Writing a Children's Book from Inktober Prompts
October is magic for artists, but what happens when a writer hijacks the challenge?
Every October, artists around the world participate in Inktober, creating one ink drawing per day based on a daily prompt. But this year, I decided to do something different. What if I wrote instead of drew? What if those single-word prompts became the skeleton of an entire children's book?
Spoiler alert: it worked. Sort of. Mostly. In the messiest, most chaotic way possible.
Oh, and I used a fountain pen so it kinda counts as ink, right?
The Rules (Or Lack Thereof)
I set myself one simple rule: 300 words per day, one chapter per prompt. No planning ahead. No outline. No character sheets or world-building documents prepared in advance. Just me, the daily prompt, and whatever my fingers could conjure before midnight struck.
This was the complete opposite of how writers usually write. Normally, many of us are plannera. We map out character arcs, plot beats, thematic threads. We know the ending before we write the beginning. But for this experiment? I threw all of that out the window.
The first day's prompt was "Pumpkin," and I started with a mouse living in a village which had a story about a huge pumpkin. Day two brought "Tree Stump," and suddenly my protagonist was wandering in forest when an own attacked and the mouse was saved by a vole living in a three stump. By day three, I had some idea where this story might be going, but most of it was emerging from the fog. I was discovery writing in its purest form, and you know what? It felt amazing!
The Beautiful Chaos of Daily Writing
Some days, the connection between prompts felt effortless. "Button" somehow came out as a map. "Web" was just perfect for a spider trying to eat the protagonist. Other days? The prompts felt impossible. How do you connect "Forest" to a whimsical fantasy journey that is already happening in a forest? How does "Horror" fit into a story for small children?
But that's where the magic happened.
Those impossible connections forced me to be creative in ways I never expected. Instead of seeing the prompts as constraints, they became springboards. They pushed the story into directions I never would have chosen consciously, and some of those directions turned out to be the most memorable parts of the book.
I squeezed writing sessions into my work breaks, typing furiously during lunch hours and stolen fifteen-minute gaps. Some chapters flowed like water. Others felt like pulling teeth. But every single day, I showed up. Every single day, I added 300 words to this growing, sprawling, beautiful mess of a story.
The routine became almost meditative. Clock out for break, open the document, check the day's prompt, write. No time for overthinking or second-guessing. The time constraint actually helped. When you only have twenty minutes to write 300 words, you can't afford to be precious about it. You just write.
The Turning Point: When October Ended
On November 1st, I had something I never expected: a complete draft. Thirty-one chapters. Over 10,000 words. A beginning, middle, and (somewhat miraculously) an ending that actually tied back to the start.
But here's the thing about discovery writing: what you create isn't always what you need.
Reading back through those 31 chapters, I could see the story I was trying to tell, but it was buried under repetition, meandering scenes, and chapters that existed solely because they matched a prompt, not because they served the narrative. Some chapters were magical. Others were... well, they were there.
The Real Work Begins
That's when the real writing started.
I opened up Wryterio, a text editor that let me see all my chapters at once and easily rearrange them. I started mapping the story I had accidentally written. Which scenes were essential? Which characters actually mattered? What was this book really about, underneath all those prompt-driven chapters?
Wryterio being mobile and desktop friendly made it easier to see the flow (or lack thereof) between chapters. I could read on the go, experiment with different arrangements, and see how the story's rhythm changed with each reorganization. It was like having all the puzzle pieces spread out in front of me, finally able to see which ones fit together.
The editing process took longer than than I initial thought. Much longer. I consolidated scenes, merged chapters, cut entire descriptive scenes that were repetitive. Thirty-one chapters became fifteen. Those 10,000 words were restructured, expanded in some places, trimmed in others, until they became something fuller, richer, more cohesive.
I rewrote the beginning now that I knew the ending. I planted seeds in early chapters that would bloom later. I gave my protagonist a clearer emotional arc. I turned chaos into craft.
What I Learned
This experiment taught me something valuable: there's power in letting go of control.
As a fantasy author working on my first novel, I often get trapped in planning mode. I world-build until I'm exhausted before writing a single page. But this Inktober project reminded me that sometimes you need to discover the story by writing it, not by thinking about it.
The daily word count target was crucial. Three hundred words is small enough to be achievable even on the busiest days, but substantial enough to make real progress. It's roughly one page, one scene, one moment in the story. String thirty-one of those together, and you have a book. Break it down like that, and suddenly writing a complete story doesn't seem so impossible.
I also learned that constraints breed creativity. Having to incorporate a specific prompt each day meant I couldn't fall back on my usual patterns. I couldn't write the safe, predictable scenes I might have chosen on my own. The prompts pushed me, sometimes in uncomfortable directions, and that discomfort produced some of the story's most interesting moments.
The project also taught me that first drafts are supposed to be messy. They're supposed to wander and explore. The magic happens in revision, when you can see the shape of what you've created and sculpt it into something real. That initial draft doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to exist.
Would I Do It Again?
Absolutely.
Writing "Nappikartta" (The Button Map) from Inktober prompts was one of the most liberating creative experiences I've had. It reminded me why I fell in love with writing in the first place—not for the perfect outlines or the meticulously planned character arcs, but for the joy of discovery, the thrill of not knowing what comes next.
If you've ever thought about trying Inktober as a writer, I say go for it. Embrace the chaos. Write without a map. Let the prompts guide you into unexpected places. You might surprise yourself with what emerges.
And who knows? You might even end up with a published children's book at the end of it.
Have you ever tried a creative challenge that pushed you outside your comfort zone? I'd love to hear about your experiences. Send me a message on Instagram!