The blank page is a grown-up problem. A six-year-old has ideas to spare; what they don’t have is a reason to tell you any of them when you ask, “so what do you want the story to be about?”
That question is too big. These twelve are small, which is why they work. They go from easy to committed: the first ones get answered without thinking, the last ones hand you the heart of the story.
To warm up
- If you could have an animal that talked, which one would it be, and what would it say when it woke up?
- What do you think your toys do when we’re not here?
- If you found a door in a tree, what would be on the other side?
- What food would be the best in the world, if it existed?
To find the problem of the story
- What is something that scares you a little but you also kind of want to do?
- What’s the hardest part about being the age you are?
- If you could fix one thing that happened this week, what would it be?
- What do you do when something doesn’t work the first time?
For the characters
- Who would you take with you if the journey were very long?
- If a friend of yours were an animal, which animal, and why?
- What would someone be like if the opposite of your life happened to them?
- Who would you want waiting for you at the end of the road?
What to do with the answers
Write them down exactly. With the made-up words, the odd grammar, the name they gave the neighbour’s dog. That is what later makes them recognise the story as theirs. Translate it into grown-up language and you lose the only part that mattered.
Look at questions 5, 6 and 7. The story is usually in there. “I’m scared when the light goes off but I like seeing the stars” is already a story: someone who goes out at night.
One idea, one story. If eight came out, save seven. Putting everything into one story is the fastest way to make none of it work.
Don’t correct as you go. If they say the dragon eats clouds, the dragon eats clouds. A children’s story isn’t believable because of its facts; it’s believable because of its feelings: the fear has to be real fear.
One caution about the difficult answers
Sometimes question 6 or 7 opens something that hurts: a new school, a grandmother who isn’t here any more, a new baby who took all the attention.
If that happens, there’s a good story in it — but it’s written carefully: the character can live the same thing without the story explaining it or fixing it all at once. Stories don’t solve things; they keep you company while things get solved. And if your child would rather not talk about it, you change the question and move on.
Next step
Two or three answers are enough to build the outline. Here’s the eight-scene template, which is all you need to get from loose ideas to something you can read aloud.