For a while now, I’ve been trying to detangle the exhausting threads of thought that come with writing as a ‘minority’, the slightly preferable term to ‘woman of colour’ or ‘person of colour’ — labels I avoid as they inherently position ‘white’ as default and lump diverse groups of people under the monolithic category: non-white.
I think about perceptions, expectations, and ‘rules’ that apply to writers outside of the default, whether through conscious or unconscious bias (sometimes internalised), or compelling evidence on the page that reinforce that bias: who and what gets published, who tells what stories, who engages critically with which stories, who sits on which panels, and so on.
I haven’t resolved any of this, but a couple of weeks ago, I found new material for the essay I've been drafting in my head and across numerous entries in my phone’s Notes app. That new material (supporting arguments) came from the most surprising of places — Elizabeth Strout's Oh William! (2022).
When I saw it on a shelf at the library, I remembered one of my teachers mentioning, in the context of setting as narrative technique, Strout’s penchant for placing her characters in Maine. So, in the interests of exploring craft, I borrowed the book.
Elizabeth Strout could not be further from who I am, in many ways. I could list all the ways we differ, but perhaps White Boomer versus Black Gen-Xer can serve as shorthand. And the demographics of Maine really drive home these points of difference. Maine is the whitest state in the US. At the 2024 census, non-Hispanic Whites made up 93.7% of the population. And it’s got the country’s largest population of people older than 65.
Yet I saw my inner world in Strout’s protagonist, Lucy Barton, to a greater extent than I’ve seen in characters who more closely resemble me. As I followed Lucy’s character arc, I made profound discoveries about myself. There is a universality in class and childhood trauma that does, to an extent, transcend race. Strout offers so many lessons on life and craft in her novel.
After finishing Oh William! I promptly did two things.
I borrowed My Name is Lucy Barton (2016).
I added three new lines of enquiry to that essay.
i. What is denied the ‘default’ reader if the stories they consume by the ‘minority’ are limited to exotica, trauma, heroic feats of assimilation, and for good measure, more trauma?
ii. What is denied the ‘minority’ writer if their publishable writing, based on marketability to the ‘default’ reader, is limited to stories that don't peel back layers of their ‘otherness’?
iii. If I don’t write on my terms, will an 87-year-old man in Maine miss out on seeing himself on the page?
Thinking of starting a newsletter?
What I wish I’d known
The Raptorial has landed in inboxes every month for the past 3 years. But long before this newsletter, and even this platform, existed, I was a citizen of the World Wide Web, disseminating words to subscribers and The Unsubscribed alike.
Over the past *16 years, I've learned a thing or two about newsletters and blogs and I was delighted to contribute to Kill Your Darlings’ ‘What I Wish I’d Known’ series together with nine other writers.
*Here’s a quick CV: Mek’s longest tenure in online publishing is her ongoing role, since 2014, as writer, editor, community engagement lead and chief financial officer of a WordPress blog. While she hasn’t posted there in the past three financial years, the site is very much front of mind, with WordPress’ frequent correspondence, in their quest to secure annual payment for the premium plan.
Prior to WordPress, Mek had a stint on Blogspot (2009 to 2011), which one can liken to an unpaid internship with no colleagues, mentors, managers, strategy, or five-year plan. She amassed a readership of three, although two thirds of readers may have been bots.
Mek's time at Blogspot concluded with a final post directing readers to her then-new WordPress blog. Always one to cross-pollinate, innovate and onboard her readership in new ventures, Mek’s final WordPress post directed readers (over 600!) to Substack. However, not many made the arduous journey to a new tab, and Mek has since pivoted to a focus on consistent output and organic growth.
‘Numbers don’t really matter.’ She repeats aloud, like a mantra, while operating her AeroPress in the small kitchenette at HQ.
With brew in hand and a little bravado, she sighs and whispers, ‘But more subscribers would be nice.’
Book reviews
In the latest Big Issue (ed. 737), I review Theft (2025) by Abdulrazak Gurnah. Inside, you’ll also find 2025 Stella Prize winner Michelle de Kretser’s letter to her younger self.
I reviewed de Kretser’s Theory & Practice (2024) in ed. 723 of TBI (spoiler: 5 stars) and it was one of my two selections for KYD’s 2024 Culture Picks.
Worth mentioning, in the context of de Kretser's powerful acceptance speech, but also more broadly in the context of 601 days of a live streamed genocide, is the pivotal moment in her work that lends it its title, propels the narrator (a writer) down the path of examining gaps between capital 't' theory and practice, and paves the way for de Kretser's stunning play with form.
That moment is the narrator's reflections, weeks on from reading 'Tunnel Vision', an essay by Eyal Weizman, published in the London Review of Books in December 2021. Weizman’s essay examines Israel’s application of situationist theory to violent colonial practice. Those reflections incite de Kretser's narrator to abandon the novel she is writing for a more urgent story that draws from life.
Pick up a copy of ed. 737 of The Big Issue, and check if your local vendor also has ed. 736, in which you’ll find my review of The Dream Hotel (2025) by Laila Lalami.
No vendor near you? No worries, you can take out a subscription to The Big Issue and get a fortnightly delivery to your door!
Raptorial Writes
A monthly writing prompt
Reimagine The Three Billygoats Gruff with human characters and your neighbourhood as the setting. Consider retaining or intentionally changing elements like theme, character arc, desire, conflict, stakes, resolution, and central dramatic question.
Set a timer for 20 minutes and write!
I’d love to know how you go! Post your writing to Instagram using #RaptorialWrites, or share it in the comments here.
Raptorial Bites
A monthly short story book club
This month’s read is Natasha Brown’s slim but mighty debut, Assembly (2021). I borrowed a print copy from my local library and devoured it in a single sitting. There is also an audio version, narrated by Pippa Bennett-Warner.