Inclusive Writing: Why It Matters & How to Do It Right

Stories shape our understanding of the world. It’s how we learn; not just by reading them, but also by writing them. We use them to explore the depths of the soul, or even to argue about its existence altogether. They explain how we function in society to children and let us critique that same society as adults. 

But if ‘what’s not named doesn’t exist,’ what becomes of those left out of the narrative? How do we remember, protect, and write about those who live so far away we’d rather forget their country’s name; those we lock away in closets; those too poor to carve their names into stone?

The Importance of Representation. 

History is shaped by whose stories are told. The myths we repeat, the histories we canonize, and the voices we amplify all reinforce whose pain is mourned, whose joy is celebrated, and whose humanity is recognized. Consider how easily oppression thrives when its victims are reduced to statistics, stereotypes, or footnotes. 

That’s why representation is, ultimately, about power. It’s about who gets to be the hero, the sage, the lover, the survivor. It’s about the isolated ones being able to read a book and think, I am possible. To include is to hand them a self-defense weapon: the knowledge that their life is not a rumor. 

For an LGBT child growing up in silence or a closeted elder finally admitting this secret to the world, a single story can be a rope thrown into the dark. To see someone like you is to learn a radical truth: You are not wrong for existing. 

And your existence is not debatable. 

Writers have the power to say: I see you, I will not let you disappear, and I will not let them forget you. 

But Must Every Story Carry the World? 

Representation can feel like a moral ultimatum: Include, or be complicit. But art is not a census, and good intentions do not automatically make good stories. So, where does the obligation truly lie? 

You might think your story is not fit to include some people, that your story is “neutral”. But neutrality is a myth. 

A story set a thousand years ago, or one that follows a single hermit in the woods, is never just about that. It is about how we imagine history, solitude, and humanity. A lone character can still mirror the biases of their world (or our own). The absence of others must mean something. Silence speaks. 

To write only straight white men as a moving force in medieval Europe while pretending women, people of color, and queer lives didn’t exist in a fundamental, world-changing way (when they did) isn’t historical accuracy; it’s mythmaking. Exclusion is a choice, even when unconscious. 

When you write, you communicate. So write for yourself, but not only to yourself.

So, any representation is good representation? 

Well, no. Bad representation can hand bigots strawmen and tell the marginalized that a caricature is all they’re allowed to be. 

We all have heard of the infamous "Bury Your Gays" trope, where queer characters exist only to die for shock or sentimental value. But these kinds of tropes are everywhere: the Disabled Saint, the Sassy Latina… Caricatures that swap one kind of erasure for another. Stories where diversity is a veneer, a corporate afterthought rather than a lived truth. 

Don’t get me wrong; you can have characters that fit the stereotype. But only if they’re not reduced to it. Otherwise, this isn’t inclusion; it’s taxidermy. The body is there, but the soul’s been stuffed with someone else’s agenda. 

There’s a difference between presence and power. 

So, how do I get this right? 

1. Do the work before you write. Research. If you’re writing outside your lived experience, consult sources from that community, not just about them. Read memoirs, interviews, and oral histories. Study bad examples. Why did this other portrayal backfire? Was it stereotype, erasure, or cultural laziness? Learn from others’ mistakes. 

2. Write with integrity in mind, not perfection. Avoid the “Perfect Minority” trope. Sanctity is dehumanizing. Let characters be petty, selfish, wrong (unless the whole point of the character is being perfect! But that’s beyond my point). Characters in minorities can be villains or plainly annoying, too! 

3. Interrogate Your Choices. Why this character? Is their identity organic to the story, or a garnish? Who’s centered? If marginalized voices exist only to teach the protagonist a lesson, you’ve missed the point. 

4. Be Humble. You will get things wrong. But silence is the greater failure. When criticized: Listen, don’t litigate. Defensiveness helps no one. Correct transparently. Update editions, acknowledge missteps. 

5. When reading: Don’t just read books about the marginalized, make a conscious choice to also read actual marginalized authors. And when someone criticizes that book you love, saying it’s insensitive or straight disrespectful, actually listen to their explanation. It’s okay to engage with their opinion critically, but not dismissively. 

Keep learning. Allyship isn’t a badge. It’s a practice. 

That’s exactly why places like Storyforge matter more than ever. They have shown time and time again that they stand with the people and have faced unfair repercussions for it. In case you missed it, you can read here how they got censored by simply stating they’re all for inclusivity. 

Stories matter. Therefore, the character that inhabits them too. Write them fearlessly and truthfully. It’s what we owe each other.