What Creates the Difference Between Junior Novels, Middle-Grade, and Young Adult Fiction?

And why these differences are significant in developing resilience

Last summer, we went hiking. But was sidelined by the smoke from the Pacific Northwest fires, and we drove farther north to escape. (Much like our aborted attempt to hike a couple weeks ago… I dread how this is becoming annual.)

We ended up passing through towns that I have not visited since childhood. And this made me think about growing up, and how we do this in books.

Background info on the three age groups

Junior novels—also called “chapter books”—roughly follow where “early readers” leave off, those works that are first “independent” reads. (Think Frog and Toad, for early readers, or the Henry and Mudge books by Cynthia Rylant.) Junior novels are longer than “early readers,” and new readers are thrilled when they can pick up a book with no pictures, and read entire “chapters,” albeit short ones.

• Junior novels—generally—about 7–8 years of age, grades 2–3. Word count 8,000–15,000.

• MG—or Middle Grade—8–12 years of age, grades 3–7. Word count 20,000–50,000.

• YA—Young Adult—12–18. Word count 40,000–70,000.

None of these word counts are ‘in stone.’ Neither are the ages.

I’d like to give you another way to think about this.

Travel farther and further and age

As we drove through the smoke, we came to a town called Cache Creek.

As a child, my family had neighbours who lived just down the street. We spent a so much time together as families, that it was hard when they moved north to live in the town of Cache Creek, which required hours of driving north.

I was “junior fiction” age

There were two summers we visited them in that town. Their home—a small bungalow filled with toys and noise—is clear in my mind. I can recall the excitement of greeting them, meals shared, and a few tears, too. And hours of hide and seek. But as I drove through the town now—decades later—I realized I had no memory of anything outside the walls of that little home.

The family left that town after two years, and moved to Clinton, and lived there for a number of years. The town of Clinton, I do remember. The house was surrounded by land; the family had a red horse. On the back of the land where the horse roamed behind their home, there was an abandoned shack, with no glass in the windows, and the wind whistling between ancient old slats we could peer through. It made a perfect fort. I remember the hill of the street outside the house, and walking down to visit neighbors, including Betty, who was Indigenous and beaded the most beautiful leather moccasins for my youngest brother. I remember her giving them to my mother, and I remember putting my nose inside them and smelling the leather, and touching the bead-work.

Those were my Middle Grade years

The father of our family friends decided to start a small church in a building just down the highway, and I have sharp memories of driving there on vacation Sundays, and of the outhouse with a moon-shaped cutout on its door. And always the smell of dried pines that is a British Columbia Cariboo region summer.

And then the family moved again, just as I was entering my teens. They moved to Three Hills, Alberta.

You see where this is going…? My sets of memories, for each new home, is analogous with the growing world of a growing child. Think of this as a child, surrounded by concentric circles, each representing a stage of experience and learning.

Then the Young Adult World

We visited the family in Alberta, in their new home. The town of Three Hills has a large and very traditional Christian community, complete with all levels of education, from grade school to Christian university, “Bible” school. It has its own publishing company, and many connected businesses; most of the people who live there are closely connected with the church.

Suddenly, my understanding of our friends opened to include context, and in it there was compassion, and questions, and conundrums.

Later, I saw the place through adult eyes. But at the time, much about the place confounded me, and I worked to put pieces together.

It is this work—of putting together pieces of information and life itself that is the crux of creating living characters when writing for young adults and re-creating the experience of becoming a grown up. It builds on the scaffolding of what has been learned throughout the growing-up years.

The expanding world

In junior novels, the protagonist’s world is small

The “problem” is close to home, or in their classroom. If it is about their school, then the story is accessed via the child’s immediate class… think about how that works. Big World problems—those outer rings of the concentric circles—must be reached by the real pieces in the child’s immediate world; for a junior novel, we are talking about “immediate world” as that first ring circling child-at-center.

Why? Because this is is how we build resilience. Before a child can wander into daycare, they have a primary carer at home. As an infant and toddler, we know this is how we build strong people: being surrounded by who and what we need WHEN we need them. Timing is critical.

When baby chickens are a certain age, they need to be shown how to eat; if they miss this window of time, they are unable to eat. Forever. True.

Our world has become a place of so much information. Much of this information, mishandled, grows fear. It is critical to nourish strength in children, for their future well-being, and we can take steps to do this in their stories. Writers have huge roles in readers’ development.

Middle-grade stories explore family, friends, school life

My memories of the town of Clinton reveal the realities of this age-world. There was much to learn from the games we played, and the wandering down the street, the meetings with Betty and seeing her creating. Children absorb what they need to, and at the time they need to. Later, they absorb more—as they are ready for it.

The old creative writing class adage about “show don’t tell” is important; it means that readers have the options of absorbing only what they are ready to. If you find yourself explaining to a young reader, instead of showing, they may not be ready for that “explaining.” If you are doing a good job of “showing,” then they will pick up the message you are trying to impart. They will pick it up and understand, because they are ready for it.

No doubt, this is why young readers will pick up a favorite book, and read it more than once; with each read they are accessing another layer of knowledge.

For young adult readers, the world at large begins to open

They are picking up more and more information about What is going on… and How these things connect… and How it all connects with them! Instead of just the classroom in the school, now the world is about the school within the town or city. Instead of being about making friends or losing a friend, it is about a romantic interest; sexuality becomes a reality. Or is becoming. Young adult literature is a good time for present participles. No wonder writers are drawn to write in first person, present tense, in YA stories.

In my teens, that town of Three Hills gave me a lot to think about. This too, is a significant piece to adolescent development; the urge to reflect. Those childhood vacations in Cache Creek and Clinton were spent doing. We played, we fought, we sang, we slept. We had great picnics.

But young people growing up reflect, consider, piece together. They become engrossed in being. And this too, is a part of YA literature.

Windows of Time

Consider what window your readers are looking through, and ready to look through. Where have they been? Where are they going? Have you considered preparing them for this?

What pieces are you bringing to their world, as they build towards resilience and grown up life?

Because that is what you are doing, writing for young readers—readers of all ages: Building.