You know silliness; you performed choreographed dance routines in your driveway.

You know fear; that creep followed you when you went for a run that wintery night.

You know joy; you spent most Saturday nights on your best friend’s living room floor watching Chris Farley on SNL and quoting Wayne’s World.

You know dread; you found that terrible note slipped in your locker.

You know courage; you ran up to that boy by the bleachers and asked him to prom.

You know embarrassment; you swallowed your pride as that same boy said he’d go with you if his first choice didn’t work out.

You know sadness; your young cousin died and you cried at how unfathomable it was, then you saw your father and your grandfather weeping and you felt like the world was crumbling.

You know love; each night, one of your parents sat on the edge of your bed and filled your mind with beautiful, delicious stories—from books or from their lives.

You know anticipation; you waited weeks for your first article to appear, you opened the newspaper and there it was!

As adult authors of children’s books, it’s easy to age-up a character’s response to something—to grant them maturity and foresight that they haven’t yet earned. One way to check that is through emotion. Kids feel things keenly, strongly, surely. Adults often learn ways to pare those feelings as they grow up. But creating a character who rings true to kids means not holding back.

So, what experiences in your own childhood can you mine for emotional gold? How can you imbue your characters with those same feelings? The list above is a sampling of mine, in all its humiliating, hilarious, sometimes scary, always humbling glory. Will those experiences actually appear in a book I write? Maybe, maybe not. But you can bet I’ll be thinking of them to tap into the visceral feelings I had during childhood and adolescence. That’s part of what makes a character come to life: a beating, vulnerable heart.

© 2018 Rachel Martin. All Rights Reserved.