We live in a season of unsettled skies.
The winds from Washington carry whispers of reconsideration—of HB-1 and the so-called Big Beautiful Bill, with its deep cuts to the fragile scaffolding of support that holds up our families and communities. As the Senate and House argue over numbers on a page, lives tremble in the margins.
In such times, advocacy becomes more than a tool; it becomes a lifeline. And the most powerful current running through that lifeline is the story we choose to tell.
Stories matter. Advocacy matters. They are our lanterns against the gathering dark.
Where Stories Begin
We have so many things we want to share in our stories. But where to begin? Which truths do we offer first, and how do we shape them so the world will see what we see?
Understand this: a story is an invitation—a hand extended across an invisible threshold. It is not simply words on a page or pixels on a screen or simple conversations. It is a living current flowing between three vital forces:
- The Story.
- The Storyteller.
- The Audience.
As these three meet, something sacred stirs. Energy arcs between them, reshaping message and meaning alike. A story grows only when it is received.
You may want to write about disability—but your story is not about the disability. It is about your life pressed up against its contours, the way it shapes your days and sharpens your joys. This is the door through which your reader enters, stepping from the familiar into the unfamiliar.
The Geography of You
Every family’s experience is singular, even if diagnoses share the same syllables. Because your world, your gaze, and your heartbeat are unlike any other.
We need to know where you come from, what storms shaped you, and which wildflowers bloom in the cracks of your history. Tell us about the kitchen-table debates, the old photographs in shoeboxes, the dreams you carried from childhood into parenthood.
I come from pioneers. Summer-blonde Swedes with sky-colored eyes who stitched their homes from sod and sunlight on the Nebraska prairie. Scots who drove timber down Montana’s rivers with calloused hands and sharp minds. Irish miners who clawed silver from the Colorado mountains, then coaxed life from the rich soil of the Yampa Valley.
Their grit lingers in my bones. They crossed into unknown landscapes, and generations later, I crossed into the uncharted frontier of inclusion—pushing my daughter’s wheelchair down hallways not yet built for her. My ancestors tamed the prairie; I have been taming prejudice.
Now pause. Turn inward. Write this line:
“The people I came from were…”
Then keep going. Let your heart spill its treasure onto the page.
The Architecture of Story
Storytelling is part architecture, part alchemy. It blends structure with spirit. At its core is the dramatic arc—the heartbeat of every tale:
- Exposition — your ordinary world, before everything changed.
- Inciting Incident — the moment when life bent in a new direction.
- The Pinch (Rising Action) — tension mounts; choices become heavy.
- Climax — the turning point, when everything shifts.
- Falling Action — one more trial, one more surrender, one more chance.
- Resolution — the return to a new normal, with hard-won wisdom in your hands.
Your story doesn’t need to be grand. It only needs to be true.
Paint the Details, Illuminate the Truth
Let your words breathe the air of your life.
“My daughter’s hands are delicate. Her long fingers wrestle her spoon, muscles quivering against bone and nerve as she reaches for a single bite of triumph.”
“Each time my son’s laughter erupts, the room fills with sunlight—until his lungs rebel and joy gives way to panic. My palm strikes gently against his back, coaxing life from his breath.”
“My grandson lives in silence now, the noise of the world softened. In the garden’s hush, he crafts small universes on his smartphone, the glow of iMovie lighting his perfect face.”
These details make your story real enough to touch.
Then ask yourself: What is the one thing—device, job, funding, support—that could shift the ground beneath your loved one’s feet? How would it change their life? How would it change yours? Tell us that. Let us see its power.
Why It Matters Now
In this shifting hour, when policies waver and rights tremble on the edge of erasure, your story becomes more than memory—it becomes armor. It can sway minds, move hearts, and shape laws. It can hold a line no legislation can erase.
Tell it boldly. Tell it beautifully.
Because stories—yours, mine, ours—are how we survive the storm.
Enjoy this video interview with the author of How to Write a Movie in 21 Days, Viki King. My conversation with Viki is focused on storytelling for parents and individuals with disabilities. I think you will appreciate Viki’s wisdom and advice.