Should I write diverse characters? A reflection on writing outside my experience.

Written By Carrie Herthwell

Considerations for Fiction Writers – A Blog Series

Some people say an author should only write characters who share their identity, while others insist it’s offensive to exclude diverse characters. So should I write diverse characters into my fiction?

A writing mentor once taught me that I must write diverse characters into my fiction, not only so my narratives are more interesting, but so everyone can see themselves represented in the media. By ‘diverse’ I mean any character who isn’t a white, able-bodied, heterosexual, cisgender man. But another mentor told me that I should never write outside of my experience. I was encouraged to write diversity, then I was told I can’t write diversity.

I could be considered diverse because I’m a woman, neurodivergent and invisibly-pansexual, but there’s an endless number of diverse experiences I’ve never had. So let’s say I decide to write only from my experience and I craft six me-characters into my novel. My cast of characters would inconsistent with reality and let’s face it, boring.

But maybe my mentor meant that only the protagonist must be like me. It's very common to have a white, able-bodied, heterosexual man or woman as a protagonist, and diverse characters as side characters. In fact, it’s so common it has spawned the gay best friend and black best friend tropes. Because the side character only supports the protagonist on the protagonist’s journey, the diverse character isn’t developed. They’re just there to say some catchy, encouraging phrases and then disappear. An epitome of this manifestation occurred in the nineties rom-coms (1.).

I believe, to avoid stereotypes, the diverse side characters must be just as important as the protagonist. The group the side character represents should be researched and the character should be written with care. They should be as realistic and as complex as the protagonist.

But if I go deep into crafting my diverse character and I put equal or less effort into crafting my protagonist, can I switch it up and have the side character as the protagonist? What if I craft a black, gay man as my protagonist and the me-character as a side character? What if my black, gay protagonist is one character in a multiple-first-person-point-of-view narrative. What if I’m not writing about the experience of being black or gay, but about a team of monster hunters? The plot has nothing to do with living as a black, gay man, so technically, it wouldn’t be telling someone else’s story. We need more diverse protagonists and if this is permitted, there will be more.

But let’s pause to consider such a scenario. When you’re white, you never have to think about race. When you’re non-queer, you never have to think about queerness. When you’re able-bodied, you never have to think about what it’s like to live with a disability. I don’t know what it’s like to have to worry about microaggressions, systemic barriers, or hate-fueled violence. So it would be easy for someone like me to completely ignore such experiences and write a black, gay man gliding through life as if they’re a white, heterosexual man. I might describe the protagonist as having a dark complexion, insert an ex-boyfriend texting the protagonist a couple of times and never mention it again.

I believe that, if the group you’re representing has a unique experience in the world, it should be acknowledged. But what do we include? In any group, the multiplicity of experiences is diverse. In my hypothetical monster hunter story, what aspects of the black, gay experience should be included and how deep do I go into those experiences? Sorry folks, but this gray area is tricky to navigate and I don’t have any easy answers. But I do know trying, failing and learning is better than denying diverse characters good roles.

What if a mere acknowledgement turns into an attempt at telling someone else’s story? Let’s say, a reader wonders what it’s like to be a black, gay man living in rural Saskatchewan, Canada. It makes sense for readers to seek out novels written by authors with that specific experience. It’s illogical for white, heterosexual people to author such stories. I believe in-depth stories about lived experiences should be reserved for the appropriate authors.

But I believe it’s perfectly fine for BIPOC authors to go deep into the white lived experience. It’s important to consider the history of racial power imbalance in North America. Us white folks are not racialized, or othered, and we don’t have to worry about systemic barriers. Historically, the white perspective has dominated Western media (2.). The white perspective is well-known and there are no misunderstandings about our lived experience. But what if the white protagonist is a Polish immigrant living in LA? If the white protagonist has a unique experience of any kind, I recommend doing the research, or leaving the story to the right people.

Please note, diverse authors should not be forced to write about their lived experiences. As someone who has been through a lot of painful experiences because of my ADHD, I don’t want to write about having ADHD. I want to write something fun. If someone is blind, they should be free to write stories that have nothing to do with being blind. If someone is indigenous, they should be free to write stories about dragons, or robots. Some of us diverse folks don’t want our traumatic experiences to be someone else’s entertainment. If someone wants to use fiction as a way to teach about their lived experience, great! But we shouldn’t be required to do that.

A while ago, I picked up a book at a used bookstore and I gathered it was about a black nanny living in the south during the 1960’s. It was called The Help by Kathryn Stockett (3.). It was a familiar title, so I assumed the novel was published some years ago, but I didn’t know anything about it. My first thought was being a black nanny for a rich, white family, during that time, must’ve been shitty. I’m always interested in learning more about black history and I hoped to learn something from The Help.

So I started reading The Help, and all I was getting was cute anecdotes about being a nanny. Halfway through the novel, it was obvious I wasn’t getting an authentic experience. I checked and discovered Kathryn Stockett is white, and was like, Oh, that’s why. I felt tricked. It made no sense for a white person to author this story and the result left me frustrated.

After I read The Help, I watched the movie to see if it was an improvement. It wasn’t. At the end of the movie, the white protagonist literally hands the nanny cash and the nanny is like, Yippy! What’s a handful of cash, when the nanny’s community is being oppressed under a white supremacist, racist society? It was absurd. Soon after, I heard someone describe The Help as a white savior story. I saw how the narrative was written to ease white guilt.

