Something Invented This Way Comes Becoming Story Catchers Yourself

 

Something Wonderful This Way Comes

12 Blogs to Help You Start Something Wonderful with Hollyhock Books

Blog 3: Something Invented This Way Comes  Becoming Story Catchers Yourself

By Sophia Salazar, Editor-in-Chief

There comes a moment, after enough stories have been absorbed, when something shifts inside a listener.

It might happen during the fifth telling of a favourite tale. It might creep in during a quiet moment after the audiobook has finished and the narrator's voice still echoes in the room. It might arrive suddenly, like a jack-rabbit somersaulting through a village fair, or gently, like a snowbird feather floating down from a lace-curtained window.

The shift is this: you stop wanting only to receive stories. You start wanting to make them.

This is the moment when a reader becomes a writer. When a listener becomes a storyteller. When someone who has loved tales begins to understand that they, too, have tales inside them waiting to be caught.

Joules Young calls herself a "Story Catcher," and the title is carefully chosen. She doesn't claim to invent everything from nothing. She catches stories the way Oliver caught that feather—by being present, by paying attention, by holding out something soft and ready to receive what floats down from the sky.

This week, we're going to become story catchers ourselves. Using the four tales we've been exploring—Oliver Hefflewhistle, Old Crumpet Noggin, the roaming fairy folks, and the war of the Whiffle Waffles—we're going to learn how to catch our own stories and set them free.

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What Makes a Joules Young Story?

Before we invent, let's notice. Every story Joules writes has certain ingredients. If we can identify them, we can borrow them—not to copy, but to learn.

Ingredient One: Wonderful Names

No one in these stories is called Sarah or John or David. They're called:

• Oliver Hefflewhistle
• Sally Snodgrass (heiress to the parsnip fortune)
• Crumpet Noggin
• Noddy Fiddlewhisk
• Poppy Fizzleglint
• Fizzwick Tumblebutton
• Toddy Brimblethatch
• Sir Bluster Twaddlefoot (a rabbit with a nose for paperwork)
• Thaddeus Twigglebottom III, Esquire (an owl with impeccable manners)

These names do something important: they tell you, before the story even begins, that you're in a different kind of world. A world where names have music in them. A world where you can't predict what might happen next.

Ingredient Two: Peculiar Places

The settings are just as wonderful as the characters:

• Wobbleton-upon-Jelly, where pies are plentiful and the sky is jam tart pink every Thursday
• Marmalade Junction, where you can buy a tin of sardines, a unicorn horn, and a philosophical conversation with the butcher all before breakfast
• Whistlepork, which smells permanently of rhubarb crumble and freshly churned butter
• The town of Here, which has a name so unpronounceable the locals gave up
• Tweebuckle, with its skyscraper that scrapes the thunder clouds
• Widdershins and Outforth, where anything can happen

These places feel real enough to visit, but strange enough to be magical. They're ordinary with a twist—like our own world, but with the volume turned up on whimsy.

Ingredient Three: Curious Problems

The conflicts in these stories are not the usual ones:

• A man is about to be tarred and feathered for wearing a bowler hat with a kilt during the Festival of Matching Socks
• A baker must defend her pies from airborne waffles dropping cinnamon bombs
• A musician plays an invisible violin while waiting twenty-five years for a wealthy merchant to fill his bucket with gold
• A boy must decide whether to remove his mittens while serenading the girl he loves

These problems are absurd, but the feelings behind them are real. Embarrassment. Hope. Courage. Persistence. Love. The absurdity is just the container; the emotion is what matters.

Ingredient Four: Creatures That Could Only Exist Here

Every Joules story has at least one creature you've never seen before:

• The Gingham Glimmergit (whatever it is)
• Flummywisters (birds with feathers like scrambled ribbons who yodel their yisters)
• Jack-rabbits (long-legged, spidery, chaos-prone)
• Whiffle Waffles (fearsome confectionary warmongers in flying machines called Luftwaffes)
• Waylacks, doo-doo-jangers, bitter-basters, sneeze-pixies, gladdywhingers, chizzywhizzies (mentioned in passing, but they exist somewhere)

These creatures feel like they've always existed, waiting to be discovered. That's the trick: the best invented creatures feel found, not made.

