Who Can Write What?

by Eric Noon

Image by nugroho dwi hartawan from Pixabay

One of the most common sayings for writers is to “write what you know.” Pulling from your own experiences and the things that you’re already familiar with are great ways to get the juices flowing and to fill in the gaps of otherwise tiresome or troubling writing in which we writers can often get bogged down. After all, it’s much easier to put a twist on a story you already know, or embellish something that’s happened to you--the bulk of the work is already done! The real question, and maybe where the advice needs to shift, is “what can we learn from the things we don’t already know?”

If all we’re to write about is our own experiences, then what room does that leave for us to learn, to empathize with, and to appreciate the stories of others? Writing about what we don’t know, the experiences we personally will never have to go through, could potentially help us to connect and build bridges with one another in ways we couldn’t see before. But as with any work of art, the court of public opinion holds a lot of sway in what is acceptable and what is not. I’m often left with the burning question of “Who can write what?

Let’s establish some ethos on my part: I am a 21-year-old, cisgender, straight, white male. I’m about as “basic” as it gets. I have been fortunate enough to not experience discrimination due to my beliefs, race, or being. I don’t take this fortune lightly, and I understand the privilege with which I get to live. At the same time, I understand the importance and necessity of marginalized voices having their stories heard, and I want to advocate for that as much as possible. A couple of the stories I have written, whether it be in my spare time or for coursework, contain characters that have backgrounds unattached to my own, whether it be people who come from different cultures, races, or sexual identities. I’ve written these stories not to get “brownie points” or anything like that, but rather, to understand and garner love and appreciation for individuals in similar situations, and to showcase their strength despite their hardships.

​To some, writing characters of a different culture is a fully in-effect no-go. To others, seeing writers write about cultures to which they don’t belong puts a bad taste in their mouths, and often leads to disdain for the author. In the case of white writers writing Black stories, writer Darian Lane argues that white writers are “putting words” into Black actors’ mouths, and asks if the Black audience is “conditioned” to having white people tell their stories. Similarly, Ivy Whitaker writes in her blog that a straight man writing her love stories as a lesbian “twists my grundies.” She doesn’t like the idea of being “fetishized” by someone who doesn’t love the same way she does. It’s understandable, and Whitaker notes in her article that she’s a massive proponent of the #OwnVoices movement, as coined by YA author Corinne Duyvis. The movement itself champions the idea of empowering marginalized and underrepresented voices to create their own stories rather than be the audience for them.

There’s definitely credence to this movement, especially since as recently as 2021 82.5% of writers were white, leading to a substantial amount of non-white writers not even getting their foot in the door, let alone having their story heard. (To their luck, there was probably a white writer who has written it for them!) All joking aside, the stats are alarming, and it does beg the question of why we would even need or care for writers who write about experiences that aren’t their own, when we could instead lift up these severely marginalized voices instead. But do these controversial pairings of writer and subject matter hold absolutely no merit? I don’t think so, and I don’t think everyone else does either. ​

Photo by Scott Graham on Unsplash

What makes a good story? Often, characters are the driving force of a plot and determine whether or not we can connect to a story. If an author writes a character from a background unlike their own, but manages to write that character with poise and consideration so that an audience—specifically the demographic that the character in question belongs to— can relate, then does that not make for a successfully written story? To put an example to this hypothetical, one of the most recent culturally significant characters that is still growing in popularity, Miles Morales, was created by white comic writer Brian Michael Bendis. An African-American and Puerto Rican character, Bendis’ creation couldn’t be further from himself as a white, Ohio-born, Jewish American. Despite these differences, Miles Morales has exploded in popularity as of late, being the main character of two blockbuster animated films, one of which isbeing an Oscar-award winner for Best Animated Feature. On top of this, he’s become a huge source of inspiration for Black youth, giving them a hero that represents them. Following Bendis’ run with the character, Miles has since been written by writers of various backgrounds, including Saladin Ahmed, Cody Ziglar, Phil Lord, Christopher Miller, and David Callaham. Bendis has also gone on to create other comic book characters to much success such as Riri Williams and DC’s Naomi, two Black female heroes, partly to serve as inspiration for his adoptive African-American daughter.

One of the more interesting cases of the response to writers, their creations, and the backgrounds of both comes in the form of Becky Albertalli and the Love, Simon franchise. Author of the original work, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, Albertalli is a former psychologist who primarily worked with LGBTQ+ and gender non-conforming children before entering the writing sphere. Despite this background and prior experience with many youth dealing with LGBTQ+ issues, Albertalli was still met with massive backlash for writing about characters that fall into this demographic under the assumption that she herself was a straight woman, since as she’s married to her husband, Brian, with two kids. To combat these criticisms, Albertalli came out as bisexual in a blogpost on Medium. While she admits to “never having kissed a girl” she reflects back on how she had crushes on both boys and girls in her youth. While this is technically an example of an LGBTQ+ author writing about a character with a similar background, it’s still shocking to see just how much criticism Albertalli faced when she was presumed a heterosexual woman, especially when it comes to the critical and commercial success of Love, Simon.

The question now turns to you, or me, or just writers in general. What can WE write? How do some creatives manage to walk this fine line, and how can we avoid conflict, discomfort, or worse within our own writing if we choose to write about different backgrounds? I think the most important aspect of this is to realize that there is a line, and it’s not one to be crossed. When writers start to take the stories of a background they don’t belong to and try to pass them off as their own, it can come off as a bit “fetishized” as Whitaker put it before. Let those who have actually gone through the real-world experiences touch on it in detail, and in the meantime, just focus on the character at hand.

With that being said, the character at hand ought to be as accurate as possible to the experience. This can come about by taking the time to do the careful and considerate research necessary to accurately depict people from these backgrounds. In her article on the Nelson Literary Agency website, Kristin Nelson makes a point that while writers can portray these types of characters, it’s important to have characters that are “realistic and grounded” and to “avoid falling back on stereotypes.” Additionally, Nelson gives great advice to writers tackling this problem, telling them to “Research extensively. Engage sensitivity readers of the same background(s) as your character(s). Expect and listen to criticism.” By working with those who you’re trying to write for, you can both gain valuable insight into the culture and provide accurate commentary on the culture that is much less likely to offend. All of this to say, research is a writer’s best friend, and in this particular case, it is not only important, but imperative to the creation of these characters and stories.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

So, do we have an answer to the question? Well, it’s unfortunately still a little muddied. While there are examples of characters and stories being well-written despite a clash with the author’s background, there are also cases where the audience is severely turned-off, even appalled, at an author’s attempt at this. It’s almost a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” situation with which writers may have to come to terms. It does seem, however, that if done respectfully and with the proper research audiences can be generally receptive to the idea of authors from a different background writing about these types of stories. While these attempts should not drown out the attempts of the actual authors that fall into these backgrounds, there is obviously still a place for them within the literary community, and hopefully through them, writers and readers alike can grow to create a more interconnected, inclusive, and loving community.