Dear Young Disabled Writer and Disabled Writers Not Yet Born,

When I was born in 1960, nobody knew whether I would live or die. When, after four weeks in an incubator, my parents were able to take me home, nobody knew whether I’d be able to walk.

Now, here I am fifty-six years later, alive and, most of the time, still walking.  

You might ask: What does this have to do with the disturbing results of the recent U.S. election? Why is this story important for me to impart to you at this time?

Darling,​

Words for hope are just words. Words are spells. Your spelling is terrible. Drink some water.

Drink. Know the water is rising. The fuels these men use, what fuels these men. It makes the seas rise. The men do not believe in climate change. You cannot own a climate. Change is not the same as progress. The sea creeps closer by 3.2 millimeters every year. It’s a glacial pace.