Writing tips/ Children’s literature

They Say a Good Kids’ Book Should Appeal to Adults

Does this writing adage hold water — and will it work for me?

Book cover supplied by the author Jim Parsons

If you found my article in a Google search, please read it for free here.

Now, you may already be saying: Kids’ books are for kids. Why bother about adult appeal?

One of the best, if more cynical, reasons I have seen for giving children’s books some adult appeal is that adults are the ones who usually choose and buy the damned things. Grab Mum’s attention and you’ve got a sale.

In earlier days, it was parents who read many of the more difficult stories to their kids. I read Jane Eyre in instalments to my 10-year-old twins and they were enthralled… and, no, I am not calling that a children’s book!

My own attempt at children’s fiction

When I first turned my hand to writing a kids’ book, readability was not foremost in my mind. I wrote what appealed to me personally … I had a good time writing Blake the Bored, particularly as it was initially aimed at my own grandchildren and various nieces and nephews who are featured as characters.

I wrote for me… but the book was supposed to be read by 8–12 year-olds. I checked and found this is considered a Middle Grade book.

Belatedly, I avidly read all the writing advice available about moving into this specialized children’s literature genre. The consistent tip was ‘Don’t be condescending — write as if they are adults.’

Phew! Maybe mine would be OK!

Did you ever re-read your favorite children’s books as an adult? Were you amazed at the nuances and power in the writing that would have gone over your head as a youngster?

It becomes clear that some of the best, most enduring, books for children were far from condescending!

I did not realize I could have checked the reading age level of my work using the Flesch Reading Ease test built into Word’s proofing capability. But how important was it to stay within these bounds, anyway?

I distinctly recall, as a kid, being challenged by some words in books and even learning vocabulary and meaning from context. I believe good writers can stretch a child’s understanding of language and the world by stepping a little outside their comfort zone.

But that isn’t my problem.

Does the humor work?

My specific conundrum was not the readability of the words but whether the humor, wit and satire in the novel would go over the heads of kids this age… and, once again, did it matter, if they otherwise enjoyed this fantasy adventure.

So, the two questions I repeatedly ask myself are: Do kids get it? And can adults enjoy it?

How did my grandkids and nieces and nephews like it, you may ask. Shouldn’t that have answered my question?

Well, I must shamefacedly admit that, by the time I published the book, one of the central characters, my nephew Tristan, was 21… I presented it to him at his birthday party! All the characters were over 18… and I can’t even be sure they even read it!

Clearly, when it comes to finishing, editing and publishing, I am a procrastinator.

So, could the humor I employ get a laugh from the age group.

The complementary question is whether I can write for that age group and still give adults a laugh… as apparently that signifies a good saleable children’s book.

My humble request for assistance

So, I am going to prevail upon the goodness of Medium members, some of whom follow my posts — and anyone else who cares to comment — to examine the following excerpts and tell me (overall) if–

(a) they personally find them funny and

(b) if they believe their children or grandchildren would ‘get’ the humor and enjoy it.

Your comments would be greatly appreciated.

The story behind Blake the Bored

Blake, who professes to be perpetually bored, is a 12-yr-old Brisbane kid who is required to cool his heels in a major shopping center each day after school until his mother finishes work. (No, that’s not the joke)

His mother works in the Ladies Underwear section of a major department chain and Blake finds it highly embarrassing to visit her there on arrival.

EXCERPT 1

And here he was again: Thursday 6 April, 3:40 p.m., underwear counter — his destiny.

Mrs Selznick, his mother’s supervisor, stepped in front of him. “Your mother, she is busy with a customer, Sugarplum.” She spoke with a heavy accent that made her sound like a vampire. Sugarplum? Aaagh! He hated being called Sugarplum. Even wimp was better than Sugarplum.

Today his mother was leaning forward, talking earnestly to a short, broad lady who sounded worried.

Mrs Selznick went bustling over to them. “My dear, you can trust Mrs Abbott’s judgement. If she says you need a 44 Double D fitting in the Frills n’ Spills Magnum model, you can be sure you do. Mrs Abbott knows her bras.”

