The Autistic Writer: Unconventional Perspectives
Though in this series I have explored certain challenges Autism presents to writing, I’ve never suggested that being on the Spectrum should preclude one from being a writer. (For obvious reasons.)
If nothing else, I hope this Autistic Writer series stands as a testament that there is nothing intrinsic to ASD that makes one de facto poor at writing.
Nor, would I say it being Autistic an automatic advantage to the writing life across the board.
There are however certain Autism characteristics that may at times give writers a leg up under particular circumstances.
I can think of no greater example than our unconventional perspectives on both individual people, and society as a whole.
Quality writing of any kind, but fiction more so, requires leaving the oft-talked about proverbial box. Actions, interaction, and reactions for someone on the Spectrum (assuming they are not heavily masked) diverge from long standing and deeply entrenched expectations of human civilization. More questions arise in us, more doubts set in. Multiple myriad angles of perception yield unconventional viewpoints on nearly every aspect of being human.
It is these less recognized, often flat out rejected takes on existence that allow for the Autistic author to envision wholly alternative worlds and people, and to communicate same to readers.
That may sound like science fiction or a fantasy trope alone. It isn’t. It applies to all fiction. For any editor or agent will tell you that a conventional story is empowered by an unconventional telling. Be that in language, setting, format, vocabulary, the otherwise run of the mill tale is more readable, (not to mention more marketable) if something about it inspires readers to say, “I hadn’t thought of doing it that way.”
By default, we on the Autistic Spectrum are in many cases the square peg. Some of us learn to contort ourselves into passing as circular peg as needed in order to make it through our day, or our life. Others get forcibly slammed into the wrong hole by an overzealous conformist wielding a hammer. When totally unencumbered, however, those on the Spectrum begin by being askew from the norm; we have less distance to travel to the unusual because we tend to live there.
No, of course you don’t need to be Autistic to write fiction than obliterates norms. Still, with determination and practice, those of us on the Spectrum wishing to be an author can, for a change, have the edge over others.
The Autistic Writer: Idea Storms
Once again it’s important for me to point out that very little of what I mention in this series is unique to Autism alone. Being on the Spectrum is a combination, or perhaps a coalition of traits and tendencies, and certain disabilities, depending. And it varies by each individual. And being a writer that is also Autistic adds a dimension that may not be present in those with ASD that have different callings or jobs.
So you yourself may recognize the experience of having many ideas, scenarios, “voices,” situations, settings, etc swirling around in your head. It may happen all the time for you, with high intensity, like a thunderstorm, or be a casual parade of notions passing gradually through and around your direct consciousness like a spring breeze. Probably, like the real weather, it varies from day to day, or even hour to hour.
Such is my own case. And it’s probably a t-storm more often than a gentle rustling of leaves.
The question becomes, how much of this is ripe for storytelling, or writing? I dare say this is where my personal Autism influences matters.
For what inside my mind is potentially valuable or enjoyable to any given demographic in the world? What can be transformed into narrative? What should be?
After all, even to me, much of it is mere “noise.” It’s recalled conversations from years ago, a plan I made but forgot about because I didn’t write it down, an alternative scenario to a past disappointment in my personal life. It all blows around in my mental maelstrom.
Those of course could spawn a great fiction idea. In some ways they have, here and there. Then again, it could end up being impenetrable shit even if I managed to convey the experience to perfection in words. (Infrequent.)
Relationships! In this case, between the energy of my mind and the general reading public as opposed to me as a person to another person. Yet at the core, a patented uncertainty as to the depth of connection between that which is me and that which is another person is still very much in play, as it usually is for those of us on the Spectrum.
Of nearly equal consideration is my own relationship as a writer to that internal tempest of imagery. Long ago I abandoned the attempt to convert every slice of my imagination’s offspring into a coherent story. I believe in writing down thoughts that come to me in a notebook, but I would do almost nothing else for days at a time if I wrote down every single solitary notion that occurs to (intrudes upon?) me in the course of any given day. Triage is vital.
Vital, but not a panacea; I still struggle every now and then with the notion that I am somehow ignoring my next great catalyst for my writing. There is a boatload of random stuff in every mind, and I dare say on average there is more of it inside the mind of an Autistic. It just isn’t all solid material.
(For years I have “seen” a man throw a sword onto the floor of an empty cathedral. Never once has it developed into anything resembling a narrative. Just an image.)
