When I first imagined Mini-Moose arriving at the Woodstock Inn on that snowy Vermont night, I wasn’t thinking about writing a children’s book. I was thinking about loss, separation, and the extraordinary bonds we form with unlikely companions. Somewhere along the journey of writing these 25,400 words, I realized I’d created something that refuses to fit neatly into any single category and I’m genuinely proud of that.
The Heart Behind the Antlers
People often ask me why I chose a moose with antlers born in a blizzard. The honest answer? Because I wanted to write about impossibility transforming into miracle, and about the weight of impossible choices parents face.
When I wrote Earl’s decision to send Mini-Moose to California, I wasn’t writing a plot point. I was exploring something raw and real what happens when love and responsibility collide. Earl isn’t a villain for making that choice. He’s a man drowning, doing the only thing he knows to save his daughter’s future. Adults read that scene and feel it in their chests because they’ve stood where Earl stood, staring at impossible decisions.
Nina’s willingness to let go transformed the story for me. That’s maturity wrapped in a child’s acceptance. That’s love expressed through release rather than grasping. Young readers absorb this wisdom without needing it explained.
Why I Wove Multiple Themes Together
I deliberately layered themes throughout Moosedreams because that’s how real life works. We don’t experience one lesson at a time we navigate several simultaneously. Displacement bleeds into belonging. Grief intersects with hope. Adventure contains both danger and beauty.
Found family became essential to my narrative because I believe it’s one of the most powerful human experiences we rarely talk about enough. Mini-Moose’s journey from isolation to surrounded by genuine connection that matters. Vasebeh, Bleach, and Steve chose to protect him. Abby and Evie chose to include him. Skipper-Albert chose to help him. None of these relationships were obligatory, yet all became deeply meaningful.
I wanted readers both young and old to understand that family is constructed through shared experience, vulnerability, and consistent care. That’s the truth I embedded in every interaction.
Speaking Directly to Adults
I’ll be frank: I wrote Moosedreams with adult readers in mind as much as younger ones. Skipper-Albert’s character represents something I needed to explore quiet grief that doesn’t disappear but learns to coexist with joy. Three years after losing his wife, he’s functional but incomplete. He works. He helps. He lives. But something essential remains dormant until he meets Kelly.
Their relationship reflects something rarely shown authentically in fiction: connection based on genuine conversation and shared values rather than dramatic attraction. When Skipper and Kelly talk about art, Venice, children, and animals, they’re discovering kindred spirits. That scene matters because adults recognize its truthfulness.
Kelly Jounet carries her own burden tremendous success alongside profound loneliness. She’s built an empire but hasn’t built a life. The Carnivale ball represents her attempting to fill an internal void with external accomplishment. That’s a struggle I wanted to honor, not dismiss.
The Places Matter Deeply to Me
I spent considerable time researching Venice, Rome, and Florence because these cities deserve respect. When I describe the Trevi Fountain or the Spanish Steps or the Grand Canal, I’m writing about real places that genuinely change people who visit them. Travel transforms us it expands our capacity for wonder and connection.
The Jounet-Murano GlassWorks Factory, while inspired by real Murano glass traditions, represents something I wanted to emphasize: beauty created through generations of dedication. Those artisans pass skills from parent to child for centuries. That commitment to excellence resonates with me deeply.
I included these locations because I believe setting isn’t decoration. Setting shapes character. Venice a city built impossibly on water, filled with hidden canals and unexpected bridges becomes a metaphor for navigating life’s complexity.
What Friendship Taught Me While Writing
Creating Vasebeh, Bleach, and Steve forced me to examine what genuine friendship looks like. These three greyhounds demonstrate loyalty without expectation. They protect Mini-Moose not because they’re obligated but because they’ve chosen him. They celebrate his other connections rather than competing with them.
That kind of friendship secure enough to rejoice in a friend’s happiness reflects the relationships I most value in my own life. I wanted to model that for readers navigating their own friendships.
The Generosity Throughout the Story
As I wrote Moosedreams, I noticed generosity appearing consistently with the Italian chef feeding hungry animals without payment, Skipper-Albert offering shelter without strings, Kelly donating her resources and time. These moments aren’t moralistic lectures. They’re simply how I believe good people operate.
I didn’t want to preach about kindness. I wanted to show it lived out through small, meaningful actions. The power lies in the quiet demonstration rather than the announcement.
Why This Story Refuses to Be Categorized
Moosedreams sits uncomfortably in the “children’s book” category because it respects reader intelligence regardless of age. I didn’t simplify complex emotions or pretend that life offers perfect endings. Mini-Moose’s mother dies. That’s devastating and real. Earl makes a choice that breaks his heart. That’s true.
Simultaneously, the story contains adventure, humor, and wonder. Mini-Moose’s antlers get tangled in pasta. The greyhounds’ banter brings genuine laughter. Venice’s beauty inspires awe. Life contains both dimensions, and I refused to choose between them.
For parents seeking stories that work for the entire family where children experience genuine adventure and adults find authentic emotional truth Moosedreams delivers both. For adults who’ve stepped away from fiction, this novel reminds them why story matters. It illuminates something true about being alive.
My Hope for Readers
I hope Moosedreams finds people who need reminding that home isn’t always where you started. That family forms around shared values rather than shared blood. That love appears unexpectedly sometimes in the form of three Italian greyhounds or a lonely gondolier or art students with mismatched perspectives.
Most importantly, I hope readers discover what Mini-Moose eventually understands: that belonging emerges not from perfect circumstances but from showing up authentically for people who show up for you.
That’s the real story underneath the antlers and the adventure. That’s what makes Moosedreams more than just a children’s book.