If you want diverse books you need to change your definition of commercial - by Elspeth Wilson
Elspeth Wilson is a Scottish writer and poet. Her work has been shortlisted for the Canongate Nan Shepherd prize and Penguin’s Write Now editorial programme, and she is currently working on her poetry collection. Her work has been published in The Moth, Poetry Wales and Channel magazine.
A white person with long blonde hair is smiling over their shoulder at the camera. They are wearing a black jumper and yellow earrings and are standing against a grey wall.
If You Want Diverse Books You Need to Change Your Definition of Commercial – by Elspeth Wilson
In the writing world, there are certain things that are often deemed to be necessary or essential by the industry to make a book successful, and to crucially sell. Narrative arcs. Three act structures with an inciting incident. Protagonists who are active not passive. Strong hooks. Showing not telling.
These are likely familiar phrases to many if not all writers, and whilst they can all be brilliant tools which have the potential to contribute to fantastic storytelling, when taken as gospel they can be as limiting as they are useful, particularly for writers whose stories aren’t those that we usually get to read.
“When it comes to deaf, disabled and neurodivergent writers, to tackle the severe lack of books published by us, we really need publishers to think critically about their predictions of what will sell and indeed the very idea of what constitutes a ‘commercial’ book.”
In recent years, there has been increasing discussion and awareness of the need for more stories published by writers who have traditionally been underrepresented in mainstream publishing, and a real growth in opportunities and development schemes designed for underrepresented writers. However, discussion of the need to increase ‘diversity’ within publishing and re-assessing what might be ‘commercial’ are two different, yet interlinked things. When it comes to deaf, disabled and neurodivergent writers, to tackle the severe lack of books published by us, we really need publishers to think critically about their predictions of what will sell and indeed the very idea of what constitutes a ‘commercial’ book.
“To do justice to the myriad, varied stories that deaf, disabled and neurodivergent writers want to tell – which may or may not explicitly centre disability – there needs to be a will to get these stories out into the world which by necessity requires a rethink of the idea of what is ‘commercial.”
I recently wrote for Unwritten about the different shapes stories can take, particularly around stories of chronicity and illness. In Western literature, we are often encouraged to think in terms of the narrative arc, but there are so many shapes stories can take that don’t necessarily fit this mould. To do justice to the myriad, varied stories that deaf, disabled and neurodivergent writers want to tell – which may or may not explicitly centre disability – there needs to be a will to get these stories out into the world which by necessity requires a rethink of the idea of what is ‘commercial’. Deaf, disabled and neurodivergent people are potentially going to write different stories with different protagonists with different motivations than non-disabled writers; if we want to see these books on the shelves then this difference has to be welcome and accommodated.
When I was querying my first non-fiction, nature writing book, I got a lot of lovely, personalised rejections about how beautiful the writing was and how much the work had moved the reader which meant a lot to me as an aspiring writer. However, I also got a lot of feedback about the work feeling too ‘bleak’ – it was about my non-linear recovery from PTSD – or not happy enough for Covid times, despite it ultimately being a hopeful story about finding moments of joy in a body that was hurt in an era of climate crisis. Receiving glowing feedback but having a manuscript’s commerciality questioned is something that might feel familiar to other querying writers, particularly other deaf, disabled or neurodivergent writers. This can feel particularly difficult when what is being described as ‘unrealistic’ or ‘depressing’ or ‘lacking in sales potential’, is drawn from your own life or experience, as so much of writing can be, whatever the genre. It can be demoralising and make you question whether you should write a different kind of book entirely, if you ever want to get published, reinforcing the idea that as deaf, disabled and neurodivergent people we have to change to fit society, rather than society making space for us.
One of the best pieces of writing advice I’ve ever received was from Kasim Ali, editor and author of Good Intentions, who ran a workshop that I attended as part of Penguin’s WriteNow programme for underrepresented writers. When talking about different potential narrative structures, such as three, four and five act structures, Kasim talked through the ways in which they could be used but also how they might not fit all stories, particularly those that are less often heard or published. It was so refreshing to hear this; realising that many writing maxims have been devised by writers who have never had to push to have their stories heard, completely changed the way I thought about what I was writing.
“It would be fantastic to see huge marketing campaigns for deaf, disabled and neurodivergent authors’ books.”
Poet and playwright James McDermott uses the wonderful phrase ‘tools not rules’ when discussing writing. Thinking in this way gives us the freedom to take what works for us and leave what doesn’t. As disabled writers, we are often working in really experimental, creative ways which subvert, extend or play with pre-existing templates and guidance. What we need now is for publishers to get behind us and to help us bring our work out into the world. Much of what becomes commercially successful is that which publishers decide will be commercially successful in the first place; it would be fantastic to see huge marketing campaigns for deaf, disabled and neurodivergent authors’ books. It seems to me that there is an enormous – and largely untapped – demand for excellent books written by deaf, disabled and neurodivergent authors, as demonstrated by the amazing success of books like Elle McNicoll’s frankly fantastic middle-grade novel A Kind of Spark.
“This kind of response limits the potential for disabled stories in all their complexity and nuance, and suggests that our stories are only wanted if they are easily slotted into pre-existing categories. But the point of ‘diversity’ is to change the system, not to make underrepresented writers squeeze their stories into moulds that are the wrong shape for them. “
One published author told me “when a work by multiple authors, with me as editor, was on agency submission, a comment made by a big five publisher was that they did not want a book which was both on physical and mental health problems, but would need them to be separated in order to break the book out; that is, there was no awareness at all of the intersectional nature of physical and mental health.” This kind of response limits the potential for disabled stories in all their complexity and nuance, and suggests that our stories are only wanted if they are easily slotted into pre-existing categories. But the point of ‘diversity’ is to change the system, not to make underrepresented writers squeeze their stories into moulds that are the wrong shape for them.
There are so many readers out there who have never seen themselves in stories, or never read a story which reflects their lives, hopes and dreams. There are so many fantastic deaf, disabled and neurodivergent writers, writing different kinds of books across different genres and forms. The talent is there and the readership is there – both from disabled and non-disabled audiences alike – and what we need now is for mainstream publishers to bridge this gap. Let’s aim high; let’s make the next bestsellers and the next breakout hits across all genres be by deaf, disabled and neurodivergent authors. We’re here, we have so many amazing stories to tell – we only need the space and support to let them soar.