Between teaching picture book writing classes, editing at Bushel & Peck Books, and reviewing manuscripts through The Picture Book Doctor, I spend plenty of time looking at early versions of stories.

When you’ve just finished a draft, it’s worth stepping back and asking yourself a few bigger questions.

Here are five to start with before you dive into revisions.

1. Am I hiding the good stuff?

A writer spends the first few pages warming up, explaining the situation, or easing into the idea…then suddenly the story wakes up.

If the manuscript gets interesting around page four, there’s a good chance the book should start there.

(To be honest, if the book doesn’t grab readers at the start, they’re not reaching the good stuff on page four.)

2. Who is this really for?

Picture books are often read aloud by adults, so it’s easy to drift toward clever phrasing or jokes that mostly land with the grown-​up reader. Think politics, 80s or 90s pop culture riffs, or jokes about mortgages and wine.

A little of that can be fine, but the emotional center of the story still needs to belong to the kid listening.

If the adult reader is getting the biggest payoff, the balance is probably off.

3. Where does the character make a real choice?

Look for the moment where the main character decides something that changes, transforms, or shifts the direction of the story. We’re talking about giving characters agency here.

If the resolution happens because a parent steps in, luck intervenes, or the problem simply fades away, the character is riding the plot instead of driving it.

4. Where might the story be playing it safe?

First drafts often smooth things out. Your character learns the lesson quickly and the ending wraps up neatly.

Sometimes the story becomes stronger if the character struggles a little longer or the ending trusts the reader without spelling everything out.

5. What part of this would I fight for?

Imagine an editor saying, “We like the concept, but we think this section should change.”

What would YOU defend?

That answer often points to the manuscript’s true center (some might call it the “heart” or the “core”). And if nothing feels essential yet, well, that’s useful information too. It probably means you’re still discovering what the story wants to be, and that discovery process–which I’ll talk about in future posts–is completely different than the revision process.

First drafts are messy by design. That’s fine. But your job now is figuring out where the best version of the story is hiding and letting that version take over.

I teach Writing Picture Books at my college every semester these days. Some of the same craft questions emerge every time…usually when someone has a draft that’s almost working and they can feel it slipping.

Here are three of them.

Is this idea too small for a picture book?

This comes up most frequently with quiet stories, like a book about waiting, or taking a walk with grandma, etc.

I usually point to A Ball for Daisy. Here’s the spoiler–the whole book is about a dog and a ball. The ball breaks. Daisy loses it. That’s the plot.

What gives the book weight is how fully it stays with Daisy inside that moment. The story doesn’t rush past her reaction or try to decorate it with extra events. It lets the feeling unfold long enough for the reader to feel it too.

When a student draft starts to feel too small, what I usually see is hesitation. The writer rushes away from the moment just as it starts to deepen, or they fill the space with activity instead of attention.

That’s usually where our conversation turns. Not toward adding more story, but toward staying put just a little longer.

Do I need a clear lesson or message before I start writing?

No. When someone starts that way, I can usually tell by page two. The characters start acting like they already know what they’re supposed to learn, and every choice feels pre-approved.

To put it plainly–the story stops discovering and starts executing a plan.

In class, we look at The Most Magnificent Thing to see how to handle this in a more effective way.

In this story, the kid quits and then she sulks. Yeah, she’s maybe a bit irritating for a while. Yet the book doesn’t rush to redeem her or explain what we’re meant to take from it. The meaning shows up later, after the story has let her struggle honestly instead of steering her toward the right conclusion.

Most drafts that arrive with a message already attached don’t need a clearer message. They need a character who hasn’t worked things out yet and a story that’s willing to stay with that uncertainty instead of smoothing it over.

Why does my draft feel rushed at the end?

Most of the time it’s because the writer hits the brakes immediately after the problem is solved. In workshop, this shows up as a story that builds and resolves, but doesn’t give the reader any time to feel what that resolution actually meant.

A good real-​world example of how to avoid rushing the ending is Knuffle Bunny. The stuffie is found, which is the whole crisis of the book, yet Willems doesn’t end it there. He allows a little space afterward for the relief, the exhaustion, and the emotional shift to register before the book actually ends.

In student drafts, the fix usually isn’t more plot. It’s staying put for one more beat instead of cutting away the moment the problem disappears.