If you have ever walked along a hedgerow in late summer, you will know the sight. Branches heavy with wild blackberries, some blushing red with promise, others deep and dark with ripeness. The air carries a faint tang of sweetness and earth, and the leaves are dotted with the holes and imperfections of a summer well-lived. These are not the pristine, polished berries you find in a supermarket. They are stubborn and spiky, demanding a little work from anyone who dares to pick them. But if you have the patience, and you don’t mind the odd thorn in your thumb, you can take these little gems home and turn them into something amazing.
Jam.
Jam that is sweet and tangy, jam that tastes like summer captured in a jar. Jam that you spread on toast in the middle of winter and, for a moment, remember warm days and grassy paths.
This, for me, is where storytelling begins.
Wild fruit is like wild ideas. It grows unexpectedly, sometimes in the oddest of places. You can’t always plan for it, and you certainly can’t always control it. A chance walk might bring you to a perfect cluster of berries, just as a chance conversation or a half-remembered dream might bring you to the spark of a story. You can’t rush the fruit. It ripens in its own time. And you can’t rush the idea. It needs time to grow and ripen in your mind.
Finding the fruit
The first step in making jam is finding the fruit. When I was out walking recently, I spotted a bramble bush heavy with berries. Some were still green, others turning pink, but a few were the deep, shining black that means they are ready to be picked. I couldn’t help but smile. These were going to be delicious.
As a children’s writer, I feel the same when I stumble across an idea. It might be a small thing – a funny image, a snippet of overheard conversation, or even a word that rolls around my head until it finds somewhere to settle. These are the green berries. They aren’t ready to use yet, but I know they will ripen if I keep them in my mind.
Sometimes, the idea is already black and shiny. It’s ready to be picked and turned into a story. Like the day I imagined Space Ranger Fred – a 6 and 3/4 year-old boy with a knack for getting into ridiculous adventures – loading up a truck full of umbrellas. Why? Because it was raining on the day of Princess Glamtoola’s most important birthday, and he wasn’t going to let the celebrations be ruined.
That was a perfect, ripe berry of an idea.
Gathering enough
Of course, you can’t make jam from just one berry. You need a whole basketful. The same goes for stories. One idea is never enough. You need lots of them, and you need them to work together.
When I started writing Space Ranger Fred and the Umbrella Rescue, the umbrella truck was my starting point. But that wasn’t a story. It was just a scene, a flash of something amusing. I needed to ask questions.
Why was it raining so heavily?
Why was Princess Glamtoola’s birthday so important?
Why did Fred need so many umbrellas?
Where did he get them all from?
Each question led to another idea. The weather, it turned out, was caused by a grumpy cloud who had been invited to the party but didn’t receive his invitation on time. Princess Glamtoola’s birthday was not just any birthday – it was her eighth, which in her kingdom was a very special celebration involving cake as tall as a giraffe and fireworks shaped like dragons. Fred didn’t just have a few umbrellas. He had hundreds, in every size and colour, because he had struck a deal with a travelling umbrella salesman whose wagon wheel had broken on the way to the next town.
These were my berries. Each one added flavour to the jam.
The thorns
If you have ever picked wild blackberries, you will know the thorns are part of the deal. They snag your clothes, scratch your skin, and sometimes make you wonder if it’s worth the trouble. But you keep going, because you know the reward is worth it.
In writing, the thorns are the challenges that come with shaping ideas into something that works. Sometimes two ideas don’t go together, no matter how much you want them to. Sometimes a character refuses to behave. Sometimes you realise you’ve spent a week writing something that doesn’t fit the story at all.
With The Umbrella Rescue, I had a moment when I wondered if the grumpy cloud was too silly. Would readers like him, or would he just feel out of place? I spent days trying to rewrite him as something else – a mischievous wind, perhaps, or a magic spell gone wrong. But nothing worked as well as the cloud. The thorn was sharp, but I decided to keep him, trusting that the humour and heart would shine through.
Cooking it up
Once you have your fruit, you can’t just throw it in a jar and call it jam. You need to cook it. You need sugar, heat, and time. You need to stir it so it doesn’t stick, and you need to know when it’s ready.
