First Impressions of a Non-stereotypical Autistic

When you first meet me, you might not think that I’m autistic.

The Stereotypes

I’m probably not the stereotype the that average person would think of when imagining an autistic person or someone who’s been diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome. I know this because since I started disclosing to casual friends and new people, I’ve received several variations on disbelief including “I would never have known”, “You don’t seem autistic to me”, “You aren’t like any people with Asperger’s I know” and “I obviously don’t understand what autism is”.

(Although people who’ve lived with or worked closely with me have instead said that “This explains a lot”, “makes sense” or that trait lists “describe you perfectly”).

Most media depictions are a simplification or focus on children, textbook definitions don’t account for growing up and developing coping strategies, and people tend to generalise the traits of the small sample of autistic people they’ve met into an idea about all of us. By definition, stereotypes are simplistic and limiting while the autistic spectrum is diverse and varied.

I also know that I don’t fit many of the stereotypes for Asperger Syndrome because for the first ten years of my adult life, I had the recurring experience of hearing or reading someone talking about what it was like to be autistic and finding myself relating incredibly strongly to some new aspect of it. Each time this happened I’d go into an intense period of research, hoping again that this would explain how I was different. Every time I would ultimately abandon the idea having found some other rigid explanation of what having Asperger’s was like that I wasn’t able to reconcile myself with.

It was something different each time. First it was how people with Asperger’s didn’t care about the feelings of others then, after I discounted that, how they were monotonous, overly formal or spoke with a flat affect. Then when I came across exceptions to that, how they were extremely shy or socially avoidant, then how they were highly organised, following rigid routines, then how they lacked imagination and creativity, or only read non-fiction and disliked the theatre.

It was only through learning that the DSM-5 would be removing the distinction between Asperger’s and autism, that I instead researched autism as a whole. And by doing that I started to see myself reflected.

Ironically, I first found confirmation that I fit the spectrum in outdated lists of how adults labelled with Asperger’s differed from those labelled with ‘High Functioning Autism’; not in the Asperger’s column but in the list of things that people with my lack of childhood speech delay supposedly didn’t do. (One of my books even says that people with Asperger’s don’t tend to stim, and another fails to mention this at all!)

After learning that the consensus was now that having had a speech delay or not made no meaningful difference to the person in adulthood, I was able to read older materials about ‘High Functioning Autism’, and from there newer articles about ‘atypical’ and non-stereotypical Asperger’s, including alternative ‘types’ such as “Hidden Autistics” and newly developed stereotypes for how Asperger’s presented in women and girls. The more perspectives on the autistic spectrum I read, the more alternative lists of traits I came across and the more theory I understood, the more I recognised as fitting me.

I now see the old stereotypes as corresponding with a subset of the spectrum, but also as corresponding with only some of the possible coping mechanisms for growing up with social impairments while still being verbally able. Ones that are likely to be more common if you’re socialised as male, but which are by no means the only response. And ones that have previously been disproportionally selected for during autism assessments (or at least, other presentations were selected against).

My Reality

Nat TitmanAs for how I come across on first impressions in casual social situations? Well obviously I’ve never had a first impression of myself or interacted with myself from the outside. But I have had a lot of conversations about my social interactions; first while I was trying to explore if I was autistic, and then later when trying to adjust to and disclose my diagnosis. How I come across to others has been discussed in some detail.

So then, assuming I’m not sensory overloaded or fearing for my safety, I tend to be humorous, animated and enthusiastic. Possibly over-expressive, definitely with way more gesticulation that is usual.

If you smile at me I’ll probably smile back and I’ll probably laugh at your jokes even if I don’t always get them, because I have the habit of mirroring other people’s positive emotions. In fact I find it difficult to stop myself from smiling when I’m happy or other people are happy.

If you seem to value eye contact, then I’ll probably mirror this (although possibly in a slightly awkward way), if you don’t seem to be looking at me, I’ll happily look at something else while I talk. I may even start to pick up your vocal mannerisms and accent, although this isn’t intentional.

If the environment is safe and comfortable, I tend to be energised by social interactions (which is some people’s definition of extraversion). In fact before I recognised this and learnt to moderate myself better, I often used to become extremely over-enthusiastic in new situations and would come across as manic or, as a friend once said, ‘completely freaking out’.

