Writing Bravery: Honoring the Quiet Strength in Every Child

As a children’s author, I find myself drawn to stories of quiet strength—the kind that doesn't shout or sparkle, but glows gently, like a candle held in cupped hands.

When we think of bravery, we often think of bold, sweeping acts. But I’ve come to believe that true courage often lives in the soft spaces—in children who show up as they are, even when the world feels big or uncertain.

The Quiet Kind of Brave

In the stories I write, my characters don’t wear armor or carry swords. They carry heart. They carry hope. They carry hurt and healing, sometimes side by side.

There’s a lost puppy—one readers have already met—who believes that love is out there, even when the world feels uncertain.

And in the stories still to come, you’ll meet a child who enters a new place with only a suitcase and a sad heart…A boy who dreams bigger than his body will allow…A quiet spirit who wonders where she fits in a world that feels too loud.

Each one is searching for the same thing: A place to feel safe. A hand to hold. A way to belong.

Their stories aren’t filled with battles or dragons. They’re stitched together with courage, kindness, and the quiet bravery that lives in soft hearts.

These aren’t stories of perfection. They’re stories of persistence.

Not All Brave Looks the Same

Sometimes, bravery looks like saying “yes” when you’re scared. Sometimes, it’s standing up for a friend. Sometimes, it’s simply continuing to love—despite disappointment, despite doubt, despite the long wait for something better.

These are the kinds of stories I believe children need—not just for entertainment, but for reassurance. To know that being different isn’t something to be fixed. That softness is not weakness. That bravery comes in many shapes and sizes—and sometimes the bravest thing of all is to keep believing in goodness, even after the world lets you down.

That’s what I want my stories to offer—small, sturdy lanterns for the children who walk through the world with big feelings and tender hearts. Not every child sees themselves as a superhero. But many will recognize the feeling of holding onto hope, even when it’s hard.

And if my characters—quiet, kind, and determined in their own special ways—can help a child feel a little less alone, then I know I’m writing the right kind of brave.

Final Thoughts

I write picture books to honor the quiet, everyday courage that children carry in their hearts. Not the kind that wins trophies, but the kind that mends hearts. Not the kind that makes headlines, but the kind that makes someone feel seen.

If you’ve ever loved a child who marches to their own rhythm—who worries they’re too much, or not enough—who stares out the window and dreams of something just out of reach—then you already know the kind of bravery I write about.

And if you find that child is you, I hope my stories remind you:

You are brave.

You are becoming.

And you are never, ever alone.

— Cindy