Novel

“Beyond “What’s Wrong?’: How the Stories in Our Classrooms Can Heal Fading Dreams”

I think every parent and educator knows that moment. When a child comes home from school or retreats to a corner of the classroom, shoulders slumped, a silent storm brewing behind their eyes. You ask, “What’s wrong?” and the answer you get is a “Nothing” that shuts a door in your face. And you’re left on the other side, without a key. As a father, I’d often feel this sense of helplessness. I just wanted to understand what was truly going on in their heads and hearts.

So I started asking myself, what if I could actually see the story behind the sadness? The truth is, The Library of Lost Dreams didn’t start with some grand idea; it started right here, at home. The world of the library is, in essence, a map of my family’s heart.

My main character, Dahlia, has this deep empathy… it’s the same thing I see in my own daughter every day. That’s her superpower in the book, and I think it’s a real one in life, too. And Astra, the wise owl who guides Dahlia with such patience and strength? Yep, that’s my wife, our family’s steady compass.

But like any real family, things get a little mixed up. Anyone who has read Book 2, Journey into the Past, has met a much younger, more impulsive Astra. That whirlwind of unchecked joy, endless curiosity, and slightly chaotic energy? That is my son, Tudor, right there on the page.

And where do I fit in? It’s funny, I thought I was the wise guide, but I’m definitely more like Sol, the fluffy companion from Book 3. He’s this little ball of love and loyalty, but he’s also the guy cracking bad jokes. That’s my job in the family: bringing some goofy energy when things get heavy, while always being that loving, protective presence.

From My Home to Your Classroom: The Magic of Empathetic Listening

For me, that’s where the real magic is. It has nothing to do with spells. The power Dahlia uses is something we can all do: the simple, profound act of empathetic listening. It’s the power of saying, “I see you. I hear you. Your story matters.”

And I believe this idea works perfectly in a classroom. A child’s dream isn’t always about becoming an astronaut or a painter. Sometimes, the dream is simply to feel understood, to have the courage to ask a question, or to believe their voice is worth hearing. When these small dreams start to fade, when a student becomes quiet, withdraws, or says “I can’t,” that’s when we, as their Keepers of Stories, can step in.

We don’t need a magic portal to enter their world. We just need a set of keys. Here are three strategies, inspired by The Library of Lost Dreams, to help rediscover the fading dreams in your classroom:

1. The “Safe Chapter” Key: Creating a Space for Unspoken Stories

In the first book, a shadow called “The Silence” feeds on forgotten dreams and untold stories. In the classroom, this “Silence” can take the form of fear of making a mistake or anxiety about speaking up.

• Classroom Application: Create a “Dream Journal” or a “Worry Box.” It doesn’t have to be complicated. It can be a special notebook where students can write or draw freely, without the fear of being graded. It could be a decorated shoebox where they can leave anonymous notes about their thoughts or fears. The goal is to provide a pressure valve, a safe space where their inner story can come to life without judgment. It’s a first step in showing a child that what they feel is valid, even if they aren’t ready to say it out loud.

2. The “Guiding Owl” Key: Providing the Compass, Not the Map

In the books, Astra acts as Dahlia’s compass, not her map. She doesn’t have all the answers, and she doesn’t pretend to. When faced with a shadow like “The Silence” or a new threat, her strength isn’t in providing a step-by-step solution, but in pointing Dahlia toward the only available path, even when the destination is unknown to them both. She trusts Dahlia’s unique power of empathy to navigate the parts of the journey that her own wisdom cannot.

• Classroom Application: As educators, we often feel the pressure to be the “expert” with all the answers. This approach reminds us that sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is admit we don’t know, and then become a co-explorer with the student.
  • Instead of feeling you need a solution for a student’s problem, try validating the challenge: “That sounds really tough, and I don’t have an easy answer for you, but I’m here to think it through with you.”
  • Frame challenges as shared quests: “I’m not sure what the best way to start this project is either. Let’s look at the very first possible step together.”
  • Empower their unique skills: “You have such a creative way of looking at things. I’m stuck on this problem, but I have a feeling you might see something I don’t.” This transforms the dynamic from teacher/student to a team of adventurers. It shows children that it’s okay not to have all the answers and that their unique perspective is a valuable tool for finding the way forward, together.

