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On tor.com: What it Means to Win a Hugo as a Blind Person by Elsa Sjunneson-Henry
So when I became the first blind person to win a Hugo Award, it defied the image of The Reader. Of the Writer. Of the devout Teller and Consumer of Stories.
I reveled in the printed word as a child. But I fought tooth and nail to access it. My single eye skitters across a printed page. My nose drifted a few centimeters above the book, my eye focused on the printed word, close enough to read. I never hid underneath a sheet with a flashlight, but I would huddle next to my bedside lamp, sometimes burning my hair against a hot lightbulb to catch the rest of the words on a page.
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So when I became the first blind person to win a Hugo Award, it defied the image of The Reader. Of the Writer. Of the devout Teller and Consumer of Stories.
I reveled in the printed word as a child. But I fought tooth and nail to access it. My single eye skitters across a printed page. My nose drifted a few centimeters above the book, my eye focused on the printed word, close enough to read. I never hid underneath a sheet with a flashlight, but I would huddle next to my bedside lamp, sometimes burning my hair against a hot lightbulb to catch the rest of the words on a page.
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