**The Power—and Challenge—of Telling Untold Stories**
*Tracy Stewart, Founder of Freshly Press*
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“Too many powerful stories go untold, not because they lack worth, but because the world lacks courage, access, or imagination to hear them properly.” I have repeated this to aspiring authors, colleagues, and myself countless times over the years. Sitting down with Joanne Lockwood on Inclusion Bites, I was reminded that behind every “unheard” story is not just an individual beating the odds, but a system in desperate need of change.
I built Freshly Press out of frustration and hope; frustration with a publishing industry determined to play it safe, selling readers short as a result. And hope—hope that with the right structure, advocacy, and stubbornness, we can push new stories and voices into the light. In this article, I want to walk you, frankly, through the messy realities and hard-earned insights we explored on the Inclusion Bites Podcast.
If you care about belonging, equal access, or the almost sacred act of storytelling—read on.
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### Why Stories—and Who Tells Them—Matter
Let’s not sugar-coat it: most of what sits on our bookshop shelves remains shockingly narrow. When I began my career in publishing a decade ago, having left a stable post in the city and moved to rural France, I was stunned by how little had changed. Despite being a lifelong, voracious reader, I found myself, for the first time, seeing an industry built to feed a small circle of the “usual suspects.” Stories that reflected the lived experiences I cared about—especially those belonging to disabled people, people of colour, or LGBTQ+ communities—were either pigeonholed or completely ignored.
Joanne and I quickly found common ground. She’s the founder of SEE Change Happen and host of Inclusion Bites—an interview-driven podcast aimed at disrupting the status quo of diversity, equity, and inclusion in Britain. With extensive experience advising corporates and advocacy groups, Joanne’s work in nurturing authentic belonging resonates across sectors. The Inclusion Bites community is testament to the appetite for real change:
More than [INSERT_VIEW_COUNT] people have already watched our interview on YouTube, with many more tuning in via Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
If this conversation sparks something for you—questions, pushback, or agreement—I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below. I read every one.
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## Breaking In: The Realities of “Gatekeepers” and Publisher Inertia
What I want every would-be author to know is this: the greatest enemy you are likely to face is not your ability, discipline, or even imposter syndrome. It’s a system built on risk aversion and the myth of the “universal” (read: middle-class, white, able-bodied, cisgender) reader.
In my first few years working with independent publishers, the divide between the stories being published and those I knew from my own community became a kind of daily wound. “We realised just how many stories simply don’t make the cut with traditional publishers—they’re not brave enough to take on stories that are different,” I explained to Joanne, who nodded with an empathy born of lived experience.
And that difference isn’t just about plot or protagonist. In today’s industry, it’s about who gets to take the financial risk. Joanne nailed it: “It’s a bit like venture capital… Publishers will invest if they see a ready-made audience. And if there isn’t clear evidence, they say, ‘Well, we can’t take the chance because there’s no obvious market.’ But of course, because they don’t, the market never develops. It’s chicken and egg.”
If you’re an author without deep pockets or institutional privilege, it can cost anywhere from £10,000 to £30,000 simply to ready a manuscript for submission, including professional editing, design, and marketing. For many, especially those facing systemic exclusion—disabled writers, first-generation migrants, working-class storytellers—this is not a barrier, but a moat with the drawbridge resolutely up.
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## Access and Imposter Syndrome: The Unseen Barriers
It’s become fashionable in DEI circles to talk about “barriers to entry,” but few outside the industry appreciate just how layered those barriers are for underrepresented writers. The classic imposter syndrome (“Who am I to write my story?”) is only the beginning.
Joanne and I dug into this point at length. “There are the confidence issues… but also physical ones,” she said. “For authors with disabilities—in the literal sense, someone unable to see, or with dyslexia, or who can’t type easily—just physically getting your story onto the page is sometimes the hardest bit. The technology and platforms aren’t built for everyone.”
I’ve witnessed this repeatedly. Writers who, given the right environment, could produce work of extraordinary quality, but are stymied because the tools aren’t accessible, the costs of adjustments too high, or the process to even request reasonable accommodations feels dehumanising and bureaucratic.
