A love letter to the stories that haunt us (in the best way)

When people ask me why I write middle grade fiction, I sometimes want to say: because that’s where the ghosts live.

Not always the sheet-draped kind, though I have a soft spot for those too. I mean the quiet ghosts—the ones we carry into adulthood without realizing it. The ache of a friend who moved away without saying goodbye. The moment we realized our parents weren’t perfect. The first time we felt invisible.

Middle grade fiction doesn’t flinch at those feelings. It doesn’t wave them away with an eye roll or bury them in metaphor. Instead, it holds them up to the light—honestly, gently, sometimes with a flashlight under the chin. It lets kids feel the whole emotional landscape of being eleven or twelve: messy, magical, brave, and terrified all at once.

And here’s the thing: that emotional landscape isn’t just for kids.

Middle Grade Is a Mirror (For Adults, Too)

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve cried over a middle grade book—not because it was sad, but because it told the truth. It peeled back something I thought I’d neatly packed away and whispered, “You’re not the only one who felt that.”

Books like Bridge to Terabithia, Tuck Everlasting, The Thing About Jellyfish, and When You Reach Me don’t just tell stories. They excavate emotional truths that adulthood tries to pave over.

Fear of being left behind? Still there.

Wonder at something bigger than us? Still there.

Hope that the world might be more than what it seems? Absolutely still there.

Middle grade fiction is where we remember what it felt like to believe something wholeheartedly—even if no one else did.

Writing Middle Grade as an Adult Means Writing With Ghosts

When I write, I don’t write down to young readers. I write toward them—toward the version of myself who once built forts from driftwood and waited for her dad to come home. Toward the kids who are already carrying heavy things and don’t yet have words for them.

Writing middle grade lets me speak the words I didn’t know how to say at twelve. Sometimes, it even lets me heal things the older me didn’t realize were still tender.

Because middle grade characters don’t filter. They don’t intellectualize. They feel.
They know when something’s not fair.
They know when someone’s lying.
And they know that just because something’s imaginary doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

A Final Thought

So is it middle grade…or a grown-up’s ghost?

The answer is yes.

Middle grade stories remind us that our younger selves are still inside us—scraped-knee brave, scared-of-the-dark tender, and wide-eyed enough to believe that the world might still surprise us.

They aren’t just books for kids. They’re books for anyone who still has a ghost or two quietly following them around. Anyone who knows that the best stories don’t leave you—they stay, whispering truths we didn’t know we were ready to hear.

~ L.S.