The only issue i see with having a 7yr old protagonist, is whether or not you asre writing for the 7yr old crowd? 7yr olds read at, approximately, a second grade level, so you need to be very careful about word usage in general and make sure you aren't making it too difficult. Kids older than 7 may not be as interested in reading about a child too much younger than themselves.
True I guess.
I wanted to write for 9yr olds and older, or at least I wanted my book to be relatively universal. Something like "Willow", "Legend", "The princess bride" or even "Magical world of the leprechauns" type of stuff. I wanted this, because I tend to think of stories of which will lead to becomming a series of books eventually, I tend to do this a lot. Using the same world and occasionally the same characters in order to construct a familiar world and society for children and adults to become accustomed to, so they feel they know everybody and what they are about.
I know when I read a book that I like, I end up wishing that the author had written a series of books about each character, as I grew more fond of someone other than the protagonist of the first book; so I guess in some ways I am somewhat of a biographer of my characters.
I do this for my fantasy adventure books and my horror books.
I just seem compelled to write deeply about every little detail and I used to think that perhaps I used too much description once, that I gave up writing for other people for a year or two; until one day, I made a new friend who is an English teacher and he was shown some of my work and heard about my concerns, and he told me, I had my balance right. Now, me being sceptical of my own abilities went to look for some other people about whether or not I use too much descriptions in my stories and they said that I was fine, so I think I just lack a lot of self confidence.
I write because I love it, but I always worry about what other people are going to think when I decide to take the plunge again.
Here's a sample of what I'm talking about...
When I was little, I lived in a typical London suburban town aligned with picket fences and privet hedges lining the street in perfect military unison, every house or so had pink or yellow roses draping down the trellis arch porches, welcoming in everyone to their home.
At the back of the street was a large meadow where children played on their bikes with their dogs, a game of rounders, or just hung about literally on the playgrounds handrails.
It was a wonderful community, everyone knew everybody else, and there was a small sweet shop next door to the corner shop, called "Lucky Sweets" ran by a lovely old Indian woman named Chandrakanta. In this shop you could buy a huge bag of sweets for as little as 50p, and stuff your face all day long, till you became sick.
Sadly, when I was six years old, we had to move away from this lovely little village, and move deeper into London, where everybody rushed about; too busy to notice I was there. It was a BIG difference, and pretty scary too, I felt I could be lost in such a big town, and I held my mummy's hand tightly to ensure I didn’t get lost or mistaken for somebody else’s little girl!
