Here is a key insight to creating realistic autistic characters: We do not do the visibly autistic things we do because of “autism,” full stop. Like non-autistic people, we are responding to our experiences of the world. Those experiences simply differ from those of non-autistic people.
Writing disability respectfully can be difficult, especially in the midst of large, seemingly contradictory conversations about representation. How should frustrated or concerned authors approach this?
Everything, Everything starts out as a respectful, sensitive narrative with incredibly likable characters, but ends on a shockingly disappointing note in terms of disability representation.
What is it like to grow up with dyscalculia? And how might a character experience it?
Eric Lindstrom wrote an excellent portrayal of a blind teenage girl, so we’re happy to invite him to the site to discuss his approach, blindness tropes, and more.
A snarky New York Times column referred to CFS as “yuppie flu,” and oh, it was hilarious. Those silly rich people imagining themselves sick!
I appreciated the honesty and authenticity with which the emotional aspects of serious illness were written; the actual details of day-to-day life with cystic fibrosis, however, were a mixed bag.
Stoner & Spaz is funny and often unafraid of ambivalence, and I feel similarly ambivalent: liking a lot of what I got, yet wanting more of the stuff between the lines of what Ben says and does.
I Was Here is full of wasted potential; Meg is as much of a prop to the story as Mr. Body is to Clue.
Today we get most forms of entertainment at the push of a button, so we tend to hate having to wait. The situation is even worse if you can’t read print—resulting in an endless waiting game for blind readers.