3. The “First Draft” Key: Validating the Process, Not Just the Product

Many of the children Dahlia helps, like Rowan the painter or Rose the violinist, lost their dream because they were afraid the final result wouldn’t be “good enough.” They forgot the joy of the process.

• Classroom Application: Celebrate the “first draft.” Praise the effort, the curiosity, and the courage to try, regardless of the outcome. When a student shows you a drawing, focus first on the joy behind it: “I can tell you had fun choosing these colors!” or “What a brave idea you had here!” When a student is struggling with a math problem, validate the persistence: “I really appreciate how you didn’t give up. Let’s look at the steps together again.” This shifts the focus from the pressure of perfection to the joy of exploration and teaches children that every attempt, even a “failed” one, is a valuable part of their learning story.

Whether we are parents at home or teachers in the classroom, we have an incredible role. We are the companions in our children’s stories. By helping them believe their voice is worth hearing, we give them the courage to face any shadow, in any world.

This little adventure that started with my kids has grown into a world I’m so happy to share. And just so you know, Book 1, The Library of Lost Dreams, and Book 2, Journey into the Past, are now out in their fully polished second editions. I am currently in the process of bringing Book 3, Journey into the Future, to that same standard. Afterward, I will begin writing the final book in this story arc, Parallel World. It will be a more intricate adventure designed for slightly older readers (10+), exploring even more complex emotional landscapes.

Thank you for letting me share a piece of my world with you.

Published July 9th, 2025

About the Book: The Library of Lost Dreams is about a young girl named Dahlia who has a pretty cool gift: she can feel the old stories and emotions that places hold. It leads her to a magical library, and it turns out every book there is a kid’s dream. The problem is, a shadow called “The Silence” is making the dreams fade. So Dahlia has to use her empathy (not magic spells) to jump into those dreams. She’s there to help other kids find their courage and start believing in their own stories again. The book is really all about how important it is to listen, and how no dream is ever really lost if someone just cares enough.

About the Author: As a dad, Andrei Goanta gets his best ideas from his kids. He writes worlds that he hopes are more than just fun and fantastical; he wants them to feel safe and real for young readers.  You could say his series, The Library of Lost Dreams, is a love letter to imagination, to the guts it takes for any kid to share their story, and to the courage to be brave no matter what.

Thank you, Andei! We love books that celebrate imagination and the good in people!

“How Literature Saved My Life”

              When I left home for the first time, I met a boy.

              Many stories begin that way.

At college I met a boy who was smart and charming and handsome and interested in me. As we dated, every conversation became an exploration—we left our own known worlds and set off together into a new landscape, awestruck by the ideas we encountered.

I loved him.

But there were many things about college to love, and many conversations to be had. Most conversations—even the fleeting ones—were like journeys into the unknown. I found little discoveries everywhere.

My boyfriend told me that he wanted all of my conversations to be with him. He didn’t like it when I spoke to other men. He told me that my attitude was flirtations and my behavior “inappropriate.”

I considered his words. The first instinct of most young women in our culture is to blame ourselves rather than question others. I wondered if the excitement I was feeling over others’ ideas could be confused with sexual desire. I knew that sex was not my desired goal, but might others see things differently?

At the time I was navigating my new romance, I was taking a class on Shakespeare and reading Othello.

Othello is, arguably, the most poetic and majestic character to walk across the Shakespearean stage—which means he’s the most majestic and poetic character to walk across any stage. To be fair, he was majestic and poetic until he wasn’t—until he was rendered inarticulate and helpless by jealousy.

In Othello, the process and nature of jealousy are laid bare. I read that play and watched the exact moment that jealousy took hold of Othello. In 3.3, Othello looks at himself and says:

Haply for I am black,
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have; or for I am declined
Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much—
She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief
Must be to loathe her.