And even for those who clear those hurdles, the industry’s structural prejudices remain. I’ve watched an award-winning novelist—her protagonist proudly, unashamedly disabled—receive a slew of rejections. Editors praised the writing but baulked at centring a character whose experience fell outside the supposed mainstream. Meanwhile, those same publishers might celebrate “inclusion” by putting a few LGBTQ+ titles on a shelf, or flying in a disabled athlete for a book signing. Tokenism replaces genuine representation.
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## The Myth of Meritocracy: Who Profits from Being “Brave”?
Traditional publishing, at its heart, runs on accumulated advantage. Publishers claim to serve “the market”—but the mechanism is circular: what gets publicised as “mainstream” becomes the safest bet, which in turn marginalises the new, the novel, the authentic.
Joanne’s analogy—publishers as risk-averse venture capitalists—couldn’t be more apt. “Unless a publisher has a ready-made audience in mind, they don’t want to take a punt on something untested. But how does a disabled writer, who goes unrepresented in the media, build that kind of following?” she asked.
It’s infuriating, but common: rather than develop a true audience for work born from lived difference, publishers often opt for safer territory, licensing rights to content designed to feel “universal.” Joanne observed: “We see progress in LGBTQ+ or Black literature, perhaps because these communities have built their own parallel platforms and some have leverage through the media. Even there, the struggle isn’t over. But writers with disabilities, or neurodiverse backgrounds, are barely visible. It’s almost as if the door was never made for them to enter.”
To my mind, real bravery in publishing would mean investing in this untapped creativity and ambition—sharing risk, not just reward. Instead, the burden to prove viability falls squarely on the author.
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## Self-Publishing: Empowerment or Second-Class Path?
The conversation naturally turned to self-publishing. There was a time—pre-digital platforms—when going it alone was virtually impossible. Now, anyone with an Internet connection can technically launch a book to Amazon overnight. This seems democratic, and in some ways is; but it also comes with new complexities.
“I always advise writers: just because you *can* upload your manuscript to Amazon, that doesn’t mean it’s ready,” I told Joanne. Too many self-published books land on the market without the benefit of rigorous editing and design—making it much harder for the stories to reach, and truly move, their intended audience. In fact, it risks reinforcing publishers’ prejudices about what “diverse” work is worth.
Joanne was insightful: “Is it better to self-publish and hope for buzz, or hold out for a traditional publisher? If your initial effort lands flat, do you get unfairly judged forever by that first impression?” There’s no perfect answer—every author’s context and needs differ. For some, self-publishing is accessible, empowering, and even lucrative; for others, the prospect of direct engagement with media and marketing is either daunting or simply not feasible.
It’s here that supportive communities, mentorship, and honest professional guidance become crucial. I have always insisted on affordability and accessibility in my work with Freshly Press, championing cooperation among writing groups, and small, tailored interventions—be that with workshops, manuscript reviews, or just an honest conversation to demystify the first steps.
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## Who “Deserves” Support? How We Value Creative Work
There’s another insidious bias at play—one that applies not only to writers, but to anyone in a non-traditional career. Joanne observed: “There’s an idea that being an author isn’t a ‘real job’—it’s a hobby until, or unless, you make real money from it. So when you seek access to funding, support, or even basic adaptive technology, you’re treated as if you’re indulging in a leisure activity—not pursuing a profession.”
This chimes with what I’ve seen. For writers—especially disabled or neurodivergent ones—accessing equipment as simple as dictation software, an ergonomic keyboard, or even a reliable screen reader is a bureaucratic nightmare. You are told to “prove” your worth in advance, to show earnings before you can access the resources you need to earn. It is, in every sense, an economy designed not just to gatekeep stories, but to deny livelihood.
Yet writing, for many in my community, isn’t an idle pursuit. It’s a vocation, a necessity, the thing that sustains mental health and offers meaningful participation in society. The system’s failure to recognise this is not just economically shortsighted—it’s profoundly unjust.
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## Real Representation: Moving Beyond Tokenism in Media
Shifting focus a little, Joanne and I explored why “representation” in popular culture can fail to move the needle. In fiction, television, and film, there is a tendency either to erase disabled characters—or to depict them in such a way that their difference is overcome, fetishised, or safely contained within a familiar narrative.
