Kayla Whaley

I was intrigued by the virtual-reality premise, but this book is a veritable hotbed of misogyny and a case study in how not to write a wheelchair-using character.

Kayla Whaley talks with thirteen-year-old activist and author Melissa Shang about her recent middle grade debut.

The most common wheelchair-using character has acquired paraplegia, but why is this particular narrative so prevalent, and at the expense of all others?

We take a close look at the state of recognizable representation of visibly disabled characters on book covers.

To help authors make informed decisions about what language to use, we talk about disability terminology — from outdated words and cringe-worthy phrases to straight-up ableist slurs, and everything in between.

Magic and technology often minimize disability in SF/F. How can authors meaningfully engage with disability and the ways that speculative elements can affect disabled characters?

When we talk about disability and sci-fi/fantasy, the first thing many will think of is the magical disability trope. But what does this trope entail and imply? And how can you subvert it?

Linette is more a convenient plot device than a protagonist, and disabled readers deserve more. Young Knights of the Round Table is a prime example of incidental disability done wrong.

In science-fiction and fantasy, you invariably run into fictional disabilities and allegories. Do these “count” as disability? What makes them work successfully in a book?

We have so few stories — especially lighthearted ones — with wheelchair-using characters that I’d hoped I’d be able to recommend I Funny, but it’s a dangerous narrative wrapped up and presented as “good messages.”

Romanticization is a common element of mental illness narratives, including many in the YA category; what kind of message does that send?

Many characters who may be mentally ill reject treatment out of hand, considering therapy a waste of time and suspecting medication will turn them into a zombie. Why are these narratives so popular? What are the alternatives?

Writing about characters with mental illness can be challenging in various ways. How do you accurately convey a character’s state of mind, without compromising on clarity or excitement? How do you show a character’s skewed perceptions of the world?

If our contributors could tell an author writing a character with their disability one thing – besides “do your research” – what would it be?

Is any representation better than no representation? That argument frequently comes up in response to criticism, but is it valid?

I’ve talked a lot about the ways my disability has affected my body image, my sexuality, my confidence, and my social interactions, and all of those things are important to consider when writing a disabled character. Today, however, I want to focus on the ways my disability affects the logistics of my life.

I don’t remember the first time I was bullied, but I do remember the moment I finally realized that I had been bullied.

In my experience, the disabled sibling in fiction exists purely to make the main character’s life more “difficult,” more “sympathetic.” Oh, that poor dear, the writers want you to think, having to deal with such a horrible thing. It must be so hard.

Which are our contributors’ least favorite disability tropes?

In terms of disabled characters, what would our contributors like to see more of in children’s literature?

What kind of tips do our contributors have for authors seeking to respectfully write disabled characters?

A poster child, to me, is a child with a disability who is “shown off” as a way to generate funds, awareness, understanding, more funds. Mostly funds, in my experience.

How do our contributors define the dreaded concept of “inspiration porn,” and how do they feel about it?

Masturbation (and sexuality in general), particularly for girls, is widely stigmatized. But on top of that stigma, I had this body that was utterly different from the bodies around me. It was different and therefore wrong.