What self-publishing my first book taught me about the importance of children’s literature
Illustration by Sage Blackwell.
It’s official — at 21 years old, I’m a grown-up now. I always worried about becoming one, because they always seem so fussed with numbers and time, running from one place to another, and counting everything up. I’ve often worried about becoming the kind of grown-up I didn’t want to be, one who is so lost in the ocean of life that they forget to slow down and enjoy the wind in their hair.
But children never forget these things; they always enjoy the wind in their hair. And so, before I drift too far away from childhood, and while I can still remember what is truly important, I have a few things to share with you.
Last month, I self-published my first children’s book, My Friend Swallowed a Cloud. Through poems and watercolour paintings, it follows the adventures of two kids, asking curious questions and letting their imaginations run wild. It’s a story inspired by my own life, when my friend did indeed tell me her voice sounded as though she had swallowed a cloud. You have to take inspiration from these moments when they come — and they come more often than you might think, if you know where to look for them.
I know, in the back of your mind you are likely wondering, as I did: “How on earth did my friend eat a cloud? / Could it have been with the help of a tall-legged crowd?” But the truth is that sometimes the best questions do not have answers; the curiosity behind them, however, can often lead to new and unexpected adventures.
In the process of writing, I came to realize that children’s books have a lot to offer everyone — not just their target audience. Their sense of wonder, vibrancy, and whimsy are things we too readily dismiss as juvenile, simplistic, or naïve.
I believe it’s true, as the very wise Little Prince (of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s novella) once said: “Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”
But I will explain things, just this once — or, rather, Robin Williams’ Professor Keatings (of The Dead Poets Society) will: “We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race…. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”
Unfortunately, as grown-ups, we often forget what is truly essential in life: the things that fill us with passion. We become so caught up with our grades, salaries, promotions, and busy schedules that we forget to leave a spare second to stick our heads in the clouds.
Children’s books are there to remind us of the importance of wonder, exploration, fun, creativity, and curiosity about the world around us. It’s easy to follow the routines paved by efficiency, but perhaps it’s worth taking the time to be inefficient, to wander without a purpose, and to read a children’s book.
I’ll tell you a secret: if you hadn’t already guessed, I read children’s books all the time. I don’t believe that makes me less intelligent, less informed, less productive — or less of a grown-up. In fact, I think it makes me a better grown-up. We need more people in this world who can find the light in the dark, who can think creatively to find solutions, and who aren’t afraid to ask questions that challenge the ‘rules’ of society.
You might think this is childish. But there is nothing wrong with being childish at times. After all, children (and perhaps the writers of their stories) have a lot to teach us. So, for all the grown-ups out there, after you finish reading the Martlet, put down the newspaper and pull out an old book you have lying around from your childhood — I think you’ll find it has something new to offer you.
As the Little Girl once exclaimed to the Businessman in The Little Prince, “I will grow up, but I will never be a grown up like you!”