At school, when Tiny Angelino told everyone that his mother drove a fire truck, and Michelle Asher said her mother had amputated a bikie’s leg that morning, he didn’t rush in to say, “Aah, yes, but my mum knows her bras.”

As he stands in a lift to leave the building, Blake is engaged in conversation by a strange fellow who has been stalking him around the shopping centre. He has a bald head with a bowler hat and wears a monocle. but is dressed as a knight with a white surcoat and cross… but, instead of being over armour, it is over a black wetsuit. Blake realises his mother doesn’t seem to notice the man.

EXCERPT 2

Blake looked the comical figure up and down. Nope, he hadn’t imagined him. “Can’t the other people in the lift see you?”

“Let me tell you a great truth, dear boy. If you act weird, people get embarrassed and pretend you’re not there. Pretty soon you’re not.”

“But I can see you and hear you!”

“That’s because you’re bored, you see? I was sent out to find the most bored person on earth, and, congratulations, you win.”

“There’s a prize for being bored? Who are you?”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, Blakus Horribilus. I forgot to introduce myself. Sir Hubert Tussleberry, Knight of the Royal Household of King Putrid IV in the Kingdom of Tortellini.”

“Tortellini? But isn’t tortellini a kind of — ”

“Pasta, yes” Sir Hubert looked embarrassed. “Um… the king’s favourite dish. The kingdom was originally called Amathia, but, on a whim, he changed it to Tortellini just last week.”

“That’s crazy!”

Sir Hubert clapped his hand over Blake’s mouth. “Never say that!” he whispered hoarsely. “Not crazy. The king is not crazy. Taller men than you have died for saying it. The king is …er … creative, original.”

“But Tortellini?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad.” Sir Hubert gave a long sigh. “Better than last month — Calamari, or before that, the one that caused the peasant’s revolt — Chipsandgravia. Anyway, you’ll soon find out.”

“I will?”

“Behold!”

The lift doors slid open. Blake gulped. Instead of the car park lobby and cluster of garbage bins he had expected, he was staring at the brightest green grass. Endless rolling rolling fields of it.

So, the shopping centre lift was my portal into the Aussie fantasy world of Tortellini which has a mad king, an even madder prince, a Crocodile Dundee-style wizard, fairies, nasty demon villains called the Garunchi, kangaroos, crocodiles… and a dragon.

EXCERPT 3

In the distance, perched on the top of a hill was a castle in the shape of a large steam engine dragging two carriages up the slope — all made from blocks of stone like a giant Lego model.

He glanced at his mother. Her eyes had that fixed ‘don’t bother me now’ look, as if she was watching Oprah. It was clear that no one else could see this amazing sight. He stepped outside and blinked. Sir Hubert Tussleberry was now standing next to a bony brown cow which had a bridle on its nose and a saddle on its back. Behind him, straining back against a lead rope was a black and white cow with a twisted horn and an enormous udder.

Blake stared at the stone steam engine. “Surely that isn’t the royal castle?”

“Afraid so. King Putrid has a thing about trains.”

Sir Hubert looped his foot in the stirrup and swung himself clumsily into the saddle.

Blake snorted. “Knights don’t ride cows!”

“King says he can’t afford horses. Same with armour and chain mail. You see what he’s got us wearing? A job lot from a scuba dive shop that was going out of business.” His cow stepped sideways and almost trod on Blake’s foot. “Steady, Lightning, steady,” Sir Hubert murmured.

“Lightning? You’ve got to be kidding!”

Sir Hubert stared down his nose. “A man can dream, can’t he? This is a poor kingdom.”

“I didn’t mean any offence,” Blake said. “I’m sorry, Sir Hubert.”

“Very well,” the knight said with a loud sniff, “apology accepted. Now get on your cow and let’s be off. You have an audience with the king and he won’t tolerate lateness.”

Tussleberry remains an ambiguous character throughout the book… is he good or bad? Blake gets his first taste of that when he encounters the feisty warrior-princess Olivia… who trains in weaponry, wears a false moustache and calls herself Prince Olivia, because only the male line can become king and she does not intend that her stupid brother, Prince Purpleburp, should get the job. Blake is extremely wary of Princess Olivia as she declared she loves him and tried to kiss him — a fate worse than death to 12- year-old Blake.

