I didn’t set out to learn something I didn’t like about myself by writing a middle grade novel.
But I did.
I envisioned a diverse cast for Cloudia. My PNW town of Tempest Ridge was supposed to reflect the area that I grew up in, mostly white, but not entirely.
As I’ve said before, a theme runs through my characters. When I started working on book two, I realized this theme had a hole. Two characters ended up outside the theme. No biggie; I thought I could fix that easily.
To be sure that was my only issue, I went back and checked that I hadn’t left anyone else out.
Holy shit.
I’m an effing racist.
Every single character of color was left outside my theme.
AND
The planned characters who weren’t straight were ALSO left out.
Melissa, you bigoted jerk, what the hell happened here?
I grew up in the 70s and 80s. We said and did things that would horrify people now (thank goodness social media, cell phone cameras and the internet weren’t a thing yet).
Did I play cowboys and Indians?
Yes.
Did I dress up like a gypsy on Halloween?
Yes.
Did we stop cars, run around switching seats and call it a ‘Chinese Fire Drill’?
Also yes.
Do I know now that those things weren’t culturally sensitive or appropriate?
OF COURSE I DO!!
So where in the hell did this come from? It’s not on the surface or in my everyday life, but apparently some kind of bias from long ago is squirreled away in the nooks and crannies of my 50-something mind, and I don’t like it.
Not one bit.
I unconsciously othered these people, though I never intended to. It doesn’t necessarily explain why I did it, but discovering the pattern made me uncomfortable.
How did that cultural can of worms show up in my worldbuilding?
I’m evolved!
I swear!
Right?
As usual, I fell down a research rabbit hole trying to figure out what the heck was going on, and I decided it was implicit cultural bias. My background, experiences and environment simply influence how I perceive people different from me. Even though I value diversity and try my hardest to be inclusive.
My particular bias wasn’t in how I imagined the characters. It was in the cultural associations I relied on when writing them.
Well, that sucks.
I created a convention that helped give Tempest Ridge its identity, but without intending to, I made some of the characters exceptions to that convention.
I don’t think that I was unconsciously deciding these people didn’t belong. But noticing a pattern in my choices, and not knowing why, makes me cringe.
I am so uncomfy.
And I am not a fan of it
I made a conscious effort to create a community where everyone belonged, then caught myself making distinctions I didn’t intend.
I come from a place where Asians, Blacks and gays WERE different. And that may be exactly where the unconscious stuff came from. People were perceived as separate categories, even when they were part of the same community.
That BS may have become ingrained without me consciously endorsing it.
The world has changed, but an old association is still hiding in my brain.
What’s interesting is that I didn’t notice those associations in my attitudes toward the characters. I noticed them in something far more innocuous (still protecting my easter egg, sorry), and I’m disgusted with my unconscious.
Whew.
Quite a discovery to make about yourself while writing a middle-grade fantasy novel.
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