This is a long read, friends! Grab a cuppa and two biscuits before you start.
My latest novel is a Shakespearean space fantasy, featuring an Aboriginal perspective character. To ensure a respectful and authentic depiction of someone with lived experience I didn’t have myself, I engaged a sensitivity reader — a process that shattered my expectations and prejudices in ways I never imagined.
Since then, I’ve gotten a few questions about what’s involved and what it’s like to work with a sensitivity reader. My experience was by no means universal, but I want to share what I can with writers who may one day find themselves in the position I was in after completing my first draft.
First, a little background: My perspective character is an engineering student of Noongar Aboriginal heritage. I’m not Indigenous Australia, and there’s heaps about Noongar culture I don’t know. While my novel doesn’t lean heavily into cultural themes, culture still informs who we are as people, and I wanted to portray this character as authentically as possible.
So, what is a sensitivity reader?
For those who aren’t familiar with the term, a sensitivity reader is a quasi beta reader who looks for issues with misrepresentation, biases, stereotypes, tropes and language that may be considered problematic.
Typically, authors and publishers would hire a sensitivity reader at some point during the writing process. The earlier the better, but not so early that the characters and story could change in the way that would require unnecessary re-reads.
The biggest question I got, about why I was hiring a sensitivity reader, was to do with how much influence they would have over my book. Sensitivity readers aren’t editors or fact-checkers, nor are they manuscript doctors or writing coaches. They won’t take over your book, rewrite your story, or try to control how your characters behave.
Perhaps a better term for them would be “lived-experience consultant” or “subject matter expert”, since the word “sensitivity” itself could be problematic due to its ambiguity — oh, the irony!
Finally, a sensitivity reader is just one person, not an elected representative for a whole group. Each reader brings a different lived experience and different expertise, providing one reasonably informed perspective on the subject matter in question. Likewise, a sensitivity reader familiar with a specific subject matter won’t necessarily be able to represent others unless they have experience in those areas as well.
Challenges and Obstacles
I went into this process with a slew of fears, expectations and prejudices ... That it would be prohibitively expensive to hire someone. That my work would turn out to be horribly racist and I’d be ostracised from the writing community. That I would never find someone with the expertise I needed before my book was due to come out (I messed up when it came to scheduling, but that’s a story for another day).
That last fear alone was enough to send me spiralling. I didn’t know how prevalent sensitivity reading was in Australia, as I’d only ever heard about it from American sources. Web searches turned up mostly results in the United States, covering mainly Black, LGBTQIA+ and neurodivergent knowledge areas. But I needed someone local, who could read for a twenty-year-old Noongar Aboriginal man.
So, when search engines failed me, the next thing I tried was reaching out to two writing organisations in my city. Interestingly, the smaller organisation got back to me within a couple of days with helpful suggestions, but I never heard back from the bigger one.
From there, I contacted Romance Writers of Australia‘s Diversity Team and heard back from both the association president and the team leader. They gave me a few leads in the academic space (university departments and lecturers), plus a couple of authors who might be open to questions. The academics were most sympathetic but unable to help, save for one professor who referred me to his former student, a local journalist who had worked with Aboriginal cultural consultants on her recent award-winning novel. Unfortunately, although she was kind enough to reply to my enquiry, I hit another dead end rather swiftly.
Just as I was about to call it quits, I stumbled upon the Australian Society of Authors’s Guide to the Australian Book Industry. In it was the contact information of several sensitivity readers in Australia, including Bill Bennell of Kooyar Wongi, a Ballardong-Whadjuk Nyungar man, who I finally contacted.
All up, it took me eight months to find him.
He gave my book the thumbs-up in a matter of weeks.
Why you might want a sensitivity reader
Let’s skip the part about not wanting to offend people, since you’ll either find it obvious or not worth caring about. For the sake of your work, a sensitivity reader can help you craft deeper, more authentic characters as well as plausible, more engaging storylines with details that hit closer to reality.
They can help with behaviours and phenomena you may have no concept for, such as “code switching” for more believable dialogue among multilingual/multicultural individuals; romantic development and emotional perspective within a margnialised context; and even ensuring historical accuracy and consistent magic systems based on real-life beliefs and folklore.
Something else that’s often neglected in advice about sensitivity readers is the impact it can have beyond the confines of your book. People with lived experience and specialised niche knowledge are typically forced to pay the unique toll that comes with things like minority status, disability, and marginalisation.
By hiring a sensitivity reader, you’re directly supporting members of the wider community who may not have the same privileges and opportunities afforded to you. I was proud to support an Aboriginal business, just like how your readers who love your books are proud to support you.
What’s more, by sharing more authentic and relatable stories, we can help normalise diversity and inclusivity. This in turn contributes to a larger cultural conversation whereby wealth and privilege can become more fairly distributed throughout society — a rising tide that lifts all ships.
That awkward conversation about money
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room — how much it costs.
Start with the assumption that hiring a sensitivity reader is not cheap. Based on fair, industry standard rates of pay, you’d be looking to pay $100–300 per hour, which is about the same recommended industry rate for freelance writing. However, YMMV depending on the individual and the nature of your arrangement with them.
If, like me, you’re not rolling in Scrooge McDuck money, here are a couple of tips for keeping your costs low whilst still operating fairly and ethically:
Do your research: As in, research what you’re writing. Read up on culture, on lived experiences, read blogs and watch videos by people who go through what your characters are going through. A thoroughly researched manuscript will require less input from a sensitivity reader, meaning fewer billable hours on your final invoice.
Request a partial read: You may not need to get your full manuscript looked over, only specific chapters or scenes where issues might occur. This will come down to how deeply certain elements are ingrained in your story, and you may have to just trust yourself to make the right call.
Agree to a contra: Also called a “quid pro quo”. I wouldn’t recommend proposing this to a consultant unless you already have a good working relationship with them, or if you’re both already part of a community where barter arrangements are normal. If your reader is also an indie author, perhaps you could read something for them or lend them your expertise in return.
Thank you for having me for Magic Thursday, everyone! Hope you found this article useful. You’ll find my contact details on my website if you have any questions or just fancy a chat.
Until next time,
JL.
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Yet We Sleep, We Dream
Relationships are complicated enough when only humans are involved — something the crew of the starship Athenia know plenty about. These children of a changing climate are no strangers to conflicts of the heart. And it seems there's a lot of conflict going on, even out in space.
When an alien dust finds its way on board, the veil between realms begins to fray. Old gods of a long dead planet resume their own romantic bickering while ancient magic wreaks havoc across the ship. Grudges resurface, friends turn to enemies, unrequited love turns to passion — or does it? It's kinda hard to tell with everyone at each other's throats.
Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show; but wonder on, till truth make all things plain. Yet We Sleep, We Dream is a romantic space-fantasy inspired by Shakespeare's endearing hot mess, A Midsummer Night's Dream.
— Bottom, A Midsummer Night's Dream
JL Peridot
Right now, JL is working on a time travel novelette and a handful of steamy short reads.
Visit her website at jlperidot.com for the full catalogue of her work.
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