Notes, Notings, and Common Refrains

In the real world, the disabled have to fight for the right to safety, education, employment, freedom of assembly, and self-determination. So does the way disabled characters are portrayed in stories we tell really matter? I think of myself as a storyteller, so perhaps it is both unsurprising and self-aggrandizing for me to say I believe it matters most of all.

Human beings are a storytelling species – the ritual of storytelling occurs in every known culture and in every period of history. And if we take time to actually observe this ritual, we can get a sense of just how powerful it can be, and its great potential for shaping attitudes and prejudices.

First, the audience gathers. The gathering may be as small as one or two around the fireside or office water cooler, or as large as several million, in the case of commercially produced movies and television shows. Then, the social chatter ceases and is replaced by a sense of shared and focused anticipation, which sets the stage for the storyteller to begin. This dynamic (as far as I can tell), is unique to the human animal; lots of creatures gather in large groups for the shared activities of migration, mating, and the rearing of young, but the chatter and communication continues between small groups within that gathering: tweets and grunts, snorts, snuffles, and flashes of meaningful color. I've never seen a flock of birds, a school of fish, or herd of cows or horses become as still as a human audience. After the hush descends, the storyteller begins the tale. Then, if she or he is skilled enough, the magic (and that is really only thing I can call this) begins: the members of the audience fall into a trance-like state.

If you've been lucky enough to have ever been in the audience for a really wonderful story, you've felt this magic from the inside. You're no longer aware of the seat you're sitting in, or that scratchy tag in the neck of your sweater; the events of the story unfurl in your mind with such clarity it's as if you're there – inside the world the storyteller is creating for you. In a very real sense, members of the audience temporarily surrender their imaginations to the storyteller for the sake of a shared experience.

The fact that this ritual is both unique to, and universal within, human society is, I think, a sign that it is somehow vital to our survival as a species – and is probably connected to how we learn and how we understand our surroundings. My mother had a favorite saying: "When we read, we don't learn, we recognize;" she meant, I think, that everything we read is colored by the things we've experienced. But there's also a flipside to that observation: we tend not to notice, or give credence to, our own experiences until they are reflected back at us through stories. The Evangelist Christian who accosts me on the street with the promise to pray for me sees me not as I am, but as a character in the Gospel tales of Jesus. The "Santa's helper" in the elf uniform who thrusts a candy cane at me sees me, not as I am, but as a stand-in for Dickens' character Tiny Tim. And I could not easily contemplate writing disabled characters into my own fiction until after I joined in the disability community online – sharing my own stories, and perhaps more important, learning the stories of others; that's why events such as BADD are so powerful.

The question is, therefore: how should we judge the quality of the disabled characters in stories, either fiction or nonfiction? I think a good template to use as a starting point is the Bechdel Test, which has, in the last ten years, or so, been a useful framework for feminist critique of literature.

In 1985, Allison Bechdel introduced "The Rule" in her comic strip "Dykes to Watch Out For," a litmus test for judging the role of women in movies (and later, other forms of media). The power of this test lies in its simplicity, and also its broadness:

1) there are at least two named women
2) who talk to each other
3) about something other than a man.

This test makes no demands that the women in the story defy stereotype or are admirable in any way, and yet the fact that so few movies, comic books, and other mass media pass this test demonstrates how strong the bias toward male-centered narrative actually is.

So – I've been wondering for a while now: Is it possible to come up with a test to expose the common biases against the disabled in narrative? Simply pasting "disabled character" into the Bechdel test in place of "women" wouldn't work very well. The Bechdel test addresses the primary bias that women exist as accessories to men's lives. And, frankly, that doesn't really reflect the social barriers the disabled face. We may be a substantial segment of society, but we are rarely 50% of the population – often, we are the only disabled people within our nuclear families. So requirement 1 is out. And it is often assumed (whether rightly or not) that we live together in some sort of institution or group home. So requirement 2 is superfluous. And while it would be nice to have a disabled character with any speaking lines, whether they speak about their disability or ability specifically wouldn't necessarily counter any stereotypical beliefs.

