Sometimes people ask me where my stories come from. I always smile, because the answer is actually very simple: they come from children.
From their unexpected questions, their unhurried way of looking at the world, their innate courage to imagine the impossible.
I recently visited a school in Tenerife. As I was walking down the corridor, a little girl took my hand without saying a word. She led me straight to her drawing table and showed me a piece of paper covered in colours.
-‘This is my dream,’ he told me.
And I, who have heard thousands of dreams, felt that this one was special. Because children do not explain dreams: they paint them.
Every day I spend with them confirms something that, as an author, always guides me: writing for children is not lowering the bar, it is raising the heart. They remind me that behind every story there is a seed that can grow into courage, tenderness or curiosity. And that a children's book, however small it may seem, can change the way a child feels seen.
Today, as I prepare my next titles, I think back to that little girl and her drawing. Perhaps one day her dream will become a character, or an adventure. Maybe it is already growing quietly inside me.
Whatever happens, I know I will continue writing as long as the children keep looking at me with those eyes that expect stories. They are my compass.