The Autistic Writer: Bullying in Fiction
I was bullied without mercy or respite for the better part of five years of my schooling, spanning over three different schools. There were various reasons, no doubt, but I don’t hesitate at all to put my (then undiagnosed) Autism at the top of that list.
The majority of students, and even adults on the Spectrum in most surveys report having been bullied, or being bullied still. Early indicators suggest that even all other things being equal, the very presence of an Autistic person makes them stand out as an ideal target for bullying, even if their ASD is unknown. We seem to “give off a signal.”
My spirit, psyche, call it what you will, was irreparably damaged by these experiences. The scars and echoes affect me to this day under certain circumstances.
You absolutely could not separate my being a bullying victim from the rest of my human essence; it is a forever-engrained component of my identity.
I won’t write fiction about it.
This doesn’t merely mean I will never write a semi-autobiographical novel, or that I won’t use my experiences with bullying to inform a story. I mean I literally will not include bullying in stories that I write.
I barely ever read stories that feature bullying. If the jacket blurb tells me it plays a major role in the theme, the book goes back on the library shelf.
There are of course authors who work through their past traumas, (and by extension comfort current readers with similar traumas) by composing fiction inspired by their own experiences with bullying. It is a noble service, far beyond the power of their story. For me though, not only do I not wish to be reminded of my trauma any more often than I already am, I now see the majority of bullying story lines as gratuitous. Pointless. Like a sex scene in a non-streamy book for its own sake.
There is no redemption to me in bully-fiction.
Even vengeance fiction requires a deep dive into the initial assaults in order to be effective. I confess I could find a certain joy in a bully getting comeuppance, yet I simply will not write or read through the torture of the character required to make a vengeance plot in any way satisfying.
As an Autistic, I experience heightened sensory input, longer lasting and clearer memory, and an overall sense of protective isolation. Not to mention an enhanced sense of justice–justice I was denied every time that no work of fiction will replace. Ergo, it does me, the author, more harm than good to write it, and me the reader more harm than good to consume it.
Of course my characters go through tribulations, that’s what makes a story. But bullying is way too personal for me to include in my work.
I do use my life experiences, emotions, memories, opinions, moods and so on to inform my fiction writing. All authors do so to some extent. But all authors also have boundaries they refuse to cross—subject matter that will not include in their fiction no matter how moving it could be for readers, or cathartic it could be for themselves.
I have written essays and thought pieces about my bullying, because I consider that reportage. But if reality can be stranger than fiction, it can also at times be crueler. Children being bullied is a cruelty that is entirely too common in reality. You won’t find it in my fiction.
The Autistic Writer: Autistic Coding
The term “Autistic Coding” generally refers to the act of giving a fictional character distinctive traits that are near-identical to obvious common traits of Autism, without referring to said character as Autistic. (They are only “coded” to appear so.)
Coding happens in fiction with various community. There is race-coding and queer-coding. The concept can be problematic, particularly if the coding is based on stereotypes instead of facts, or if an author from a privileged class codes a character into a minority community without enough research, or making use of sensitivity readers.
Probably the most cited example today of an obviously Autistic-coded character, (despite at times vehement denial from creators) is Sheldon Cooper, from both The Big Bang Theory and, in younger form, Young Sheldon.
Because I have never watched either show, I can’t provide fully informed opinions on the character. But I can take some exception to aspects of what I have learned from other Autistic authors and consumers of such entertainment. I won’t go so far as to say an author should only writer characters that are identical to their own race/orientation/sexuality, but I don’t consider it a stretch to conclude that if a character is to be coded, for whatever reason, the author should have something akin to first-hand knowledge of the experience.
That being said, I myself have not put any Autism-coded characters into my fiction as of this writing. I very much doubt I would ever feel the need to do so. Far more likely, a character somewhere on the Spectrum would show up in my stories in such a way that whether or not they were Autistic would not be spotlighted. As an Autistic writer myself, some characters are bound to exhibit traits of Autism by virtue of there being some aspect of myself in almost everything I write.
That still wouldn’t mean the characters were Autistic-coded, as this would lack a definitive intention to 1) portray Autism for it’s own sake, 2) avoid the actual term.
To date, only one of my characters is written as Autistic, and described directly as such in context of the story. Vanessa Martine, the first-person protagonist of my fantasy novel, The Beacons I See. Even then, she’s an Autistic woman and very much comfortable with that, as opposed to a woman with Autism, (a term preferred mostly by non-Autistic people who shy away from “labels.”
But other traits of Autism are present in more than one of my works, even without the coding or the outright identifier. For example, like most people with ASD, all of the main characters of my novels so far tend to be introspective. Introverted with a preference for order instead of chaos, quiet instead of static, aware of details most people around them miss. Are each of them Autistic? Believe it or not, even I, the author, don’t necessarily know; with the exception of the aforementioned Vanessa it’s not important to the story I am telling.
