Writing with Inclusivity in mind:A Masterclass(from the perspective of a sensitivity reader)
In case you haven't been around for a while, allow us to introduce ourselves. We're Hawthorn & Aster, a queer-owned, inclusive, ethical marketing company whose greatest passion is championing diversity in the publishing space.
This masterclass is going to be a bit different than the ones we've published in the past. Yes, this is informational—yes, this is about craft. But I cannot, in good conscience, write about the importance of writing inclusively without explaining its significance: the impact on the human.
I touch upon my own experiences, so please proceed with caution. I mention heavier themes like: loss of a caregiver (as a minor), self-harm, and queerness (and the fear associated with coming out). None of these themes are covered in gratuitous detail. They are merely mentioned to provide context and shed light on the impact on the reader.
Reading was what gave me a home when I was young. I was able to live in different worlds, see different points of view, and at times, felt far less alone. You see, finding books written by people who lived similar life experiences gave me an anchor, even if my wider community couldn't understand. I was a troubled, queer teen in a home environment that was less than understanding.
Authenticity grew to mean a lot to me.
Now, as an adult, I have the distinct privilege of working in a space that helped mold me into a better person. And I have the opportunity to help make this space more inclusive—and I take this role deeply seriously.
Because every voice deserves representation.
Let's Dive Into The Power of the Shared Human Experience
Art has always been one of the greatest cultural bridges throughout history. If you're a history nerd, you likely know the significance of the Silk Road—connecting China, Central Asia, the Mediterranean, and the western cultures. It was during this era that technology, ideas, and art were, for the first time, readily shared across worlds.
As a result, fashion, cuisine, art all changed for the better. Cultures were connected, worlds were merged.
The significance was less about the physical transportation of goods and more about the greater cultural impact. In holding ceramics from China, a family in England's horizons were broadened. Questions were born about what life was like elsewhere. A seemingly innocuous exchange then became a greater journey into curiosity—a natural pipeline to understanding.
Something as small as a beautifully crafted tea cup made a whole continent feel more like people with lives and rituals of their own, instead of an abstract concept.
Anthropologists build their entire careers on studying culture—finding unifying threads that connect the human experience across continents and lifetimes.
It's powerful.
The Written Word Is One of the Most Potent Forms of Art We Have
Think about it—why do you read?
To escape into another world? To live in someone else's skin for a while? To experience something new? To fall in love? Or maybe it's to have your heart broken, just a little?
We're in this space as readers and authors because we understand the power of storytelling. For some of us, we heal through our work. For others, we shed light on bigger issues. And for some, you share your culture—Bubbe's age-spotted hands showing you how to braid Challah, Zayde playfully challenging your world view over pilfered sweets.
I can take bits and pieces of my experience and connect you to a world that you may have never experienced for yourself. But it feels real. It feels significant.
Which Is Why It's So Important To Write With Care
I have lost track of the many times I've read stories that use trauma carved deep into my bones as plot fodder. I've seen my worst experiences stamped onto pages as if they were inconsequential. Or, I've seen them glamorized to the point where the character was boiled down and condensed into a checklist of brokenness: traumatized, "other," and "more interesting" because of those things.
I can tell that the person who wrote these pages didn't know what it was like to come home to a social worker in their kitchen—straddling that uncomfortable line between compassionate and detached while they tell a little girl that her mother wasn't coming home from work that day.
I can tell that the person who wrote these pages didn't know what it was like to feel their heart pounding in their throat when a once-beloved family member spoke about queerness with hatred—or what it felt like to bite back tears knowing that they were no longer safe.
To some, these concepts are merely that. An idea. Not a lived experience. Not something that throbs in the chests of many other, quieter voices like a second heartbeat.
But here's the thing—we don't all have to experience these things to write them well. We do have to write with the people who have in mind, however.
The full masterclass covers how to research and write outside your lived experience, the observer vs. first-person lens distinction, the publishing diversity crisis, sensitivity reading, and what it truly means to write with diversity at the heart of your story—without taking someone else's voice.
Ready to go deeper? All of our masterclasses live inside the Author Circle—our community built for indie authors who are serious about their craft, their impact, and their career. Join the Author Circle here.
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