And yet, whenever I'd see a disabled character pop up on a TV show, I could feel my jaw start to clench in anticipation of the same, tired, overused plot devices. So I knew there was something basic, and repetitive, going on… If only I could put what was bothering me into words.

Finally, this past winter, after watching one too many cop shows where a disabled character only appeared on-screen as the mute, and nameless, motive for a family member's crime, my personal litmus test crystallized in my mind:

1) there is a disabled character
2) who wants something
3) (besides revenge, cure, or death)
4) and tries to get it.

In the Bechdel test, having two women engage in any conversation on subjects other than men represents both the ability of women to form their own social bonds, and also a wide range of intellectual interests they are able to hold, all within the universal narrative element of "dialogue."

In the real world, we disabled often have to fight three primary cultural biases, each of which, I've tried to address in this test.

The first is the bias that discredits our ability for personal autonomy. That's why I want the disabled characters in my fiction to want something for themselves – it doesn't even need to be a big, powerful, plot-driving thing: even showing someone in the background of the crowd scene buying a newspaper, or flying a kite, would satisfy me.

The second cultural bias defines the disabled only in terms of being less than the culturally-accepted "norm." This is why I believe the third item on my list is important. So often in fiction, the disabled character is so embittered by their "lack" that they lose touch with their own sense of self-worth and moral compass – filled with rage and shame – and this reaction is almost always seen as "perfectly natural," and is never even challenged by any of the other characters in the story. So that the only "happy ending" can either be the erasure of the disability itself via cure, or the erasure of the character via death ("at least they're free from suffering, now").

The third bias in our culture is that the disabled are dependent, and in constant need of charity. And that's why the final requirement on my list is that the character makes their own effort to get what they want, rather than being there for an able-bodied character to rescue. This does not mean, however, that the character should be some type of super-Crip, and do everything themselves, but only that they take some initiative in getting their goals met, even if that's "just" to speak out and ask for help.

So… That's the test that I've come up with for evaluating the stories I create and consume. But I don't expect this to be a perfect litmus test – I do hope, however, that it's a useful starting point for discussion.

What do you think?

---

[E.T.A: Blogging Against Disablism Day 2013 archive ... So many articles to read! I hope to post a review entry sometime soon...]

So – last night, I watched a repeat of the episode "the Final Frontier," and it was a great, fun episode, all about geek pride. The thing is, that the murder victim was shot (with a laser gun that was very much hand-waved), and "hidden" on a mockup of a television set spaceship and left overnight. … And no one noticed until a couple of fans decided to snoop around and take a closer look. Apparently in the "Castle" universe, human corpses have no smell.

I really do enjoy the series, until I think about it too hard; it's really just a fantasy for writers – all about how were really the smartest people in the room, which would be obvious, if only people would listen to us. Because after all, it's our job to think about everything .

I came to the realization, the other day, that YouTube is kind of taking up the "Ecological Niche" that Usenet, used to, years ago, in that it allows people to wander in and find discussions of ideas, or artistic pieces, or random silliness (i.e. cats!) and then join in the discussions via the comment threads or video responses.*

So I think that's one reason why I want to make a video of some sort on the power of storytelling, and the importance of Bechdel-like tests for under-and-misrepresented populations (specifically, the Disabled, but also P.O.C., trans*-folk and the like): There's more of a chance for the message to reach beyond the choir, so to speak.

Really, I want to answer this question (which I posed/posted the other day):

"What's the link between A) proverbial "rose colored glasses," B) the tendency for tragic literature to be taken more seriously than happy literature, C) the use and misuse of 'creative visualization,' and D) Storytelling?"

I have a sense the answer, but I want to tighten it up so that it can fit into a video that's no more than 6 minutes.

( So, here goes (a bullet-pointed list to help start sorting out my thoughts) -- feedback welcome: )

...I did not expect this post to take all day... But it did (three hours). Why (well there were breaks for food and bathroom, but still)?


*...The only problem is that there's still a technological gate and lock there, because many people still do not have broadband, or are accessing the Internet through their phones, which makes broadband prohibitively expensive (Was discussing this with pendanther in regards to a venue for a 50th anniversary special of the Pro-Fun Hoedown, maybe, and why the hoedowns/round robins flourished like kudzu on Usenet, but fizzled as an LJ community).