Do I want readers to conclude all of my characters are Autistic without saying so? Again, no, because when an actual diagnosis of Autism was important to the story, I mentioned it. (Again, Vanessa.)
That isn’t to say that a reader’s head canon couldn’t put one of these other characters on the Spectrum. (Unless within the pages I specifically preclude it.) It just means I will never have a need to hop around the issue. I believe in some cases of coding, the issue is being hopped around. to allow for characteristics to take the place of personality and story.
Make no mistake; character-coding has at times been necessary, particularly in oppressive regimes/times. History is rife with circumstances where characters had to be queer-coded in particular if the author wanted any chance to tell their story to the world, until such time as society mind opens further. Coded character fiction had in fact played a role in said mind-opening itself.
But at least for now, I am an Autistic writer free to write of Autistic people. So just know that if that’s the goal, I’ll let you know within the story. Otherwise, maybe or maybe not…but no intentional coding on my part.
The Autistic Writer: Revision Process
When I write a first draft, especially for a novel, I go right through without reviewing anything. No fixes, no editing, no correcting. I may or may not use an outline, or adhere to same if I start with one, but there is no pausing during the drafting process.
I learned this years ago when I first tackled NANOWRIMO. (National Novel Writing Month.) Before that exercise forever changed the way I approached my work, I’d choke everything with my own skewed sense of perfectionism before ever finishing a whole book.
In fact, I have only one example of a completed novel from my time before NANOWRIMO, and I have never published it. Never intend to. Because even with all that stopping and starting during the “first” draft, it’s still a mess.
Now, I finish one “blind” draft, and let it sit for two or three months, depending. Then I begin the first of several editing and revision passes until it’s ready to publish.
No fixed number of revision rounds. I’d put the average in the 7-10 range.
Perfectionism is its own problem to which a writer must no succumb. But if one is inclined toward to an exacting (and exhausting) standard, best to save it for the revision process of your work.
It’s during revision that I am fixing something that doesn’t work. While I know longer am a perfectionist, I am very much in tune to both the art and science of finding and “feeling” what works, what doesn’t, and cleaning it up. Improving it.
This more productive approach, as well as my ill-advised former perfectionism have their roots in my Autistic mind, I believe.
Part of it is pattern recognition. On some preternatural level I read through my work and come across a wrinkle in the shirt, if you will. There are certain patterns and flows to my best writing, and when a sentence, paragraph, sometimes a single word breaks that pattern, I know it, and I change it during the revision process. I sand rough edges, sharpen dull stretches.
Though I am no longer a pure perfectionist, the revision process allows me to hone in quite narrowly to nuances and beats that the reader may or may not actively detect, but that I will always know are there, and hence try to make “smooth.”
Revision, in many ways, is Autistic. Autistic in a positive way.
My former first draft perfectionism was, I feel, also part of the Autistic mindset, but in the negative. The judgmental and the unfair aspects of Autistic perception that, if ignored cause more harm than good.
Obviously all authors have drafting and revision processes. Those not on the Spectrum draw the distinction between the two as well. But from my own perspective, it is revisions, all rounds of them but the later rounds especially, that benefit most from my Autistic tendencies.
The Autistic Writer: Pick a Genre, Any Genre
Like many Autistic people, I have difficulty lying. Hell, in many cases I have difficulty merely fudging facts.
I can do it, and have done it on occasion. Which is more than can be said for certain people on the Spectrum who physically cannot say something that isn’t literally, 100% true to the best of their knowledge. Nevertheless I need a pressing, usually moral reason to flat out lie. Most of the time an intense greater good is at stake.
Fudging comes somewhat easier. If for example I am experiencing a bit of Autistic burnout and no longer want to attend an event or meet up with someone, I can tell the other party that I have a head cold instead. In both cases I am not feeling well enough to participate; I am just shifting the true nature of my reasons for feel poorly so it takes less effort to explain.
On the whole, accuracy is a crucial aspect of my everyday life.
As I wrote in a post several weeks ago, this trait of mine bumps up against the need to market from time to time. It’s especially palpable when it comes to placing any given one of my novels into a genre.
Genre is the first marketing decision an author makes. The greatest thriller ever written will not do well if shelved with the Westerns. Categories matter. A great deal.
As does my need to choose the correct one for my novel. It’s not straight-forward for me.
Most of my novels to date have some element of fantasy/magic to them. Yet when it comes to claiming to have written a fantasy novel, I hit a snag. Why? Because there is a long tradition of tropes and characteristics indicative of fantasy fiction that don’t appear in my stories.