EXCERPT 4

“Crown Prince Olivia, why all this physical training? You seem obsessed with fitness and weapons.”

“Gotta bulk up, build muscle. I want to wield a bigger sword. It’s my destiny to be great. You will see my name in lights one day; they’ll make movies about me. Olivia the Dragon-Slayer.”

Blake knew he risked an arrow through the neck, but he couldn’t help himself — he sniggered. Then he laughed outright.

“Sorry, you’re too late with that old gag. I know more about Tortellini than you think. There are no dragons.”

“Well, true. Not dragons — there’s just one dragon. His name is Drool. He’s had this kingdom in his clutches for years. He’s old. He’s blind in one eye, he’s missing one long incisor tooth on the left and some of his scales are loose. He’s battle-scarred, and his arthritis makes him cranky and mean as hell.”

“But Sir Hubert told me — ”

“You’re not a fast learner, are you? Tussleberry is dead scared of Old Drool. He turned down the job of dragon-slayer, because he’s a born-again coward.”

Sir Hubert jumped down from his cow and scurried over. “Oh, I say, that’s a bit harsh. Don’t listen to her, dear fellow.”

Olivia leaned against a tree and folded her arms. “Tussleberry the Terrified won’t deal with the problem, so every year at this time a human has to be sacrificed to appease that horrible scaly brute. I have to stop it.”

Blake put his hand over his mouth. “Of course, of course, what a situation! I know the old myths. Every year a beautiful young maiden must be sacrificed. Oh no! It’s not you this year, surely?”

“No, not me… but thanks for the compliment. Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

This was dangerous territory. Blake thought he’d rather face the Pterodactyls again.

“Yes, beautiful…. maidens…er, I’ve often wondered. Just how do they sacrifice ‘em? They’re thrown into a volcano or something, aren’t they?”

“Not here. Much too quick. Victims are chained to a stake and Drool swoops down and tears them to pieces…some pieces he roasts first.”

Blake winced. He once burned his finger lighting a birthday candle; that was bad enough. How could some helpless girl bear such hideous pain?

“That’s terrible!” Blake said. “How do your poor families stand it? Every year, mothers must worry that this time it will be their daughter.”

“Well, got to get going,” Sir Hubert called. He had climbed hastily back on his cow.

Blake ignored him. This was fascinating — a real-life drama being played out before his very eyes. “It must be hard on the kingdom to lose good people.”

“Hurry, hurry! No time to chat,” Sir Hubert called anxiously.

The Princess ignored him. “Well, it used to be like that,” she said. “But, when my father came to the throne, he had a brilliant idea. We stopped sacrificing maidens. We found that Drool isn’t at all fussy, so long as someone gets roasted and he gets to snack on the bits. Daddy made a new decree and sticks to it like glue.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Blake said. “What do you do now?”

“Daddy calls it ‘sending out for take-away’. We get a foreigner. It’s not so upsetting for our families.”

“A foreigner!”

“Yes, every year Daddy sends old Tussleberry out to find someone. I spy on them first. I hate it but I do what Daddy tells me. That’s why I want to kill the dragon … then I wouldn’t have to be mixed up in this dirty business.”

Blake turned slowly and looked at Sir Hubert. With his spotted handkerchief tied round his head, he looked rather like a pirate. A fat, pompous pirate with a monocle.

“Don’t listen to her, dear boy. She’s lying, trying to destroy our wonderful friendship. She’s jealous. You’re here to do an important job, remember.”

Thank you to anyone who commented!

The excerpts above are representative of the book’s style and ironic tone (although there does get to be real adventures mixed with the nonsense), so I feel there is more than enough there for anyone who is willing to offer an assessment.

Under other circumstances, sales and reviews should tell me exactly what I want to know, but this self-published book has been buried under the millions of Amazon publications for some years, has not been promoted and, hence, has had no sales. I greatly regret my impatience with the process of pitching to traditional publishers — I now feel I should have at least tried.

I would prefer to believe that the book’s failure to sell is not due to the quality of the writing.