As long as Othello saw himself positively, he loved Desdemona. As soon as he doubted himself, he doubted her. Othello’s jealousy did not stem from Desdemona’s actions but from his own insecurities. When Desdemona explains to Emilia that she never gave Othello a cause to distrust her, Emilia replies:

But jealous souls will not be answered so.
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they’re jealous.

After reading that play, I broke up with that boy. On my own for the first time, without the proximity of parents or the guidance of friends, I had no one to turn to for counsel. It was Shakespeare who saved me. I felt like his genius reached out over four-hundred years of literary history and snatched me from a potentially abusive relationship.

Thank you, Shakespeare.

In Dani Argyle Takes on the Universe, my protagonist is also on her own. She’s not away from home, but her father is missing in action, her mother is missing in grief, and, because she is overweight, she has few friends. When Dani’s boyfriend begins to be controlling, Dani only has literature to guide her.

From Othello, Dani learns about the nature of jealousy. From The Inferno, she learns about the nature of weakness, violence, and fraud—conditions that exist, not only in hell, but also in high school.

From The Odyssey, she learns that suffering can bring wisdom and that it is possible to lose oneself in grief.

It is true that a story once saved me and that stories guided the protagonist in my novel, but these are not individual cases.

Stories save us all.

As Joan Didion explains:

We tell ourselves stories in order to live. The princess is caged in the consulate. The man with the candy will lead the children into the sea. The naked woman on the ledge outside the window on the sixteenth floor is a victim of accidie, or the naked woman is an exhibitionist, and it would be “interesting” to know which…. We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely… by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the “ideas” with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.

We see stories everywhere. As humans, we can’t help it. Our actual existence might be made up of “disparate images” and a “shifting phantasmagoria,” but, just as nature abhors a vacuum, so does the human mind abhor chaos, and stories are the primary cure for chaos.

Because of story, we see beginning, middle, end. Because of story, we see cause and effect. Because of story, we see change over time. Because of story, there is more than chaos: I was that. I am this. I will be something else.

Aristotle asserted that man is an animal who thinks. Nietzsche that man is an animal that laughs. Mark Twain explained that man is the only animal that blushes—or has a need to.

I would argue that man is an animal who tells stories.

Stories are not superfluous. They are the primary unit we have for communicating meaning. Beware of that man. Things are not as they seem. Suffering saddens us, but it also strengthens.

But stories are not only the primary unit we have for communicating meaning: they are the primary unit we have for creating meaning. We all narrate our own story. We are each our own protagonist. Research reveals that we are more likely to be mentally and physically healthy when we see ourselves as the protagonist of our own story rather than the victim of someone else’s. Because of our ability to tell our own story, we experience agency, and our lives are more clearly understood.

Man is an animal who tells stories. About the world. About others. About ourselves.

Our students’ lives will be richer when full of stories: stories they hear, stories they read, stories they tell, and stories that they—as their own protagonist—journey through.

We enrich our students when we give them story. May their stories be diverse and full of wonder.

Published March 31st, 2025

About the Book: Dani feels like she’s fighting the world. Her peers do not accept her because she is overweight; her school is ill-equipped to handle an astute girl with ADHD, and the popular girls hate her for attracting the attention of the mysterious student from Japan. When everything about her life makes her feel confined and powerless, her only goal becomes dropping out of the institution that makes her feel stupid. But when Dani discovers that a psychic has been gutting her mother’s finances, she finally has an adversary worth fighting . . . if only she can control her emotions long enough—and trust her new romance deeply enough—to out-con a con artist.

This book includes discussion questions for class, small group, and individual reflection

About the Author: Vivian Jewell studied English Literature at The University of Virginia where she graduated with high distinction and studied Medieval and Renaissance Studies at Oxford. Her poetry has appeared in The Virginia Literary Review, The Kindred Spirit, and The English Journal. She is a teacher with Fairfax County Schools. This is her first novel.  

Thank you, Vivian, for sharing your journey and reminding us about the importance of stories!