I never really calm the storm. It ebbs and flows on it’s own, sometimes blowing a useful seed into the soil of my writer fields. I carry a notebook with me to catch some of them, just in case. But there’s a lot going on.
Still, for a writer, a better problem to have than being unable to ever see any idea at all.
The Autistic Writer: An Ideal Reader
Author’s are often advised to identify their “ideal reader.”
This aids in both writing and marketing one’s work. In flux but with largely consistent set of traits, an ideal reader is a fictional focal presence within and throughout an opus of work.
And they are not random, or shouldn’t be. An author’s ideal reader should be the result of said author’s careful consideration, study, experimentation, and of course imagination. Some author’s I have read about have the delightful tradition of given their ideal reader a name, to make them more real.
Me? I have no names, but yes, I’ve pondered my own ideal reader. However, (and forgive the redundancy), so far my concept of an ideal reader is less than, well, ideal.
I don’t mean I am writing for an audience of unideal people. I mean my attempts to conceptualize the ideal reader of my fiction have had mixed results. I am aware of such, but as one looking up at it on a mountaintop from a valley, or through a drifting fog. Indistinct.
Once again, my place on the Autism Spectrum at times muddies this water.
Reading and understanding all of the cues and intentions and motivation of real people I encounter comes as a challenge oftentimes. Autistic Folks 101. And because an ideal reader is not a full on character in one of my stories, the requisite level of realism slips somewhat through my fingers. That is because, despite some improvement, I still struggle with perceiving what speaks to whom.
I have identified types of people in real life that seemed like suitable templates for my ideal reader archetype, for a time. As is often the case, however, I appear not to have adequately judged their similarity with me. Ergo, I likely have misplaced them as an ideal reader of my fiction.
Or not, as they case may be. That is the irony; some of the real people I have considered ideal readers may in fact be so, and I don’t recognize it without direct confirmation in some way. That too is a common step in the ASD tango. Yet when it comes to being wrong about ideal readers, or being unaware that I’m right, the result is essentially the same: uncertainty.
And because it isn’t yet complex enough, the audience for each of my books isn’t the same. (Picking and staying in a single fiction genre lane is a topic for another post.)
But, for both fun and information, I will describe, to the best I have considered so far, an ideal reader of Ty Unglebower fiction, painted in broad strokes.
I am a cis male, but it feels like my ideal reader is a woman. Which is odd, because I don’t address women’s issues particularly in my fiction. I think this is because the quotations and visions of creative arts that have spoken most to me have come from female artists/writers, though of course plenty of men think the same way.
This ideal woman reader enjoys language, but not at the expense of story. Probably not your standard English professor/Nobel laureate reader. Someone wanting a little extra in a novel, but knows more words than they use or expect others to use.
Realistic and memorable characters matter most to her.
So probably a classic “bookworm.” I write novels that on some level are “bookworm” material, even though I can’t sharpen that definition.
She is quiet, contemplative, not easily manipulated. A reader that wants to get totally lost in a story. Someone that seeks out fiction they will be thinking about when they are not reading.
And for those wondering, no, my ideal reader isn’t necessarily a fellow Autistic. This entire article series is about how my Autism influences my work as a writer, but nothing about my work is designed specifically with Autistic people in mind. (Though, as I have mentioned, I have written one Autistic protagonist so far.)
My author tagline is “I shift the everyday a few inches.” My ideal reader will seek out that shift, explore it, enjoy it in fiction and in life, ponder it and dance with it, but never walk out distracted into traffic because of it.
She drinks tea over coffee, wears those long sweaters librarians often have, with the drawstrings. She considers the crushing or curtailing of the imagination, at any age, among the cruelest and least forgivable human crimes.
She wants to believe in magic, usually does, even if she doesn’t see it, but is always ready to see it. On rare occasion, she may actually see it after all.
And she tries to be better for it, and make others better for it, by advocating always for the essence and power of story and play.
All this kind of stuff matters to her. And to me. Though I welcome any reader that is interested in my novels, I hope most of all “she” finds them, even if I have no idea where she is or how to market to her.
Perhaps she’s you?
The Autistic Writer: Experimental Fiction
A few years ago I took up oil painting. Actual painting. That is to say no classes or research or practicing of specific techniques. After years of wondering what it would be like to paint with oils on a canvas, I bought the equipment and just started slathering paint on.