This goes beyond mere distinctions such as high fantasy (Think Lord of the Rings) vs low fantasy (think American Gods.) I am 100% certain I do not write high fantasy. Yet every time I think a novel of mine would fit into low fantasy, I read about other expectations and trends within that subgenre that would exclude my work.
This doesn’t hurt my feelings per se; I write the stories I need to tell, regardless. Yet to label my novel as a “work of low fantasy” suddenly feels inaccurate. Dishonest. An attempt to deceive book shoppers.
So I classify it as “general fiction,” because it is virtually impossible to be wrong under a huge umbrella such as that. “Speculative fiction,” works at times.
That means of course that someone looking for a fantasy read will likely never see my book among the ocean of novels out there. Despite a fantasy element being key to the story, I dare not call it “fantasy.”
Let’s be real though. A Greek god visits a modern community theatre? (Flowers of Dionysus) Fantasy. Low fantasy, yes, but fantasy even if it doesn’t check every box technically.
A young woman with the power to physically see human promises? (The Beacons I See), or the adventures of assassinated president James Garfield in the afterlife? (There Is Pain Here)? Fantasy is fair enough, no? They sure as hell aren’t police procedurals. And though, as I said, any could fit into some form of speculative fiction or general fiction, for marketing purposes they could be in fantasy. Should be in fantasy, even if I fudge the details around the edges.
True, fantasy readers are known to be quite protective of traditional definitions of fantasy, and I am not on a crusade to change their minds. But I’ve got books to sell!
All of the above are in fact now tagged under “fantasy” as a secondary genre in most online stores I use. I allowed myself. Eventually. And as genres evolve and change with time, it may be that calling my previous books fantasy isn’t as problematic as it might have been 30 years ago. Yet as an author that is also Autistic, this little voice in my mind will always say when I tag my work with a genre:
“Are you being totally honest here?”
The Autistic Writer: Executive Dysfunction
Executive dysfunction is common among Autistics. It is often defined as follows: “a behavioral symptom that disrupts a person’s ability to manage their own thoughts, emotions and actions.”
That sounds quite involved, but really it is a collection of symptoms and difficulties that impede one’s ability to make and follow through on plans and thoughts to various degrees. This effects the writing process in various ways.
Using a list of common signs of executive dysfunction from the same link as above, let’s explore how the condition could effect writing.
Being highly distractable.
Self-explanatory. Words don’t write themselves, no matter how easy it sometimes feels to compose something.
–Focusing too much on one thing to the detriment or other things.
Not generally an issue with my writing per se, but like any endeavor, obsession in the end leads to decreased, not increased quality and productivity.
Difficulty planning or undertaking tasks if the end cannot be easily visualized.
A big one for me, and it strongly relates to last week’s post on “black holes.” Not mere a matter or the end of a story being unknown, but the real-world results of creating a volume in the first place.
I suspect this is also why I rarely get it together to write for and submit to magazines and other periodicals. Each has it’s own format and expectations, and it feels overwhelming to even begin.
Difficulty motivating yourself to start a task that seems difficult or uninteresting.
Now if I cannot find a project interesting, I shouldn’t be attempting it in the first place, if I expect readers to enjoy it. But aspects of the publishing process apply here as well. Gathering a books meta data, cover creation, and the ever nauseating marketing plans. I have to push the rock up that hill just to get started on those vital but less flashy elements of book creation.
Impulse control issues.
This could be much worse for me, but it plays a role. A movie or a game may call to me several times instead of taking on the writing session I had planned. An excellent cure for this for me is to do most of my work at the local library; if I go through the effort to get there, I am certain to get the intended work done.
Struggling to move from one task to another.
More so an issue for me when inertia from other activities has set in. If for example I have been hiking earlier in the day, I am less likely to put in the work to write, simply because it’s a total shift in brain activity.
Trouble explaining your thought process clearly because putting it into words for others feels overwhelming.
Again, rather obvious. In may not usual be a though process, but I need to keep it slow and steady when I am writing particular work, or be ready to liberally revise. What words I string together in my head often seem clumsy on paper. Less of an issue for me in non-fiction than fiction, though I couldn’t tell you why.
It’s no secret that I have eventually overcome these various executive dysfunction issues in pursuit of my writing. My catalog proves it. But any given time, particularly with my current novel in progress, I have to trudge may way through the mud-of-inactivity to the point of exhaustion before I finally hit the stride to write regularly again.
And plenty of other things remain undone, that I wanted to do, because of various aspects of the Autistic executive dysfunction that never fully leaves my side as I write.
Never fully. I do however manage to chip away at it, like today.
Ty Unglebower 