Writing a children’s story called The Princess Who Collected Fucks and Shits was not remotely on my bingo card for this week.
And yet, there I was, building tiny kingdoms and emotionally investing myself in the narrative arc of a profanity-loving princess because a friend I adore casually mentioned swearing was basically part of her identity at this point.
At roughly the same time, I was also writing a completely different story inspired by the way this same friend tells dreams — vividly, emotionally, like she’s just returned from somewhere real.
And somewhere in the middle of writing both of them, I realized I wasn’t really writing about dreams or profanity at all.
I was writing about recognition.
One afternoon recently, this friend started telling me about a dream she’d had. Not in the quick, passing way most people mention dreams either. This was a full unfolding. Characters appeared. Tiny details mattered. The emotional logic held together in that strange dreamlike way where impossible things still carry emotional truth.
And as she talked, I found myself leaning closer.
Not just by the dream itself, but by the way she moved through it. The way she still experiences life with emotional vividness intact. The willingness to stay curious and fully engaged with life instead of slowly hardening into the certainty after decades of living.
Somewhere in the middle of listening, I caught myself thinking: You've never let the storyteller in you go quiet.
And I think that’s what became the seed of the first story.
Not the literal dream itself, but the feeling underneath it. The sense of someone who still experiences the world with imagination intact. Someone who notices emotional texture. Someone who can make another person lean closer just by describing something they saw in their own mind while sleeping.
At another point, this same friend casually announced that swearing was basically part of her identity at this point.
Not apologetically.
Proudly.
Like someone discussing a beloved antique collection they’d spent decades curating.
And honestly, if you know my friend, this is deeply accurate. She swears with enthusiasm. With delight. With timing. There’s joy in it. Conviction. A kind of mischievous sparkle that makes it impossible not to laugh.
Suddenly I had the image of this scrappy little princess proudly collecting forbidden words like treasures while an entire kingdom tried unsuccessfully to make her more proper.
That story practically wrote itself.
But somewhere in the middle of writing both of them, I started realizing how much storytelling actually begins in observation. Noticing what makes someone feel distinctly themselves. The tiny details that reveal personality more accurately than any polished biography ever could.
Not the polished, surface-level details people usually lead with. Not demographics or resumé facts. The deeper patterns underneath someone’s presence.
The way they move through conversations, the things they light up while talking about, the jokes they return to over and over, the emotional atmosphere they create around themselves without trying.
I think this is part of why I care so much about communication and content work too, honestly. Because good communication isn’t really about arranging impressive words together. It’s about seeing clearly enough to recognize the real story underneath someone’s work, personality, values, or mission — then helping other people see it too.
Sometimes businesses struggle with this in the exact same way people do.
They’ll tell you what they offer, but not why people feel welcomed there. List services while the actual heartbeat of the organization stays hidden underneath the surface. Or explain the mechanics while the meaning quietly disappears.
And often, the most powerful parts are sitting in the smallest details. The things that feel too obvious or ordinary to mention because they’ve become so natural to the person living inside them.
That’s what I kept thinking about while writing these stories for my friend.
Not just how to write a whimsical kingdom or a funny little princess, but how to make someone feel deeply recognizable inside the story itself. How to capture the feeling of her. The humor. The warmth. The imagination. The spark that makes people love being around her.
And honestly, I think being seen that way may be one of the most meaningful experiences we can offer another human being.
xx,
Amy
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