The white savior narrative doesn’t come from a void. It’s been internalized and unconsciously repeated over and over in Western media (4.). So if we’re going to write about any group of people, it’s important to recognize the harmful narratives that already exist, so we can avoid unintentionally inserting them into our stories.

There was a Netflix show I was into a few years ago called The 100 (5.). The world is bombed by nuclear missiles, but a community of people escape and live in a spaceship above the earth. A hundred years pass and the community sends a hundred teenagers down to earth to check if it’s safe. The teenagers discover that there are people still living in the forest. The ‘grounders’ are portrayed as violent, scary, and ‘savage’ because they’ve been surviving in the wild.

This is a harmful narrative that perpetuates negative stereotypes about indigenous peoples (6.). It originates with the European colonizers attempting to justify the atrocities they committed. Europeans promoted the idea that indigenous peoples were animalistic to justify taking their land and killing them. This narrative has been perpetuated so much in Western culture, that many people won’t even recognize how racist it is. I don’t believe the writers of The 100 intended to be racist. But it’s important to recognize that even when we’re writing a sci-fi hundreds years in the future, we can still unintentionally replicate harmful narratives that we’ve internalized from Western media.

A great way to ensure diverse characters are portrayed with sensitively is to have someone in the character’s real-world community read the manuscript and give feedback. But keep in mind a person may not know everything there is to know about their own group. An extreme example of this is how Sia had undiagnosed autism, but still wrote and directed, Music, which is famous for its problematic portrayal of autism (7.). The fact Sia had autism didn’t make her immune to believing stereotypes about people with disabilities. Plus, being a part of an othered group doesn’t make people immune to other forms of prejudice, such as homophobia, racism, ablism, transphobia, or misogyny. In the end, us authors must be experts on our own diverse characters, so we can think critically about how they’re portrayed.

But above all, we must recognize that we can’t truly know what it’s like to be someone else. As someone with ADHD, I’m used to being misunderstood. People act as if I don’t have a real disability even though it affects every aspect of my life. It takes me much more effort to accomplish the same tasks neurotypical folks complete easily. When someone starts listing off instructions and I ask them to stop, so I can type them into my phone, they look at me like I’m crazy.

My experience with being neurodivergent has helped me see how important it is to listen. Listen to ADHD folks when they say they can’t fill out forms while answering questions. Listen to people with disabilities. Listen to black voices. Listen to indigenous voices. Listen to transgender voices. They are the only ones who know what they need and how they would like to be portrayed in fiction.

I’ve read ADHD characters I’ve found insulting. But if I shake my finger and say a neurotypical author shouldn’t write ADHD characters, that’s not good enough. It’s the equivalent of saying they’re not allowed to write fiction. Crafting diverse characters is essential, so authors need to know how to do it properly. It’s better if I help authors craft ADHD characters correctly, rather than declare a blanket ban.

Please note, non-diverse authors who write diverse characters should not replace diverse authors. Some people think, if you have one, you can’t have the other. But that’s not true! All of our stories can exist together! It’s essential that we see more novels by diverse authors on the bookstore shelves, plus non-diverse authors crafting diversity.

I’m not going to ask my fellow fiction writers, Why are you writing diverse characters? I’ve noticed some folks make negative assumptions about authors when they choose to write outside themselves. And such questions are intended to suggest the writer has ‘bad’ motivations. I’m not going to do that. I believe in my writing community, that we’re good people and we want to do good in the world. I refuse to believe that anyone intentionally perpetuates harmful narratives or stereotypes. I believe very few people venture into a writing project with the goal of becoming a savior. I get the impression some folks have forgotten that people can care about marginalized communities and it have nothing to do with ego.

Most of all, the question (Why are you writing diverse characters?) is annoying because the answer is obvious. The reason why so many of us writers choose to write diverse characters is simply because we’re writing what we want to read. Us writers want more diversity in our media!

Please note, it’s not helpful to shame authors for neglecting to write diversity, or failing to write realistic diverse characters, or going too deep into an experience outside ourselves. There’s nothing to be gained from attacking the person. Offering constructive criticism allows a creative to learn, grow and improve. For example, if an author is white and their novel is an in-depth story about the experience of being Asian American, a critic could simply say readers want such novels written by Asian Americans. The author could move on to crafting a novel more appropriate for them. But nothing is gained from villainizing the author. Even if it’s in relation to the author’s identity, please criticize the work, not the person!

So should I write diverse characters? Yes, the more diversity we have in the media the better, and that can be accomplished by making room for diverse authors and by helping each other craft realistic, diverse characters. Everyone should see themselves represented in every role: the villain, the hero, the anti-hero, the protagonist, the mentor, the parental figure, the love interest, the sidekick, the betrayer. I believe it’s better to work towards getting more diversity in every role possible, than to be banning specific identities from writing certain characters. If we accomplish this, one offensive diverse character won’t have as much power, because there will be so many superior diverse characters to choose from. This can be accomplished if we work together and help each other craft diversity with care.

Folks, leave the in-depth stories for the right people. Do your best to acknowledge diverse experiences in the world and it’s okay to try, fail, learn and grow.

Carrie Herthwell
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