If I’m around the right people who appreciate the things that I like to talk about, then I’m likely to be actively interacting with others. This doesn’t mean that I’m necessarily good at these sorts of social interactions, but it does mean that I’ve learnt how to choose social situations where I’m more likely to fit in, to be appreciated and where having impaired social communication isn’t a barrier to participation. (Yay science fiction conventions!)

When I’m talking I tend to lace everything with humour (although not necessarily humour that I expect anyone but me to notice or enjoy) and may grin or laugh at my own jokes.

Because I use so much humour, people often assume that I’m joking or being intentionally silly when I’m not, which can allow them to overlook signs that I’m failing to understand them or respond appropriately. If I take something literally then people often assume that this is a joke, this is compounded by the fact that almost all my humour is connected to the absurd literal meanings of words (unless it’s sci-fi references and personal in jokes).

I have a habit of forgetting to greet people because I’m so excited by seeing them, or distracted by something they’re wearing, holding, saying or doing. Sometimes I remember that I forgot to do this and do so twenty minutes into the conversation. I’m told that this has the same jarring effect as suddenly getting the opening credits to a TV show several scenes into the episode.

I’m talkative and likely to be the one doing the most talking, usually about whatever I’m interested in at the moment. My favourite type of interaction is probably closer to a lecture than a conversation, but I do try to remember to talk only half the time. I’m unfortunately really bad at telling if people are bored and not so great at remembering to ask them, and I’m also not good at telling if people are humouring me or genuinely interested, and if people ask me a really exciting question I might tend to forget all the rules.

I also tend to be verbose, not know which parts of an explanation to leave out and go off on long rambling tangents about barely related side topics. Then later jump back to the original topic exactly where I left off, often disorienting the listener.

However, I’ve had enough people genuinely beg me to keep talking about what I was talking about, and invitations to give talks and run workshops, to know that you may not ever realise that I have these problem because you were actually engaged by and interested in what I was saying and actually wanted me to talk ‘at’ you for hours. (Especially given that I try to pick my social outlets so they’re likely to be full of people who share my interests and passions).

The pitch and volume of my voice tend to go all over the place depending on who I’m talking to, what I’m talking about and whether I’ve just been singing. My vocal quality is closer to ‘sing-song’ than monotone. I tend not to notice if I’m speaking too loudly or if my voice has suddenly changed pitch. If I’m excited about something I may talk too quickly. This results in most people seeing me as very animated and expressive.

I’m also easily distracted by, notice and comment on other people’s conversations or the background music, and have a bad habit of managing to distract myself with something I’ve just said. If I realise that I’ve made a mistake or think of something new, I tend to immediately comment on it, even when doing so is inappropriate or distracting.

That isn’t intentional ‘quirkiness’; I have poor impulse control and generally tend to say whatever comes into my mind.

If I’m in a situation where it’s important to control my impulses then I tend to put a lot of effort into filtering myself and so finding this extremely tiring, so if I’m comfortable and in verbal mode then I’m probably unfiltered. However this does mean that on the small number of occasions where I got extremely drunk, I was still able to control myself and behave as if I was sober when it became necessary to do so.

I’m fidgety and tend to be in motion, but I’ve learned to limit this to inconspicuous motion unless I’m tired, at which point I may begin to squirm. However if I’m talking, my hands will probably be gesturing a lot. If I’m in a situation where I’m required to do something physical like dance, stand on one leg, jump up and down, swim in a pool or bounce on something (as long as the sensory environment is comfortable and it doesn’t hurt) I’ll probably look pretty strange but end up infectiously gleeful and giggly.

Although I can be quite cynical and pedantic, I can also be surprisingly childish and joyful in an entirely unselfconscious way. I may absentmindedly sing, dance or skip in public. Although my writing tends to come across as formal and my written tone seems to be taken as very serious, in person I’m faintly ridiculous.

In general people who’ve met me in environments where I’m comfortable, tend to report that I made a positive first impression on them. They use words like ‘intelligent’, ‘interesting’, ‘articulate’, ‘expressive’, ‘warm’, ‘funny’, ‘quirky’ and ