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Blind characters seem to always go too far in either one direction or the other—either completely ruled by their disability, or completely unfazed. The truth is, I hate both, because neither is honest.

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

I can’t tell you how many times people have been dismissive or incredulous about my mental illness, simply because I don’t fulfill their preconceived notions about bipolar individuals.

I have to accumulate all the data from these varying experiences and use them to define myself. Otherwise, others will do it for me.

Bad depictions in popular culture foster the narrative of the lazy narcoleptic: They’re lazy. They’re late/unproductive/lethargic employees.  They’re uncaring lovers or absent friends.  And so on and so on. 

What you won’t be able to see when you first meet me is this: I’m a published author. I read all the time. I write all the time, too. I dictate, using an old-fashioned cassette recorder, and my mother types up my finished drafts.

The notion of people faking disabilities is not at all new or novel–and, like many, many disability tropes, it’s a harmful one.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I could finally understand that from the time of my diagnosis, my education was not going to be “complete,” because I did not have the full access I needed. It was as if intensive speech therapy and itinerant teachers were more important than having a sign language interpreter in my classes.

When I received my diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome seven years ago, I thought of all the young people today who face the social challenges and bullying that I faced decades earlier. I wanted to create a character like me, but one who fights back against the way others treat her in a way that I never did.

After second grade, I stopped reading most books unless they were assigned for class. Even then, I often didn’t read them. The reason being, when I read a sentence, I often didn’t understand it. Somewhere between my eyes seeing the words and my brain, the phrase disappeared into the ether.

All too often, portrayals of disability in literature mirror the common assumption that disability signifies helplessness.

It’s September, which means we’re back! While the August break was lovely (and so very refreshing), we could not be more thrilled to begin having regular content again. We’ll be posting weekly instead of daily, with new posts going up every Friday. As you’ve probably guessed, the first post will be up this Friday, September 6! … Read More

July has officially come to an end, and with it, the blog’s daily post schedule.

A brief list of recommendations our contributors put together.

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.

According to pop culture, mentally ill people are magically more creative, filled with a manic drive to create art that pushes them to the brink until they finally explode.

Did you know in the US it’s illegal to drive within six months after having a seizure? Even under supervision, even just around the block, I wasn’t trusted behind a wheel.

Predictably, many of the tropes relating to D/deaf and hard of hearing characters deal with communication methods and degree of hearing loss. Most, if not all, of these tropes have to do with people’s assumptions and wishful thinking about hearing loss.

Ever seen the Allstate commercial?  “I’m a random windstorm. Shaky, shaky.” Well, sometimes that’s how life feels when you’re a kid with disabilities.  Because I’m both very random and my life can be, well, pretty shaky.

We’ve decided to continue Disability in Kidlit as an ongoing blog rather than a one-time event!

The best part about this story being told as a graphic novel how Gulledge shows us Will’s anxiety: we can literally see the shadows and worries that plague Will.

Which are our contributors’ least favorite disability tropes?

ADD isn’t an end of the world big deal. It’s really, really not. But it is a deal, it’s a thing. It’s a disability. It puts you on a different default setting.

I’ve always wondered what it would’ve looked like to the outside world, this dance of ours. (Would we be pitied?)