Joanne reflected on how rare it is to see truly authentic disabled protagonists at the centre of stories—not simply as conduits for able-bodied learning, or sympathetic background texture. “If we want to create change, we can’t present these stories as novelties—they need to be embedded in the fabric of storytelling, not shunted to a quiet shelf marked ‘diverse.’”
This resonated with me deeply. Too often, publishers, television commissioners, and film studios “other” the lives and stories of disabled people or minorities. Even positive depictions are managed, packaged, or “balanced” for a mainstream comfort.
Genuine inclusion means storytelling where characters are wholly themselves—not tokens or lessons, but complex and compelling individuals. It is not enough to “represent” by inclusion alone; the stories must be told from within the experience, and the tension and richness that brings must not be sanitised out of existence.
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## The Interplay of Technology, AI, and Authentic Voice
The rise of AI and rapid technological change represents a fascinating double-edged sword for writers and publishers alike. Joanne, who is actively experimenting with AI to generate poetry and “wireframe” creative projects, is candid about this.
Artificial intelligence can, in some cases, open doors for writers with access barriers—for example, dictation software for those unable to type, or language models to help with formatting and idea generation. But there is a fine and ethically charged line between using technology as an aid and using it to replace human soul and authenticity.
I am clear on this point: “You can ask AI to draft an article or a book, but what comes out, unless painstakingly reworked, lacks… soul. The patterns, the nuances of lived experience, the rhythms that make good writing truly connect—they’re missing.”
There are also broader ethical issues. Companies scraping copyrighted literature to “train” AI models are not just sampling—they are stealing. We spoke about how, while AI can be a powerful tool to augment creativity or access, it cannot (certainly not yet) substitute for the lived insights, emotional cadence, and “umph” that only human experience confers.
If the industry permits a flood of AI-generated content, we risk losing not just jobs, but the hard-won progress in representation and authentic storytelling that’s only just begun to take root.
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## The Practical Realities of Getting Started
At the close of our conversation, Joanne posed a practical question—one I hear constantly: “How does someone with a story—be it fiction, business, memoir, or something else—start, especially when they’re gripped by imposter syndrome?”
The answer, if not simple, is honest. “Imposter syndrome is part of the territory,” I told her. “The key is to start anyway. Get the words out of your head. Dictate, scribble, talk aloud—whatever you do, create something tangible. The first draft will be rough. That’s the point. It’s the starting place, not the finish line.”
Once there’s something on the page—no matter how chaotic—it becomes possible to step back, consider audience, refine focus, and gradually build the manuscript up. In my experience, many authors only realise what their book is truly about halfway through the process. Sometimes a memoir transforms into a guidebook; or a personal story becomes a fictional narrative, giving just enough space for the truth to breathe.
Above all: seek community. Whether through professional manuscript reviews, writing groups, or simply exchanging drafts with a trusted peer, stories come to life in dialogue, not isolation.
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## Why This Struggle Matters
Returning to my opening thought: the world doesn’t just need braver storytellers; it needs braver gatekeepers, publishers, agents and readers. The next wave of “inclusion” isn’t about surface-level representation or performative diversity. It’s about profound structural shifts—lowered barriers, new models of support, and a relentless demand for authentic stories in every medium.
Why? Because the act of storytelling—when rooted in lived experience and offered without apology—is transformative. Not just for the teller, but for every reader, viewer, or listener who, for a moment, sees the world through new eyes. As I see it, our greatest calling as publishers, advocates and creators is to ensure those moments multiply.
If something in these reflections has struck a chord—if you recognise yourself as a would-be author, an ally, or someone exasperated by slow progress—I invite you to join this dialogue. Provoke, challenge, share your own story. And, above all, keep writing.
As I tell every author: you cannot edit a blank page. Your story, in all its messy, unmarketable, vital reality, matters.
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*Have thoughts on this? Share them below—I read every comment. And if you want to learn more about how Freshly Press helps underrepresented authors break through, you know where to find me.*