Ingredient Five: Language That Dances

Read any sentence aloud and you'll hear it:

"The morning air was crisp with the scent of wildflowers and mildly confused bees."

"His face was set in a permanent expression of having just discovered a small boy hiding in a cupboard, and being quietly, terribly pleased about it."

"The wind, which had been skulking around the hedgerows like a mischievous cat, decided to have a go at Oliver's nose."

"The jack-rabbits flopped and flailed their gangly legs like nervous spiders who had just realised they'd forgotten to send a birthday card to their aunt."

The language is playful without being silly. It notices things. It makes unexpected connections. It treats the reader as someone clever enough to appreciate a good joke.

Ingredient Six: Heart

Underneath all the whimsy, these stories care about their characters. Crumpet Noggin is ridiculous, but we root for him. Oliver is awkward, but we want him to succeed. Noddy and Poppy cause chaos, but they mean well. Fizzwick and Toddy lose their bakery, but they find a quiet farm and name it "Brimblebutton's Rest."

The whimsy is the wrapping. The heart is the gift inside.

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Your Turn: The Story Catcher's Toolkit

Now it's time to catch your own stories. Here's a step-by-step guide for individuals, families, classrooms, and book clubs.

Step One: Gather Your Names

Before you can have a story, you need someone to happen to. Spend time inventing names. They don't have to make sense—they just have to sound right.

Say them aloud. Roll them around in your mouth. Do they make you smile? Do they suggest a personality?

Prompts:

• If you were a pig who could read books upside down, what would you be called?
• If you were a rabbit who loved paperwork, what would your name be?
• If you were a girl with ribbons and a giggle that disarms magistrates, what would people call you?
• If you were a boy with hair that never stays flat and mittens you knitted yourself, what name would suit you?

Write down every name that comes. You can choose later.

Step Two: Find Your Place

Where does your story happen? It could be somewhere familiar but slightly off—like your own town, but with one magical element. Or it could be somewhere entirely invented.

Prompts:

• What does your place smell like? (Whistlepork smells of rhubarb crumble. Wobbleton-upon-Jelly smells of pies.)
• What's unusual about the sky? (In Wobbleton, it's jam tart pink every Thursday.)
• What do the locals do that's strange? (In Here, even the birds queue politely at the fountain.)
• What's the name of the place? Say it aloud. Does it sound like somewhere you'd want to visit?

Step Three: Invent a Creature

Every good Hocksbox story has a creature only found in that world. Your turn.

Prompts:

• What does it look like? (Feathers like scrambled ribbons? Legs like gangly spiders? Wings like an oversized dragonfly after a good lunch?)
• What does it sound like? (Does it yodel? Yister? Sing lullabies about blistering?)
• What does it do? (Does it shadow people who serenade? Leap over skyscrapers? Wage war on bakeries?)
• What is it called? The name should sound like what it is. Flummywister. Gingham Glimmergit. Whiffle Waffle.

Draw your creature if you like. Give it a personality. Is it friendly? Fearsome? Confused? All of the above?

Step Four: Create a Curious Problem

Your character needs something to overcome. But in a Hocksbox story, the problem shouldn't be ordinary. It should be peculiar.

Prompts:

• What might someone be punished for in your world? (Wearing a bowler hat with a kilt? Sneezing during a speech about cucumber sandwiches?)
• What might attack a peaceful village? (Waffles? Flying toasters? Something involving marmalade?)
• What might someone wait twenty-five years for? (A wealthy merchant with a bucket-shaped need? A feather from a window? A sign from the universe?)
• What might someone risk everything for? (Love? A bakery? A song played with mittens on?)

The problem can be absurd, but the feeling behind it must be real.

Step Five: Add a Dash of Beautiful Language

Now write. Even just a paragraph. Try to notice things the way Joules notices things.

