How My Identities Shape My Writing

Stories are never created in a vacuum. Every writer brings their own experiences, history, and identity to the page, whether consciously or not. For me, being Black, queer (both gender and orientation), and neurodivergent (bipolar auDHD!) doesn’t just influence my writing—it’s inseparable from it. The stories I tell, the characters I create, and the themes I explore are all shaped by the way I move through the world.

Writing as a Black Author

Being Black in a world that often devalues and erases Black voices means that every story I write is, in some way, an act of resistance. I write Black characters not because I feel obligated to but because our stories deserve to be told in all their complexity. I don’t just want to see Black suffering on the page—I want to see Black joy, love, magic, and survival. I want stories where Black characters get to take up space, where they get to be heroes, villains, and everything in between.

This is especially important in genres that have historically excluded Black voices. When I was growing up, so much of the fantasy and dystopian fiction I loved had characters who looked nothing like me. It took me years to realize that I could write the kind of stories I wanted to read—ones where Black characters get to wield power, fight back, and shape their own destinies. That’s why Brambles and Wire is so important to me. It’s not just a dystopian story; it’s a magical realism-infused narrative where a Black woman's connection to nature is her greatest source of strength. Aella’s Blackness is not incidental. It’s integral to her magic and survival, just as my own Blackness is integral to the way I see the world.

Writing While Queer

Queerness is another thread woven deeply into my stories. It’s not always the central conflict, but it’s always there, because I’ve lived my whole life knowing that my existence doesn’t fit neatly into the boxes society tries to force people into. I’m especially drawn to found family narratives because, for many queer people, the family you choose is just as—if not more—important than the one you’re born into. That’s the heart of OUT. It’s a story about queer kids who have been abandoned, displaced, or otherwise left to fend for themselves, and they create something beautiful out of their shared pain.

Too often, queer stories are framed around suffering and tragedy. While those stories are necessary, they aren’t the only ones that matter. And sure, OUT starts because of tragedy, and suffering follows, but it's the building of a found family and finding time to be young adults that drives the story. I want to write about queerness in all its messy, complicated, and joyful forms. Sometimes, that means writing about love and community. Other times, it means showing how queerness can be weaponized or turned into a curse when there’s no community to hold you. But at the end of the day, my stories are always about survival—because to be queer and alive in this world is, in itself, an act of defiance.

Neurodivergence, Disability, and the Written Word

Being bipolar is what, predominantly, affects how I approach storytelling in ways I’m still unpacking. My brain doesn’t always work on a linear timeline. Some days, I feel like I can write endlessly, my thoughts moving faster than my fingers can type. Other days, the words feel impossible to find. My relationship with writing is deeply tied to my mental health, and that means I have to be patient with myself in ways that aren’t always easy.

But being neurodivergent also gives me unique insight into how characters experience the world. I know what it’s like to feel things too intensely, to be consumed by emotions that don’t always make sense, to wrestle with identity in ways that don’t have simple answers. My characters often struggle with loss, fear, and self-doubt, not because I want them to suffer, but because that’s what makes them real to me.

I also think mental health representation in fiction is critically important. I don’t just want to write characters who have mental illnesses—I want to write characters who live with them, who navigate their days the best they can, who struggle but also find joy. Maybe one day, I’ll write a book that explicitly tackles bipolar disorder. Or maybe auDHD. Until then, I’ll keep infusing my characters with the complexities of what it means to exist in a brain that doesn’t always play by the rules.

Conclusion

My identity shapes every word I write, even when I don’t realize it. I write Black, queer, neurodivergent characters because I want to see them thrive in ways I didn’t always see growing up. I write about found family because I know what it’s like to need one. I write about survival because that’s what it means to exist in a world that doesn’t always make space for you.

Stories are a way to carve out that space—to say, we are here, and we matter. And if my stories can make even one person feel seen, then that’s more than enough.

Until next time,

Oregon J. Sinclair