If you’ve ever asked the internet how to write an identity you don’t share, you’ve probably heard some variant of the following:
“Just write a person, and then make them [identity]”
This advice is so ubiquitous, it’s joined the ranks of pithy storytelling pointers like “show, don’t tell”—an easily packaged, digestible nugget of wisdom for new writers. And, like “show, don’t tell,” there’s an element of truth in it. Quite a large one, in fact. Also like “show, don’t tell,” that truth should never be taken as universal.
I don’t actually agree with “just write a person,” but I continue to give it out as advice anyway. This might sound contradictory, so I’m going to attempt to unpack it in this post.
First, some definitions
Casual representation, or casual rep, is a kind of representation wherein characters of any marginalized identity (queer, disabled, any racial minority, etc.) are written into a book that does not center around their identity or the struggles they face as a result of it. Casual rep is a badass spacecraft captain fighting off a galactic threat—when that captain is also queer and Black in a world that fully respects her. Casual rep is a dragon-rider preoccupied with raising a dragon pup that’s the last of its kind—when that rider also happens to be missing an arm. Casual rep is a Romance where the couple struggles to trust one another after past experiences of betrayal—and that couple just so happens to be gay.
Casual rep is where writers who do not share a particular identity should remain. If a story centers around discrimination or unique experiences of BEING [identity], that story probably belongs to someone with lived experience as that identity. This distinction is at the heart of “just write a character.”
Pros and cons of casual rep
“Just writing” a character means putting them in a position where their particular identity does not drive your plot. When it’s realistic, this is a good thing! The world needs coming-out stories, but it also needs badass queer space captains, scientists, starstruck lovers, struggling students, detectives, and more. It needs characters who can go about their daily lives and accomplish plot-worthy things while just-so-happening to be [identity].
The benefit of these types of “just characters” is twofold. First, marginalized folks of all ages need to see themselves represented in media—not just their struggles—and casual rep plays a big role in that. And second, pretty much anyone who does their research can write this kind of rep. Casual characters can take side, major, or even main roles without straying into the complicated territory of “not your story to tell.”
The problem that still faces casual rep, however, is also twofold. First, not every writer knows a real live human (let alone more than one) who identifies with any given marginalized identity. And second, our society is really, really good at ingraining bias in… well, pretty much everyone. Even people who are marginalized themselves. Internalized -isms are a whole thing, but that’s a topic for another blog post.
The representation conundrum
In the absence of living, breathing, human connection to people of [identity], many writers are left with what the media shows them. And, because the media is bad at this (though it’s slowly getting better), the bulk of that is stereotypes. I’m not going to get into examples because I could go on forever, and that’s research any casual rep-writer should be doing themself. But it’s safe to say a majority of marginalized characters in media today are either absent, have extremely minor roles, and/or are largely cardboard cut-outs supposed to be representative of their identity.
That “representative” part is a real kicker. If there’s only (let’s just say) one queer person in a TV show, you can bet they’re going to be the most ✨identifiably ✨ queer caricature you’ve ever seen. All of that rests on stereotypes.
So what’s a writer to do? Especially a non-[identity] writer, or an [identity] one writing a different identity than their own? Where do they start, if the bulk of their experience with that identity hasn’t come from interacting with living, breathing humans? Here is the power of our initial quote: just write a person, and then make them [identity].
Writing a person first
Writing a person first, and then their [identity], shifts the focus from the identity to, well, the person. Their hopes and dreams. Their quirks and foibles. Their goals, drives, struggles, flaws. They go from a cardboard cut-out to a 3D human because suddenly, [identity] is only one of many, many facets of their whole being. This kind of humanization is a potent tool for shifting our perceptions away from stereotypes, and for developing empathy with people whose identities we do not share.
Now, this isn’t guaranteed to get rid of stereotypes, or the biases that society has imparted unto all of us. Remember, these things are deeply ingrained. They’re largely subconscious, and it takes effort and discomfort to unearth them. That work is still necessary, but “just write a person” gives newcomers to casual rep a scaffold to work from. It circumvents some of the major pitfalls by fixing the foundation those issues are built upon. If you write a person first, it is harder to fuck up to quite the same degree.
This is why I still hand out this quote to writers who are newer to writing casual rep.
And now I’m going to complicate it. Never trust a Dark-Fantasy / Horror author not to blow things up.
Making it personal…
I’ll start this off with an anecdote that’s also kind of an admission. Bear with me. I’ll explain it at the end.
Most visual advertisements make no sense to me.
This has been my experience since teenhood, when the absurdity really set in. My peers would see an ad and preen, then go buy the thing it was advertising—or at least wish they could. Yet the ads contained no information about the thing they were selling. Sometimes, they barely contained the thing at all. They filled billboards and screens instead with weirdly smiling, slightly creepy people with hair that seemed suspended in zero-gravity, and vaguely threatening taglines about inner beauty or confidence. People in video ads would smile at one another, heads lolling, and then suddenly one would have what they wanted for no apparent reason. If I was lucky, they were wearing clothes fit for whatever public space the ad was in.
Suffice to say, these ads do not work on me. Some make me deeply uncomfortable, and I cannot look at a cosmetics billboard without thinking that no real, sober human makes that face. And the thing is, I know now why companies advertise this way. At least on an intellectual level. It took me a few years, but I figured it out.
I’m not dense. I’m just asexual.
There’s no such thing as “just” writing
I tell this story because it’s a good illustration of the biggest pitfall of “just write a person.” If you’re not [identity] and/or not immersed in an associated community, your default “just a person” isn’t [identity]. Because of this, they won’t share the unique quirks and angles of social friction that characterize the [identity] experience. These aren’t just passing details. They can shape a character’s entire worldview and social experience. Marginalized identity is just one facet of a complex human being, but that doesn’t mean it stays contained to its little slice of the pie. It spills over, and can cause ripple effects through other parts of a character’s habits and personality.
Capturing this nuance—and thus authenticity—is not something you can do unless [identity] is integrated into the character right from the start. It still shouldn’t lead that character’s development, but it should have a seat at the table and remain in consideration as you, the author, are getting to know your newest fictional human being. If it’s added as an afterthought, the most extreme outcome is identity-washing (whitewashing, straightwashing, etc.): a character who is painted [identity] but built on a different scaffold altogether.
The fallout
Marginalized readers will notice this disparity. Even subconsciously, they will feel a disconnect with a character they’re supposed to be identifying with, in the absence of all the little details that make an experience of existence unique. These details can still be added casually. Marginalized experiences are unique in many more ways than just discrimination! There’s community and codes and tension with social norms, celebrations and history, iconography and language and symbols of both subtlety and pride. Even in the absence of organized subculture or even language, elements of a different social experience still remain.
To do an [identity] character justice, these factors need to be at least acknowledged, in whatever contemporary, historical, or fictional setting you’ve built your book’s world. It’ll take more research, worldbuilding, exploration, and character work, but that’s probably work you should be doing anyway.
Conclusion
At the end of the day, then, the real issue I have with “just write a character” is that it lacks nuance. Which should come as no surprise, really: every pithy statement does. I still think it’s an excellent place for writers to start. It should just never be the end of the story.