commit to the part of “stock-photo publishing girl.” I was expected there, thanks to my plaid skirt, ivory tower headband, and my literary tote bag, despite it being my first time inside.
After a while, I left the group to attend an art show party and panel for local kidlit illustrators at a bookstore down the street. The next day, I went to a third bookstore to celebrate their one-year anniversary celebration, and on the walk back to my apartment, I stopped by a local cookbook shop to pick up a couple of early Christmas presents.
By Sunday, I was exhausted from bookstores—just kidding! Sunday night, I went to a show at a fifth spot and browsed the used books with a friend while a small band played on the raised stage inside.
What stayed with me at the end of my weekend weren’t the hundreds of books I passed, but the handful that stopped me as I scanned the titles, covers, and talking cards—the ones that glittered differently inside the wordy swirl. A picture book who’s premise made me say, “wait…what?” A middle grade cover that refused the familiar poses and color palettes. A board book that utilized the format in a way that I hadn’t seen before.
These were the books that stood out, and still linger in my mind.
What stands out and rises to the top
We live inside a snow globe of narrative overwhelm. Children, and adults, are bombarded by stories flickering across screens, told in podcasts, embedded in games, streaming through endless digital channels. Each story competes for a moment of attention. Yet beneath this noise, something profound remains true: a powerful story can still stop time.
The children’s publishing landscape is crowded and highly competitive, for many reasons. There are smaller lists, tighter budgets, drops in literacy rates, and an economy that makes every book purchase a significant choice. These are the constraints within which creators must now work.
But constraints have always been the soil from which innovation grows. Remarkable storytelling has never been about abundance, but about precision. It employs emotional truth, moments so specific they become universal, and with choices so unexpected that they crack open a reader’s understanding of themselves and the world, letting light into previously unseen spaces.
Unpredictable elements create deeper emotional engagement, inviting readers to lean in, to feel more deeply, and to connect more intimately with characters’ journeys. In a world of fleeting attention, memorable stories are those that stick, with twists that reframe entire experiences, becoming conversation starters that get recommended, shared, and remembered.
Consider how a story enters the world. It’s not just about plot, or character, or setting. It’s about perspective. It’s about finding those narrative entry points that feel both startlingly new and immediately recognizable. What if the story is told by the shadow on the wall? Or by the moldy cereal bowl left behind in a child’s bedroom? Or by the wind passing through an empty playground? These unusual voices don’t simply tell a story, they reframe our entire understanding of how stories can be constructed and experienced.
Plot and character, too, can be reimagined when we loosen our grip on the familiar. Protagonists must be compelling, and they need to be specific. A child who insists she’s part moth and keeps flying toward porch lights is far more intriguing than a generic “brave girl with a big dream.” A boy who reads sidewalk cracks as messages written only for him expands upon the broad strokes “imaginative kid who sees the world differently.” A book-nerd type who spends her weekends in the stacks is predictable; a girl who loves libraries and finds stories in baseball games or music festivals is not.
A plot doesn’t need to climb the didactic mountain of conflict to resolution—it can meander, double back, or spiral outward. Maybe the narrative is structured like a scavenger hunt, or a recipe, or a game of telephone where every retelling changes the truth.
Layered meaning becomes the secret language of stand-out kidlit. A seemingly simple story can hold complex emotional truths, philosophical questions, and nuanced character explorations.
It’s too easy be prescriptive in creating for kids, and it’s important to remember that these choices of character, plot, narrative, and structure aren’t a formula to be followed, but an experiment to be played with: a chance to reshape how characters grow, how events unfold, and how emotional weight settles on the page.
Snow globe of words & art
Getting creative in concepts
For creators, this means pushing beyond the first idea. It means asking: what if? What’s the story nobody else would tell? How can I approach this from a direction that is compelling and fresh?
The most distinctive stories emerge when we’re willing to abandon our initial understanding of how a narrative “should” be, and move away from the beaten path. Instead, think about “what’s next” or “what’s possible?” Brainstorm the book about the narwhal who can only speak in knock-knock jokes, or the friendship story told from the perspective of a subway bench, or the bedtime book narrated by the sun, who is extremely annoyed about being replaced every night.
Grown-ups can be cautious. We tend to cling to what we assume the industry will tolerate. We show preference for a well-behaved arc, a tried-and-true trope, and something tidy.
But the kidlit market is becoming fatigued by these familiar stories. We’ve seen how absurd the world is. Children and teenagers understand this best of all. What we need are stories that are unpredictable, unexpected, and impossible to ignore in a crowded marketplace. Stories that grab the attention of a reader and hold on tight. These are the ones that take risks: they surprise, unsettle, illuminate. They make us look again.
In a snow globe swirling with endless narrative, the stories that endure are the ones brave enough to shimmer differently.
Prompts for crafting unexpected stories and illustrations
Develop a story where the protagonist is not a character, but a concept, an emotion, or an overlooked object in the room. How might a narrative about loneliness be told from the perspective of an empty chair? Or a tale of transformation narrated by a forgotten paintbrush?
Create a story where the most significant plot point happens in the white space. What crucial moments are we not seeing? What live in the margins?
Design an illustration series that tells a completely different story in the background from what the text suggests. How can visual subtext create layers of meaning?
Develop a character who is defined entirely by what they do not do, by their absences and hesitations. What makes a protagonist compelling through their restraint?
Explore a story told entirely through found objects, documents, or ephemera. What narrative emerges when we piece together fragments?
Imagine a story that begins exactly where another traditional narrative would end. What happens when the “happily ever after” is actually the starting point?
Write from the perspective of a character who fundamentally misunderstands their own story. How does their misperception reveal deeper truths?
Invent a story where the traditional narrative arc is completely inverted: the climax happens first, the resolution at the beginning, leaving the middle to explore the profound “why” behind the events.
Create a picture book where the page turns become a narrative device, where the act of moving through the book is as important as the words and images.
Develop a story that fundamentally reimagines the book as an interactive object. Consider how the physical form, format, and materiality of the book can become an integral part of the narrative experience.
Revisions questions for authors & illustrators
When someone reads only the first 2–3 pages/spreads, can they predict what will happen? If so, what might surprise them instead?
Which moment (image or sentence) would make a kid say, “wait…what?” If there isn’t one, where could it be?
Can you identify a scene where a familiar choice was made simply because it’s common? What would the opposite choice look like?
If you removed your main character and swapped them with another from the same book, would the story still work? If yes, your character may need more specificity.
What is your character wrong about at the beginning of the story? How does that change?
Could an illustration or visual beat carry a piece of the story, instead of the text?
What is the “weirdest” idea you cut because you thought it was too strange? Could that be the beating heart you need to dig up from under the floorboards?
If a child reads this to an adult, what line or image would the adult remember later? Why?
Does the ending reaffirm something the reader already knew, or does it reveal something new?
Is there a page/spread that feels like it belongs to a different book?
Can you summarize your plot without referencing tropes?
Where could the stakes be emotional rather than external?
Which detail is so specific it could only exist in this story? Are there enough of those?
You’ve got this! Now go make something only you could.