Writers instinctively tap into this pull, because in fantasy, the forest isn’t only a setting – it’s a mirror. It reflects the tangle of our inner world as well as a longing for magic, stillness, and for something ancient and untamed. Forests are where characters go when they’re uncertain, or searching. Unlike a battlefield or throne room, the forest doesn’t always demand action. It offers space for characters to make mistakes, grieve, reflect, or stumble into the unexpected. Even during the December festive season, some of us embody this truth by bringing trees into our homes, stringing up twinkling lights and decorations. We may have forgotten ourselves, but we tap into the ritual.

And always, the forest becomes a crucible for healing, growth, and transformation. Characters enter as one version of themselves and emerge as someone braver, wiser, more whole. It’s where courage takes root. If you’re drawn to stories set in forests, maybe you’re looking for change in your own life too, or the courage to reconnect with parts of yourself that have gone quiet beneath everyday noise.

“I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.”
– Henry David Thoreau

In great classics, forests often mark the threshold between the known and unknown. It’s where ordinary life ends and the real journey begins. In J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, Mirkwood looms dark and tangled, teeming with shadow and giant spiders, but it’s also where Bilbo grows braver, cleverer, more himself. In Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, Lothlórien offers sanctuary and insight, while Fangorn reminds us that nature watches. Even nonfiction like Peter Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees unwraps the idea that forests are not merely ecosystems, but communities – alive, interconnected, wise.

If you’re drawn to forest-set fantasy stories, maybe you’re someone who currently:

• Longs for stillness in a noisy world;
• Feels drawn to the unknown – not because it’s easy, but because it’s honest;
• Craves space to grow and change without needing to explain yourself;
• Finds strength not in perfection, but in rootedness.
• Wants to slow down and listen, to reset and remember who you are.

Every forest holds an invitation: Step off the path. Let go of what no longer fits. Something in you is ready to transform.

Reflection Prompt: The forest within

• What kind of forest lives inside you right now? Is it overgrown and wild? Still and waiting? Lit by fireflies or veiled in mist?
• What transformation could be waiting there – if you took the first step in deeper?

Photo by Pascal Debrunner on Unsplash

Consider Olivia, the charming piglet created by Ian Falconer in his picture book series. The minimalist, expressive line work in her design and her playful antics in the narrative are delightful.

“Only five books tonight, Mommy,” she says.
“No, Olivia, just one.”
“How about four?”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“Oh, all right, three. But that’s it!”
– Ian Falconer, Olivia

Creating a memorable children’s book character has to be fun, agrees author and illustrator Alex Latimer, whose range of characters includes Gordon, “the meanest goose on earth”.

Latimer explains that creators often come up with characters they think children will like, or that publishers or agents may want. “But creating fun, interesting, deep characters should come from your personal experience – it’s what you bring to the table.”

He adds that this is especially true in light of the new wave of AI art in children’s books. “Machines can make soulless copies of anything they’re told to, but the joy of the creator isn’t in the work.”

Vulnerability

Another quality that creates a timeless character is vulnerability. Think of Bambi, Black Beauty, Lassie, or Jock of the Bushveld. You remember them with a sense of relief when they’re safe, or a lingering sadness when they’re not. That tension – the emotional pull – is part of what makes them unforgettable.

Illustrator Lisa Glanz captures a tender vulnerability in her characters because she takes the time to understand their personalities before she illustrates them. When you see an expressive pose, the quirks and accessories, or the way a character moves through the world, you feel a personality and your emotions come alive. You’re not only observing them; you’re experiencing them.

Honesty with heart

There also needs to be a truth in characters that both adults and children can see and relate to – a believable honesty that is well observed and conveyed. Maurice Sendak did this so well with Max in one of my favourite picture books, Where the Wild Things Are. Max resonates across generations. You remember him because you recognise that messy, wild authenticity from your own childhood self.

In the documentary Tell Them Anything You Want: A Portrait of Maurice Sendak by Oscilloscope Pictures, Sendak said: “I think what I’ve offered is different, but not because I drew better than anybody or wrote better than anybody. It was because I was more honest than anybody.”

In a conversation with Nat Hentoff for The New Yorker in 1966, Sendak was quoted as saying: “I really do these books for myself. It’s something I have to do, and it’s the only thing I want to do. Reaching the kids is important, but secondary. First, always, I have to reach and keep hold of the child in me.”

There’s joy and vulnerability in that honesty, which is why it lingers.

What characters have stayed with you, made you laugh out loud, or felt so true that you couldn’t forget them?

The answer isn’t in trends, popularity, or cleverness. It’s in what reaches your heart.

This six-word, one-sentence story is one of the most cited examples of quality micro fiction, commonly attributed to Ernest Hemingway. While there is no proven evidence that he wrote it, even without a confirmed origin or author, this tiny story commands so much respect in its evocative mastery of the form. If you linger on it, your imagination fills in haunting details, showing the depth of emotion and narrative that can live in so few words.

What is micro fiction?

If you’re unfamiliar with the term, micro fiction can be described as a complete stand-alone story with a beginning, middle and end of no more than 300 words, making it a variation or category of flash fiction (up to 1 000 words).

Common categories within micro fiction also include what is called a dribble (55 words exactly), drabble (100 words), double drabble (200 words), trabble (300 words) or a pentadrabble (500 words).

While word counts vary, the magic is in the form’s constraints. In my experience, the classification depends on the context and on how the author, competition organiser or publisher chooses to label it.

Why you should try it

Whether you’re a writer, or someone who admires the art of clever storytelling, micro fiction is an effective creative tool. Here’s why:

• It sharpens your storytelling skills (or your appreciation for sharpened storytelling skills). In a few words or lines, the story should evoke emotion, suggest a world, and land a satisfying ending.
• Instant creative gratification. When longer writing projects feel overwhelming or never-ending, writing a micro story is a fast, fulfilling way to flex creative muscles.
• It’s a safe space to explore new genres with low stakes and high freedom.
• The creative constraints spark innovation and sidestep a critical mind. One of my novel ideas began as a fantasy flash story. Reader feedback helped me realise it had the heart of a longer narrative.

Want to explore further?

Anthologies such as In Other Stories (Karavan Press) curated by Kerry Hammerton are a way to track down quality micro fiction. When compiling the anthology, Hammerton said she looked for pieces of writing that told part of our human story in a non-clichéd way.

“The call for submission had a 500-word limit, mid-range for flash fiction, which is one to 1 000 words. Flash is definitely a genre on its own. It is about finding the detail and focusing on that detail to tell a story. There is no space for backstory or elaborate descriptions. Flash borrows ideas and forms from other pieces of writing, for example using poetic language.”

So whether you’re looking for something new to read, or to grow as a writer, micro fiction is a worthwhile investment of your time and energy.

Main photo by Janko Ferlič on Unsplash