The Autistic Writer: Handwriting

tyunglebower ♦ July 5, 2023 ♦ Leave a comment

Aesthetics are a lesser mentioned aspect of being on the Spectrum. Whether it be an avoidance of certain clothing due to a repulsion to a color/material or spending hours of labor and hundreds of dollars on displaying collections, Autistic people often make use of aesthetics and milieu to make their segment of the world more comfortable for them.

Hyperfixations and “special interests” are active components in this as well as comfort. So much so that sometimes we on the Spectrum sacrifice a bit of comfort for the sake of the presentation.

Comfort will in most cases win out eventually. But if one is stubborn, (as I am about some things), it could take quite some time.

I have a bit of a fixation on paper and ink, writing and drawing.

This doesn’t sound surprising. I’m a writer after all. These elements fit right in to that. In fact, aren’t they required?

Well, no.

The truth is, I can barely write with my hands.

My difficulty with handwriting goes back as far as my ability to read words. Not only has my printing always been bad, and my cursive worse, the physical act of writing is uncomfortable to me, bordering on painful depending on circumstances.

We’ve never known exactly why. Words such as “disgraphia” have been mentioned, but no diagnosis has been made in that regard. All I know is that I can write uninterrupted by hand for three fourths of a page on a good day before the pain and or numbness in my hand sets in. Undeterred it can radiate as far as my upper arm and even parts of my shoulder.

From 8^th grade until only a few years ago, I wrote nothing in cursive but my signature. A combination of the aforementioned pain, and the fact that at best it was 50% legible if I moved at anything approaching a productive pace meant that I gave it up.

Even when writing slowly, I often lost the memory of how to form certain letter combinations.

What I started journaling, I opted to use cursive again on a regular basis. The same with my “writer ideas” notebook that I take with my most places. It’s an expensive item, and printing feels unworthy of it’s quality.

I want to be the person that literally writes many things, instead of typing them. At least at first. It’s that fixation on the aesthetic of ink scratched onto blank pages and forming thoughts.

But despite years of attempting to make this a regular practice, nothing has eased the quick pain during the process, and the frequent illegibility of the result. Grips, accessories, page angles, ink types, pen types, hand positions, very low speed movements: it doesn’t matter. The handicap, whatever it’s nature, remains.

Meaning that writing of any length, or required speed requires typing.

As I said, I am at times obstinate about it. I still in the back of my mind pretend I am just an idea away from pain free handwriting. Intellectually, however, I know damn well it will never happen.

Only in the last year, well into my attempted, bullheaded attempt at a handwriting renaissance have I begun to switch away from cursive, and back into printing in notebooks, (and for poetry…never type poetry.) Even printing requires concentration and frequent breaks during which I shake out my hand like a damp rag. But at least I can usually read the words before me, and reference them as needed. (You know, the entire point of writing something down?)

I have much to say, and like everyone have only so many hours and days in which to say it. To come even into the same solar system of saying all of it, I must type more, not less, as time goes on. This would be true even if I myself am the only audience. It’s just plain silly to deceive myself on this issue. Writing out poems, quick thoughts into a notebook, and going by hand in a nice journal are as far as it will ever go.

Yet when I visualize my very identity as a writer, I don’t see this laptop, despite 90% of everything I have ever done being types. I see pages, and ink wells, pens and bindings and even the occasional quill and parchment for kicks.

Much like my sensory-based hatred of tight clothing on my skin, this neurotic obsession, cousin to my Autism shall remain, even in the face of evidence for better results from other approaches.

At least there is always my signature.