Stories are the same. The cooking process is where you take your raw ideas and work them into something with shape and structure. You mix in characters, settings, and dialogue like sugar, thickening the story and bringing out its flavour. You stir through plot twists, humour, and heart until everything blends together.
Sometimes, just like jam, the story needs more sugar. Sometimes it needs to be on the heat for longer. And sometimes you realise you’ve overcooked it and need to start again.
When I was writing The Umbrella Rescue, I found that the more ridiculous the ideas became, the better they tasted together. Fred building a rainbow arch of umbrellas over the palace gates. The grumpy cloud wearing a party hat. Princess Glamtoola cutting her cake with an umbrella because the palace knives had all been turned into spoons by a magical mishap. Each crazy ingredient made the jam richer.
Preserving it for later
Jam isn’t just made to be eaten right away. You seal it in jars so you can enjoy it long after the summer is gone. A good story is the same. You write it down so it can be enjoyed over and over again, by readers who might discover it years after you first imagined it.
There’s something magical about knowing that a story you wrote today could make someone laugh next year, or even ten years from now. Just like opening a jar of blackberry jam in the middle of winter, a reader can open your book and taste the warmth and joy you put into it.
Wild fruit and wild ideas
The best thing about wild fruit is that it’s free for anyone willing to look for it. You don’t need a special orchard or a supermarket voucher. All you need is a keen eye, a little patience, and a willingness to get scratched along the way.
Ideas are the same. You don’t need a fancy writing desk or an expensive retreat to find them. You just need to be open to the world around you. The oddest thing might spark a story – a cat sleeping on a postbox, a forgotten umbrella on a park bench, a puddle shaped like a heart.
Some people walk past the berries without seeing them. Others see them but don’t bother to stop. Writers are the ones who stop, pick the berries, and start thinking about all the ways they could turn them into something delicious.
Letting your imagination run wild
One of the joys of writing for children is that your imagination can be as wild as the brambles. You can mix together ideas that, in the adult world, would never belong in the same jar. Space Rangers and princesses, umbrella trucks and grumpy clouds, birthday cakes and fireworks shaped like dragons.
Children don’t ask why there’s a talking dog or how a spaceship can fit inside a wardrobe. They just go with it. They taste the jam and enjoy the flavour.
When I think back to writing The Umbrella Rescue, I remember how the story kept surprising me. I would start writing one scene and find it leading somewhere completely unexpected. A palace guard slipping on a banana peel might suddenly discover a secret passage. A giant jelly might bounce into the courtyard and save the day in a way no one could have planned. These weren’t carefully planted seeds. They were wild berries I spotted along the way, too good to leave behind.
The joy of sharing
Making jam is even better when you share it. Giving a jar to a friend or neighbour feels like passing on a little bit of summer. Stories are the same. The joy isn’t just in writing them, it’s in seeing someone else enjoy them.
I’ll never forget the first time a child told me their favourite part of The Umbrella Rescue was when Fred accidentally opened all the umbrellas at once and created a giant, floating rainbow that carried Princess Glamtoola across the garden. They laughed as they told me, their eyes bright with the image in their head. That was my jam, right there, being tasted and loved.
Keeping the pantry stocked
The more jam you make, the more you want to make. Once you’ve had a taste of turning wild fruit into something magical, you start looking for more. The same is true for stories. Once you’ve turned one wild idea into a book, you can’t stop. You keep your eyes open, your notebook handy, and your mind ready to pick berries whenever they appear.
Sometimes, the fruit for the next jar is already growing while you’re cooking the last batch. That’s how it was with the second book in the Space Ranger Fred series. A ton of crazy ideas came together – a galaxy-wide bake-off, a cake with zero gravity icing, a villain with a fear of sprinkles. I could see the berries everywhere, and I knew I had to gather them before they were gone.
The secret ingredient
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from both jam-making and writing, it’s this. The real secret ingredient is love. Love for the process, love for the fruit or the idea, and love for the people you’re making it for. Without that, the jam will never taste quite right, and the story will never truly sing.
When I write for children, I’m not just telling a story. I’m inviting them into a world where anything can happen. Where a truckload of umbrellas can save the day. Where clouds can wear party hats. Where friendship, courage, and a little bit of silliness can solve even the biggest problems.
That, for me, is the best jam of all.