I'm calling them unresolutions because, many cycles ago, I decided that I'll stop "shoulding" on myself, and rather than resolve to fix what I perceive is broken about me (or what Society tells me I should fix), that I will, instead, set a creative goal, where I MAKE or DO something -- and it's something fun. So, at the end of the year I can look back with fondness on the new idea or thing I brought forth into the Universe, rather than look back with regret on my failings.

Still, even though it's fun and creative, having friends know what I've set for myself, so they can occasionally prompt me with a "By the way: how's that thing going?" is helpful. So that's what this post is for.

As you'll notice, I'm using the plural, and yes, I have two unresolutions:

1) Quote-Finish-Unquote my Acorn (Eloise) Troll story -- transforming an O.C. from a decade+ old series of Doctor Who fan fiction round-robins into a wholly original character in a wholly original universe. And get her to the same plot point she was at at the end of the third Round Robin (which is the point where I began to feel jealous of her being in the D.W. universe as a side character, and started wanting her to be ALL Mine). Ideally, I'd like to get this done by Doctor Who's 50th anniversary (November 23). "Finish" is quote-unquoted because, in all honesty, her story, and the story of her "gang" will probably never be done -- it will always be possible to send them off on different random adventures.

2) Continue working on my NaNoWriMo novel from this year, such that I have a complete rough draft in a form fit to revise (will be using Camp NaNoWriMo in April and July, for this... and I will probably cheat like whoa-- but getting a complete story of this is more important to me than rules).

So there. That's them. Prod me on them occasionally, yes?

It had been ages since I'd truly written flash-fiction (though I used to write a-story-in-a-day fairly regularly when I was a teen), and then, at around 4 pm, Christmas afternoon, I got the idea for a "drabble" I could slip into gordon_r_d's inbox; 100 words would take an hour, tops (right, if you include all the edit and polish?). And it kept growing, and growing, and growing... And eventually, I realized I was creeping dangerously close to the 10,000 character limit (and over five hours later). But in the end, I succeeded in writing a complete story in more-or-less one sitting (don't worry--I took breaks for biological needs).

I also realized, as I was finding a way to resolve it, that, at least when it comes to "What the Holidays [trademark] mean to me..." that it was damned autobiographical. So, with gordon_r_d's kind permission, I present to you:

( Crinkleminkle's crushmess... crunchmuss... SOMETHING-yacallit )

Yesterday I wrote about how I kinda want to write a "Santa Claus"/Christmas story, because "The Big Winter-Gift-Giver" is one of my all time favorite para-mythical beings, but how I am put off by some of the fundamental tropes of the genre:

1) Naughty / Nice dichotomy. That's comforting, perhaps, to children who are privileged enough that they can expect to receive fun presents on a yearly basis. But if you're not privileged enough to have that expectation, it carries the subtext that both wealth and poverty are morally deserved.

2) The "You've got to Believe in "Santa" before he'll bring you any presents: I.E. skepticism/disbelief is "naughty."

So that's where I left off. There's a third peeve that I didn't get to before falling asleep at my keyboard:

3) That a Happy Ending = "Big Shiny (fancy-complex) Thing to own"

So, I got to thinking about how I would/could subvert some, or all, of those (at least one would be dandy:

1) Redefine the boundaries of "Naughty" vs. "Nice": Has nothing to do with whether you get good or bad grades in school, do or don't talk back to your parents, Shout, or cry, or pout, or scribble on the walls in purple crayon. Has everything to do with whether you bully others, or deliberately try to squelch their spirit and sense of fun.

2) Easy enough to have the skeptical kid get a present, anyway. Doesn't even matter if the kid comes to believe in Santa (elves) at the end. The Winter-Gift-Giver doesn't need to make that kind of demand.

3) This one is harder -- but what if the "Gift" that the underprivileged kid gets is a 'gift' in the sense of 'newly discovered talent or strength'?

