In this episode of NPR's Book of the Day, the podcast explores two new books that examine the craft of writing from different angles. Lucy Ives discusses her collection of writing prompts designed to develop creative skills and facilitate self-discovery, emphasizing how the physical act of writing engages the body and mind to unlock unexpected creative insights. Mac Barnett argues for recognizing children's literature as sophisticated art that deserves critical respect, challenging the common misconception that books for young readers are simpler or less valuable than adult literature.
The episode covers how writing involves holistic engagement beyond pure intention, the importance of creating space for unexpected discoveries in one's practice, and the need to expand the boundaries of children's literature. Barnett uses examples like "Goodnight Moon" to illustrate the complexity and artistry present in books for children, while also addressing the dismissive attitudes that authors in this genre often face.

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Lucy Ives's book of writing prompts stems from her own journey learning to write in her twenties and later teaching writing. Her collection offers a year's worth of exercises, including prompt number 60, "werewolf," which asks writers to compose from a non-human animal's perspective. Ives notes that while the prompts can help develop publishable work, they're also meant to be enjoyed as literature—as literary objects akin to poems or philosophical meditations that can serve as tools for introspection and self-discovery.
Ives observes that writing emerges from a dynamic interaction between the brain, body, arms, hands, and fingers. By being attentive to this act, she believes writers can tap into rare creative energy and find insights not accessible through everyday thinking. Regarding writing environments, Ives maintains that writers can thrive anywhere—from silence to bustling cafés—and encourages experimentation. She suggests that the best writing may even arise during moments of reluctance or time scarcity, when less commonly accessed faculties yield unexpected results.
Mac Barnett argues that children's books are often undervalued and dismissed as simple entertainment, when they're actually sophisticated art worthy of serious critical respect. He addresses how people frequently ask when he will write a "real book," implicitly suggesting adult books are more important. Barnett relates a story about Ursula Nordstrom—editor behind "Where the Wild Things Are" and "Goodnight Moon"—who rejected the notion that adult books are superior. He also describes the condescension children's authors face, with people assuming writing kids' books must be easy or that it requires less intellect than writing for adults.
Barnett emphasizes that children's books aren't limited to teaching morals or following traditional narratives. He points to Margaret Wise Brown's "Goodnight Moon" as a radical example of sophistication in children's literature, arguing that Brown is one of the great modernist poets. The book functions as an experimental illustrated poem filled with destabilizing choices: elements disappear and reappear, a page says "Goodnight Nobody" accompanied by a blank picture, and the rhythm intentionally soothes with sounds like "mush." Barnett explains that the book's power lies in acknowledging bedtime's complicated nature—both eerie and comforting, scary and manageable—proving that children can grasp such complexity.
Writing involves a holistic engagement of body, mind, and hands, enabling writers to uncover surprise and energy. The physical act of writing—the way hands grip the pen, the body's posture, the rhythm of breathing—shapes meaning in ways that transcend pure intention. Movement is central to creativity, as physical gestures channel thought into form, unlocking reservoirs of creativity inaccessible through thought alone. Sensory and physical awareness heightens the writing process, encouraging receptivity to ideas beyond conscious thought.
A fertile writing practice depends on willingness to encounter the unexpected. Deep attention is a catalyst for creativity and self-awareness, steering the process away from rote repetition toward conscious creation. The act of writing can summon joy and release similar to the relief that follows fear—when writers experience these moments of revelation, the work gains emotional resonance that transcends the individual act of writing.
Barnett references Sturgeon's Law—that "90% of everything is crud"—to explain how dismissals of children's books often unfairly target the entire category. He emphasizes that critics and readers should recognize that children's literature, like all genres, contains a wide range of quality, and dismissing it wholesale is unjust.
Barnett advocates for expanding the scope of children's literature, calling for more books, more kinds of books, and more voices. He spends time in school libraries guiding children to discover books by people from different backgrounds, places, and eras, highlighting how reading diverse perspectives cultivates empathy. He stresses that authors and educators must challenge dismissive attitudes toward children's literature, ensuring that what young readers encounter matches their natural sophistication.
1-Page Summary
Lucy Ives’s book of writing prompts emerges from her own journey in learning how to write. In her twenties, Ives developed prompts to teach herself writing. Later, as a writing teacher, she conducted experiments in her classes by offering brief exercises to her students. Over time, she saw the value in sharing these prompts more widely, culminating in this book, which offers a year’s worth of prompts. Among them is prompt number 60, “werewolf,” which asks writers to compose from the point of view of a non-human animal. This exercise reflects her emphasis on creative stories told from unusual perspectives.
Ives notes that, while the prompts can help writers develop work for publication, the book is also meant to be enjoyed simply as literature. She sees the prompts as literary objects, akin to poems or brief philosophical meditations. They can be read for inspiration or used as a means for introspection and discovery. According to Ives, writing can reveal aspects about the writer, offering a route to self-knowledge.
Ives observes that writing is not purely an act of making thoughts permanent; it emerges from a dynamic interaction between the brain, body, arms, hands, and fingers. Writing becomes a process of arriving at meaning through words. Ives believes that, by being attentive to the act of writing, a person can tap into rare and valuable creative ene ...
Creative Development and Self-Discovery Writing Prompts
Children’s books are often undervalued and dismissed as simple entertainment, but Mac Barnett and others argue that children’s literature is a sophisticated art form worthy of serious, critical respect.
