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The story suggests that Kira’s talents as a threader make up for her disability, justifying her continued survival — with the disturbing implication that without it, she would be worthless.

Perhaps “normal” behavior is best described as a “normative spectrum.”

A mistake I see a lot of writers who write about disability make is asking only one person for help. I’ve heard so many people say things like, “I have a cousin who is blind, and she read the book and said it was good at portraying blindness.”

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

I regularly recommend One-Handed Catch as the best book for young people about limb deficiency because it captures two big aspects of life with one fewer limb: humor and problem solving.

I’ve never written fiction about living with Crohn’s, and to be honest, I’ve never wanted to. Perhaps because I still feel what I felt for years growing up: that nobody wants to hear about my annoying, humiliating misery. Yet I know, intellectually, that this is a shame, because there should be more characters in YA literature who live with chronic illnesses like IBD.

Pete’s autism is portrayed over and over again as being non-stop pain and suffering. That got incredibly hard to read; do people really think this is what autism is like?

A snarky New York Times column referred to CFS as “yuppie flu,” and oh, it was hilarious. Those silly rich people imagining themselves sick!

The two or three months I managed to get by on the reduced dose were enough to convince me: My psychiatrist is lying. I don’t need medication. I’m fine. I can beat this. Until, of course, I couldn’t.

With one word, one look, it hit me that my experience really was abnormal.

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

The only way I can describe Take a Good Look by Jacqueline Wilson is a book designed to educate young children about visual impairment gone horribly wrong.

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.

That’s the thing about disability, I think. You’re a normal person, you experience normal things, and then, every once in a while, you hit that wall. That reminder that you aren’t quite like the majority of your peers.

While Rory’s portrayal isn’t flawless, it’s well researched, and a significant step in the right direction of treating autistic characters as regular teenagers and integral parts of the cast.

This is a story about what it’s like to go crazy, and it is brilliantly, masterfully crafted.

Severe, chronic vertigo associated with migraines like mine is a “silent” disability, one people can’t see. Many people are compassionate. But others lack sensitivity, assume you’re faking it or just have a headache and will get over it.

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

Here’s the thing no one tells you about people with a medical condition: The disease is always on their mind, but they don’t always want to think 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.

While we’re never told exactly what Marcelo’s impairment is, and it’s implied that no one can quite figure it out, it shares many features that will be familiar to those of us on the autism spectrum.

When characters with disabilities are portrayed as inspirational or overcoming obstacles just for living their daily lives, it sends a message that a life with a disability is a burden. What message does that send to young people?

Thanks for keeping up with us, and we hope you enjoy the series. One more day!

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