I have enjoyed it ever since, though with low funds I have had to pause for a while. (It’s not a cheap hobby.)
Though I’ve learned a few things by repetition, I have still studied nothing about the art. I am an experimental oil painter. Which is exactly what it sounds like. I play around with oils until I get something I like. The reason I can do this is simple: I don’t care about what anyone else thinks about my paintings. It’s one my rare artistic endeavors wherein I have no concern about an audience receiving the product.
I have almost the same attitude about my poetry. While the poet in me is ever so slightly more aware of a potential reader than is the oil painting side of me, I still give little to no thought about what my poetry means to others as they read it. Again, I can experiment with it, or be conventional when writing it.
When writing fiction, on the other hand, I have to give myself permission to experiment. In fact, only one full work of mine, a novella called The Italics Are My Own can be classified as wholly experimental. As an author of fiction, I have an acute awareness, (even if some say I should not) of what a potential readership might get out of my work.
My place on the Autism Spectrum provides (encumbers?) me with some unique positions on not just story, but language. Concept, not just plot. The above mentioned novella is the closest I have come to writing a book without censoring the mechanics of my Autistic way of thinking, observing and communicating.
Yet I hesitate to conduct such experiments more often in long form fiction, because of my concerns of it being incoherent to the reader. And unlike a free verse poem or an oil painting of pine trees, consumer appeal of my fiction is part of the equation.
Experimentation influenced by ASD vs. Coherence to the general public.
Actually, it’s very much like the concept in every day life of choosing between masking and unmasking my Autistic traits in an attempt to succeed further. By default, whether in life or in a novel I am writing, opening the process up entirely to my Autistic tendencies results in something confusing or off-putting to the general public at first glance.
If a concept for a novel speaks to the deepest me, in the end I won’t refrain from writing it, chaos and all. I just may have to paint a canvas soon afterward to remind myself it’s okay to create things without others in mind.
The Autistic Writer: A Life Worth Writing
“Write something worth reading, or live a life worth writing.”
Benjamin Franklin is alleged to have said this. Whether he actually did so, the sentiment seems wise. He of course could and did do both, but let’s face it, most of us are not Franklin.
I’m not saying my life has been worthless. It hasn’t been. And there may be aspects of it worth writing about. I’ve written non-fiction about aspects of my life before. And some aspects of my real life influence my fiction; any author could claim that truth.
As a writer on the Autism Spectrum, however, I must always keep in mind that what I may have found interesting about my life may not always translate into what readers may find interesting.
If I am being 100% honest, I have come to the conclusion over the years that compared to the lives of many people I know, I’ve not experienced much in the way of external adventure or misadventure that rises to the level of “readable.”
If you read my previous post in this series about characters, and about being internal, you already know where I am going with this; most people cannot get away with whole books of characters thinking, wondering, pondering. I have lived a life mostly of thinking, wondering, pondering. Even if the conclusions are extraordinary, in most fiction something should happen. The Autism in me in tempted to talk about thoughts all day.
In this regard my fiction has a small edge over my non-fiction. I can create any adventure or obstacle for a story I want. I can build plot around thoughts. Yet I have to make that choice. I have even written fantasy that upon a first draft is too much thought, not enough action. (And fantasy is probably the genre that fails most miserably without enough action for its characters.)
Forget characters for a moment. Even in memoir writing and other creative non-fiction, something should in general take place beyond even great thoughts. A fascinating experience in my head is for the most part not enough. My emotional struggles with, say, loneliness may be profound, but if I can’t present a story by which they are explored, is that writing or, to paraphrase Capote about Kerouac, is it just typing?
Perhaps, however, I’m wrong? Maybe my lived experiences in the real world would not be as boring to the reader as I fear they would be. I am judging by the sort of lives that even some of my non-writer friends have lived who nonetheless fascinate people with their tales. It doesn’t seem that my life can compare.
This may all be a matter of perspective. Deeper dives into some aspects of my life, greater explorations of the nature of same may indeed constitute a “life worth writing.” Or at least it may be more fertile ground for fiction ideas than I realize. Being on the Spectrum often entails misreading or missing social reactions. I can’t deny that tendency might apply to interpreting society’s interest in or esteem for people such as myself.
But it’s no sin either way, to me. If my life ends up being a mediocre story, I will nevertheless remain happy with if I write things worth reading.
Ty Unglebower 