This morning, as took a walk through the quiet fields near home, a plane passed overhead. A common enough sight here in Sussex, especially so close to Gatwick. The sky was clear, the hum of the engines smooth, and I found myself stopping for a moment, eyes fixed on the slow arc of metal moving steadily toward the horizon.
That one moment made me think about the passengers onboard.
There’s something fascinating about planes, giant tubes filled with people, each carrying a suitcase of thoughts, memories, expectations, and emotions. That one aircraft, likely on its final approach to Gatwick, was a skyborne capsule of stories. The same stories inside us that we all carry.
What were those stories?
Maybe someone was returning from a holiday in Spain, sun-kissed and tired, the tang of the sea still clinging to their clothes. Perhaps a child sat by the window, nose pressed against the glass, trying to spot landmarks below, returning from their first ever flight. Or maybe, just maybe, someone onboard was coming home after saying goodbye to someone they loved—knowing, deep down, it may have been the last time.
There might have been someone quietly celebrating the close of a successful business deal in Germany, laptop tucked beneath their seat, already planning what comes next. Or someone apprehensive, arriving for a new job, a new life, a new beginning, unsure if they made the right decision.
And this is the truth I’ve come to love most about people:
Everyone has a story.
Not all are told. Not all are written down or shared on podcasts or spoken aloud over dinner. But they exist, stitched into glances, packed into luggage, whispered into the sky at 38,000 feet.
Stories Are Carried, Not Just Written
You don’t need to be a writer to be full of stories. Every single person on that plane had one. Maybe more. Many of those stories will never be written. Some will be forgotten before they’ve even been told.
And yet, they are no less real.
We carry our stories within us. In the way we walk. In what we choose to say—and what we choose not to. In what makes us laugh and cry and wonder and fear. Our stories are formed through experience, emotion, and imagination. Sometimes they take shape in a diary. Other times they’re shared in the dark with someone we trust.
And occasionally, they make their way into books.
That’s how it happened for me.
Where Space Ranger Fred Came From
People often ask me where the idea for Space Ranger Fred came from. They expect me to say it arrived in a flash of inspiration. That I dreamt it, or workshopped it with a publisher, or that it was some strategic act of branding.
The truth is far simpler and far more honest:
Fred was already inside me.
The stories I write—the ones that feature exploding space muffins, jelly-powered rockets, shoelace disasters and intergalactic cupcake mix-ups—are born from fragments. Tiny bits of childhood, memory, daydreams, and questions I never grew out of.
- What if a kid could fly to space with his dog?
- What if problem-solving was fun, not frustrating?
- What if STEM was more about stories than exams?
Fred wasn’t a pitch. He was a passenger in my own story and he was waiting to be invited to the front.
The Unspoken Power of Imagination
We often think imagination is something children have and adults lose. But that’s not true. Imagination simply becomes quieter. It gets buried beneath responsibility, deadlines, mortgages, and the school run. But it never disappears.
Writing Space Ranger Fred helped me rediscover the power of imagination, not just for creating characters, but for understanding myself.
You see, Fred is a version of me. He’s the part of me that still wonders what might happen if you pushed the big red button. The part that believes you can solve any problem with the right mixture of curiosity and biscuits. The part that still dreams while awake.
Fred’s adventures might seem daft to some. But for me, they are packed with real themes:
- Resilience
- Problem-solving
- Curiosity
- Emotional intelligence
- Creative thinking
All disguised in a story where space muffins might blow up a moon base.
Because sometimes the best way to teach something meaningful is to make it unforgettable.
Why Children’s Stories Matter More Than Ever
In a world that often feels noisy, pressured, and polarised, stories for children provide an oasis. They give young minds a way to process the world. A safe place to explore big emotions, tricky questions, and bold dreams.
But stories are not just for escape. They are a way for children to see themselves—and others. That’s why I try to make every Space Ranger Fred story more than just a giggle-fest (though there are plenty of those). I want children to see what bravery looks like when you’re scared. What cleverness looks like when you’ve failed five times in a row. What teamwork looks like when you don’t know what to do next.
And if that means using custard as rocket fuel or getting stuck in a shoelace vortex…so be it.
Your Story Matters Too
Back to the plane.
As it drifted out of view, I wondered again about those people onboard. Most of them will never write their story. But I hope someone asks them about it. I hope someone listens.
Because stories don’t just need to be told. They need to be heard.
And if you’re reading this thinking, “I have a story, but it’s not interesting enough” you’re wrong.
The smallest stories can have the biggest impact. A moment of kindness. A lesson learned. A wish never pursued. These things can shape lives—yours and others.
From Field to Page
When I returned home from that walk, I jotted down a note: “Everyone’s flying with stories. Fred flew out of mine.”
It reminded me that the work I do—writing for children—is not about publishing books. It’s about releasing stories.
Stories that make kids laugh. Stories that plant questions. Stories that help parents and teachers start conversations. Stories that remind grown-ups what it feels like to be small but full of potential.
Every Space Ranger Fred book begins as a simple idea. A what-if. A flash of something buried inside me. And when I give it shape, it becomes something real. Something I get to share with classrooms, libraries, and bedrooms across the world.
That’s why I write. That’s why I listen for the quietest ideas. That’s why I keep watching planes.
Because you never know what story might land next.
Final Thoughts: Write, Listen, Share
If you’re a parent, teacher, carer, or just someone who loves children’s books, I encourage you to pay attention to the stories inside you. And the stories in the children around you. They’re not always polished. Not always fully formed. But they matter.
And if you’re a writer—or want to be—don’t wait for the perfect story. Start with the one that won’t leave you alone. The one that makes you smile, or ache, or wonder.
That’s how Fred started. That’s how most of us begin.
We’re all passengers in someone else’s sky. But we’re also pilots of our own. Let your stories take flight.
Until next time, Matt
About the Author
Matt Newnham is a UK-based children’s author, copywriter, and creative storyteller passionate about inspiring young minds through imaginative and meaningful stories. With a background in publishing, self-publishing, and marketing, Matt combines heart, humour, and purpose in every tale he tells. Discover more at mattnewnham.com or connect on LinkedIn and Instagram.
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