Prompts:

• What's the weather doing? (Is the sun dripping like honey? Is the wind skulking like a mischievous cat?)
• What do your characters look like? (Does someone have a face like a confused turnip? Hair like mashed carrots?)
• What are the creatures doing? (Are they yodelling? Somersaulting? Flailing like nervous spiders?)
• What does the air smell like? (Rhubarb crumble? Wildflowers and mildly confused bees? Something else entirely?)

Don't worry if it's not perfect. The point is to try.

Step Six: Find the Heart

Finally, ask yourself: what is this story really about?

Underneath the whimsical surface, Oliver's story is about courage. Crumpet's is about hope and patience. The fairy story is about chaos and intention. The waffle war is about home and belonging.

What's your story really about? Love? Loss? Friendship? Persistence? The answer might surprise you. But it should be there, underneath, holding everything together.

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Activities for Different Groups

For Families: Story Catcher Evening

Set aside an evening to become story catchers together.

1. Read one of the four stories aloud (or listen to the audiobook).
2. Discuss what makes it work—the names, the place, the creature, the problem, the language, the heart.
3. Using the prompts above, have each family member invent their own story elements. Write them down on slips of paper.
4. Mix them up and draw randomly. See what story emerges when you combine one person's character with another's creature and another's problem.
5. Tell the resulting story aloud, each person adding a sentence in turn.

The goal is not a polished tale. The goal is the joy of making something together.

For Classrooms: Story Catcher Workshop

This can span a week or a single session.

Day One: Study the ingredients. Read one story and identify all six elements together.

Day Two: Brainstorm names and places. Create a class list of wonderful character names and peculiar settings.

Day Three: Invent creatures. Draw them. Name them. Describe what they do and sound like.

Day Four: Develop problems. What might go wrong in this world? What might someone need to overcome?

Day Five: Write. Give students time to draft their own short tales, using as many or as few of the brainstormed elements as they wish.

Share aloud if students are willing. Celebrate every effort.

For Book Clubs: The Deeper Dive

Adult book clubs might approach story catching differently.

After discussing the four tales, consider these questions:

• Why do we, as adults, so rarely invent stories anymore? What happened to the playfulness we had as children?
• What would it take to bring that back?
• If you were to write a story in the style of Joules Young, what would your creature be? What would your problem be? What would your story really be about?

Then, if the group is willing, spend ten minutes writing. Just ten minutes. See what emerges. Share if you want to. The vulnerability of sharing an unfinished, imperfect invention can be surprisingly bonding.

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The Dedication Pages

Before we finish, let's notice something about the dedications that open these stories.

Each one is a tiny story in itself:

"To little things long remembered / To Moonlight walks and shooting stars / To D, Young / From the girl who painted stories and the boy who sat beside her"

"To my dear nephew Isaiah and little niece Emily, with love from your Anty"

"With love to Eric and Amelia"

These dedications remind us that stories come from somewhere. They're not just invented in isolation. They're gifts to specific people, born from specific relationships, carrying specific love.

When you catch your own stories, consider who you're catching them for. Add a dedication. Make it personal. Make it matter.

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A Final Thought on Invention

There's a line in "Oh, the Roaming Fairy Folks of Mischief" that I keep coming back to. The story is subtitled: "(As told by someone who may or may not know the exact truth but is quite certain that it happened)"

This is the storyteller's license. We may not know the exact truth. But we can be quite certain that it happened—somewhere, somehow, to someone who needed it to happen.

That's what story catching is. Not worrying about exact truth. Being quite certain that it happened anyway.

Your stories matter. Your inventions matter. The creatures you name and the places you imagine and the problems you solve—they matter because you made them, and because making them changes you.

So catch something this week. A name. A place. A creature. A problem. A sentence. A dedication.

Catch it and set it free.

You never know who might be listening.

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Next in Blog 4: "Something Mysterious This Way Comes — Hosting a Sherlock Lockwood Mystery Night"

Until then: go catch some stories.

Look, Listen, Linger, Laugh, and Love.

— Sophia Salazar, Editor-in-Chief