(I've also posted this to disability, where it is waiting in the moderation cue, and I mentioned this at the end of my most recent post about my NaNoWriMo novel [under a custom filter], but I also thought it might be good to open this question up to everybody, so... here it is [ETA: Also, I realized, just now, that I can cross-post it to crip_crit, so I will do that]):

So, you know about The Bechdel Test, for evaluating certain aspects of gender bias and sexism in fiction, yes?

Well, there has been some talk in some circles, about how one could come up with something similar for depictions of PWD in fiction -- the discussions that spring immediately to mind are these two from Dave Hingsburger's Blog: "Rolling Around in My Head," from March of this year:

The Dave Test and The Rolling Test (I think he updated the name in order to honor all the comments to the Rolling... blog, not necessarily the little wheelchair stick figure).

Anyway, November is freshly over, and I'm still recovering from this year's NaNoWriMo marathon, and my head is still buzzing with my story. ( Cut for rambling about my story )

I realized I've created some disabled characters that do not embarrass me, and that feel as though they do reflect something of what I experience as a disabled person (even though I did not give either of these characters my form of disability). And, in the process, I think I've hit on my own "Disability Test" for fiction (movies, TV, books, etc.):

1) There is at least one character who has an actual disability (with consequences)
2) The character is in the story to resolve a conflict of his or her own
3) Curing the disability will not resolve that conflict.

( notes with more rambling )

The thing is, the strength of the Bechdell test is in its simplicity: 3 points, 15 words. So-- any tips or feedback on how I can simplify this test? And, perhaps more important, do you think this test "covers" the biggest weaknesses in fictional depictions of disability?

Lines that came to me as I was last getting ready for bed:

(Quote)
If my grief over Mother's death were a person,
This would be the year it could buy its first drink
(Unquote)

Announcement in today's Rolling around in my head blog post:

(Quote)
Rolling Around in My Head will be hosting October's Disability Blog Carnival - the subject is 'Birthdays, Anniversaries or other days of Remembering or Celebration.'
(Unquote)

You know? I think that twinge I just felt was my muse elbowing me in the ribs...

Despite being at the level of "Why Aren't You in Bed?!" sick, since Sunday,* I spent Monday and yesterday making the fifth video of my "Monster Challenges" poems.

I've also been unsure what to write in the description/explanation section, so that bit's been rather uneven in each video. But today, I think I figured it out. Now, all of the videos have the same description/explanation, except that I include the original text version of each poem at the end. That way, if someone comes upon these videos out of order ('cause, really? YouTube's "Related Videos" algorithm is kinda wacky), they won't have to watch the whole playlist to figure out WTF they're watching (also figured I should (and how to) credit the student whose Master's Thesis inspired me).



( What I now have in the 'Information' section )

I'm also going to make a Photo Set on Flick'r for these poems, with the pencil sketches/illustrations I've put with each (every poem has at least one hand-drawn/written element so it's not all computer-generated fonts and animation.





*I actually thought I was over it, by last night but the really weird Fever Dream I woke up from this morning let me know that, no, actually, we're not yet back to "Situation Normal" -- it was a "Psychedelic Flower Garden w/ Random temperature gauges and pipes emitting blasts of steam" dream, and not a "Being trapped in a Burning Building" dream, so I don't think my body is overly concerned.

I'm in the middle of writing a poem cycle in iambic pentameter; each poem is based on the Italian (or "Shakespearean") Sonnet, but is not -- I'm adding a six-line "prologue" to each, to set the scene, so the poems are all 20 lines in total.

But, I have been going back to read Shakespeare's pieces, to purge any lingering earworms, and get my inner metronome in working order. ...And that got me thinking about my changing taste, in having a "favorite."

During my late adolescence (late teens -- early twenties), my favorite was clearly Sonnet 29: that perfect anthem of Clinical Depression:

( When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes... )

.

Recently, however, I've rediscovered sonnet #44. Now, that I feel myself surrounded by a circle of friends (love you guys -- you know that, right?), the emotional isolation of that previous favorite rings just a bit less true. However, the fact that I can't actually share tea and cake and hugs still stings to the bone, and I find myself wanting to memorize this sonnet next:

Sonnet 44

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

--

I think "But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought" is my new favorite line: that wonderful mix of melancholy and wry humor that I've loved Ol' Will for, all these years.