In Writer’s Digest on June 17, 2026, Author Sophie Chen Keller discusses the importance of wonder in storytelling by examining her own writing (and reading) path.

Sophie Chen Keller is the author of The Luster of Lost Things, which was also released in Germany, Italy, the United Kingdom, and the Netherlands. Her first publication came at the age of fifteen, with a short story in Glimmer Train literary magazine. A classically trained pianist, she was born in China and raised in California; after graduating from Harvard, she lived in New York City and Beijing before moving to Germany, where she currently resides with her husband and two children.

Sophie Chen Keller

Sophie says, “In 2019, shortly after I became a mother, we moved to Beijing. In the past, I had spent many a summer in China, staying with my relatives in the Northeast, and I had seen how the country developed—in leaps and bounds. Still, I was surprised by just how much it had changed since the last time I’d last seen it. The streets of our neighborhood were spotless and beautifully landscaped, lined with trees and parks. Life was incredibly convenient; whether you were at a luxury mall or a government agency or a food cart on the corner, every transaction was cashless, quick as the scanning of a QR code. On many days, especially in the winter, the air pollution was visible, a thick fog draped around the high-rises.

As part of my new routine, I would check the level of air pollution each morning, and on good-air days, I would take my son out for a stroller nap. On those long walks, as I observed the city around me, I was struck by the sheer number of delivery workers—package delivery workers, setting up shop in middle of sidewalks, surrounded by boxes and bubble wrap; grocery delivery workers, hauling cartons of fruit and sacks of rice up the stairs; and food delivery workers, rushing past me with orders in hand or zipping through traffic on scooters.

I found myself wondering—would they make their delivery on time? I wondered where they were going and I wondered where they had come from. I wondered what their work was like and I wondered what their lives were like.

And so I followed my wonder, and I wrote about a woman named Song—a mother—who becomes a food delivery worker in order to search for the son she lost in a crowded train station.

Aside from that, I wanted to write about music, and so I made the woman’s son, River, a piano prodigy. My own son had just started daycare, and so I wanted to write about motherhood—the all-consuming love and worry, the chaotic days and long nights, the deep and unexpected pockets of peace and joy. 

The wonder that led me to Song and River’s story is the same wonder that drew me to writing stories in the first place. I moved from China to the US when I was four; in my new bed, in my new country, I would listen to my mom read book after magical book—Charlotte’s Web and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Little House and Little Women, Winnie-the-Pooh and Wayside School.

At the time, my parents were graduate students, and we lived in a housing complex in Columbus, Ohio, with many families similar to ours. Even now, as an adult, I remember those early years vividly—riding bikes with friends until sunset, learning to jump Double Dutch, catching lightning bugs, building snowmen. I remember how big the world seemed, and I remember the wonder of those bedtime stories.

As soon as I could hold a pencil, I started writing stories of my own. I liked Redwall, and so I wrote about talking animals. I liked Sweet Valley, and so I wrote about twins. When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I declared, invariably, that I wanted to be a writer.

One summer in Northeast China, I climbed onto a wagon and my relatives piled in around me. The driver of the pedicab hopped onto his bicycle and began to pedal us home. It had rained recently and the roads were just dirt; as I watched him strain to pull us through the mud, I began to wonder.

And so, at the age of 13, I wrote a short story about a pedicab driver in rural China. It was plucked out of the slush pile by the editors at Glimmer Train literary magazine, and that became my first publication, the issue coming out when I was 15.  

When I went to college, I drifted away from writing, choosing instead to be practical and major in Economics. After graduating, I found a corporate job and moved to New York City, and that’s where I met my husband. Before we were married, as we were talking about our dreams, a crazy thought occurred to us: Why not chase those dreams now? I thought about those childhood bedtime stories, and I followed my wonder back to writing.  

It’s been over 10 years since I left my job to write what became my first book, The Luster of Lost Things. Now my second, Little Wonder, is coming out. The way has been long and winding, mostly solitary, sometimes perilous. But that view?

Nothing short of a wonder.