Somewhere between childhood’s wide-eyed wonder and the gritty push of adolescence, there’s a space that’s often overlooked. It’s quiet. Shifting. Tender. The world hasn’t fully asked you to grow up yet, but you know it’s coming. You start to see beneath the surface of things—friendships, family, even yourself—and you’re not sure what to do with what you find.
That’s where I write.
That’s who I write for.
I write for the eleven-year-olds standing in the doorway of growing up. For the ones who feel things deeply but don’t always have the words. For the ones who still believe in magic but have started to ask hard questions. Middle grade fiction is where those readers live—and I’ve always been drawn to that space.
When I was a kid, I didn’t have a phone or a streaming account or a carefully curated online identity. But I had books. And in them, I found a kind of quiet companionship. Not just escape, but recognition. A feeling that somewhere, someone else had felt what I was feeling—even if I didn’t know how to name it yet.
Stories like Bridge to Terabithia, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Tuck Everlasting, and Charlotte’s Web met me where I was. They didn’t shy away from grief, loneliness, or wonder. They didn’t talk down or try too hard to be cool. They just offered a place to breathe and feel.
That’s what I try to do now.
Why the Middle Grade Years Matter
There’s something sacred about the middle years. Readers at this age still read with their whole hearts. They aren’t jaded. They’re not reading to impress anyone or dissect theme—they’re reading because the story means something. And that’s an honor I don’t take lightly.
This is also the age where kids start to feel the cracks in things. Parents aren’t perfect. The world isn’t fair. People leave. Change happens. Middle grade fiction has the rare opportunity to explore big emotions in a way that’s safe, hopeful, and honest.
A Scene I Keep Coming Back To
In my own book, there’s a moment when Willow, the protagonist, realizes that no one is coming to save her—not in the traditional sense. She’s cold, she’s scared, and she’s clinging to something small and fragile: a story, a memory, a sliver of hope. That moment could never have happened in a book for very young readers. And it might not hit quite the same for older teens. But for a middle grade reader—it lands. Because they know that moment. That exact emotional weight.
What I Hope My Stories Do
I hope my stories remind young readers that they’re not alone. That their feelings are valid. That silence has texture, and bravery isn’t always loud. I hope they read something in my pages and feel seen—or at the very least, feel held.
I hope a reader out there finishes one of my books, looks up, and thinks, “I didn’t know someone else felt that way too.”
Because that’s what the best middle grade stories always did for me.
Your Turn
Do you remember a book that held your hand during the middle years? I’d love to hear about it. Send me a message.
And if you’re raising or teaching kids in that tender space between childhood and adolescence—thank you. Keep reading to them. Keep handing them stories that whisper, You belong here.
~LS