Barnett addresses the widespread tendency to think of children's literature as insignificant compared to adult literature. He mentions that people frequently ask him when he will write a “real book,” implicitly asserting that adult books are inherently more important and prestigious. He relates a story about Ursula Nordstrom—the celebrated editor behind "Where the Wild Things Are," "Harriet the Spy," and "Goodnight Moon"—who, when congratulated for being offered a chance to edit adult books, dismissed the offer by contrasting the "dead, dull, finished adults" with the vibrancy of creating for children. For Barnett and Nordstrom, the suggestion that children's books are a lesser field is both misguided and disrespectful.
Barnett describes the condescension that children’s authors face: people joke that writing kids’ books must be easy or that the job is "cute," and often treat the authors themselves as big kids. He explains that people frequently assume that anyone can write a kid's book or that crafting literature for children requires less intellect or effort than writing for adults.
Barnett emphasizes that children's books are not limited to teaching morals or lessons, nor do they need to follow traditional narrative conventions. He insists that picture books don’t even have to contain a story—sometimes they simply evoke an idea, a feeling, or a fleeting moment. Part of the artistry in children’s literature is about “opening the aperture” for what the form can do, allowing for poetry, observation, ambiguity, and innovation beyond didactic aims.
Barnett references editor Ursula Nordstrom’s philosophy of “taking kids as they are,” meaning books should acknowledge the real, nuanced lives and moral complexities of children, not just serve to mold them into future adults. Books for children can capture sophisticated emotions and experiences, embracing the strange, the ambiguous, and the paradoxical in ways that resonate with young readers’ complex inner lives.
Barnett points to Margaret Wise Brown and her book "Goodnight Moon" as a radical example of the sophistication possible in children’s literature. He argues that Brown is one of the great modernist poets, with "Goodnight Moon" functioning as an experimental illustrated poem rather than a conventional bedtime story. The book is filled with destabilizing artistic choices: a balloon hovers in an odd place, elements like laundry disappear and reappear, and characters—like the old lady who is actually a bunny—move in and out of the room.
The narrative and illustrations both play with uncertainty and surprise. At one point, the page says “Goodnight Nobody,” accompanied by a blank picture—an encounter with absence, void, and the sublime. This is followed by “Goodnight Mu ...
Children's Literature as Sophisticated Art Deserving Critical Respect
Writing is not merely a cerebral activity; it involves a holistic engagement of body, mind, and hands. This interconnected process enables writers to uncover surprise and energy, making the act of writing a profound means of discovering meaning.
The physical act of writing begins as an embodied practice, where the brain, arms, and fingers work in concert. Each movement—the way the hands grip the pen or strike the keys, the posture of the body, the rhythm of breathing—shapes the creation of meaning in ways that transcend pure intention. The act of writing is marked by a flow that can reflect tensions, excitement, or calm within the body, often translating sensory experiences directly onto the page.
Movement is central to creativity in writing. Whether through the sweeping motion of a pen across paper or the taps at a keyboard, physical gestures channel thought into tangible form. The dynamic between motion and mental focus unlocks reservoirs of creativity inaccessible through thought alone. Writing while walking, standing, or gesturing can also stimulate new ideas, as the body’s rhythms attune the mind to unexpected associations and nuances.
Sensory and physical awareness heightens the writing process, encouraging receptivity to ideas that exist just beyond conscious thought. Focusing on the texture of paper, the sensation of fingers moving, or the sound of words being read aloud activates creative paths distinct from purely mental exercises. This approach accesses a layer of the subconscious, allowing surprise and unplanned insights to emerge, often invigorating the writing with authenticity and vigor.
A fertile writing practice depends on a willingness to encounter the unexpected. Approaching language and form with curiosity rather than strict control invites discovery, sustaining both the writing and the writer’s motivation. The interplay between expectation and emergence ensures that each session at the desk or notebook remains charged with possibility.
Deep attention is a catalyst for creativity and self-awareness. When writers attune themselves closely to words, sensations, and rhythms, they align with the potential for language to surprise an ...
The Philosophy of Writing As an Engaged Process of Body, Mind, and Hands to Uncover Surprise and Energy
Children's literature often faces dismissive attitudes that undervalue its complexity and richness. Mac Barnett and Elissa Nadworny discuss the importance of challenging these attitudes and advocating for broader, more inclusive children's books that reflect the diversity and sophistication of young readers.
Barnett references Sturgeon’s Law—the idea that “90% of everything is crud”—to explain how dismissals of children’s books often unfairly target the entire category, rather than individual works. He regrets having written that a high percentage (around 94.7%) of kids’ books are "crud," recognizing that this characterization can be hurtful to people who create children’s literature. Barnett clarifies that the critique is not about children’s books specifically, but about how all genres have both exceptional and lesser works. He emphasizes that critics and readers should recognize that children’s literature, like all other genres, contains a wide range of quality and creativity, and dismissing it wholesale is unjust.
Barnett passionately advocates for expanding the scope of children’s literature rather than narrowing it. He calls for more books, more kinds of books, and more voices—arguing that true literary vitality comes from diversity in authors, subjects, and approaches. Barnett spends significant time in school libraries, guiding children to discover books written by people from different backgrounds, places, and eras. He tells children to look at these books from people who care about different things, highlighting how reading stories from a variety of perspectives can cultivate empathy and broaden their ...
Challenge Dismissive Attitudes and Expand Literary Boundaries For Children's Books
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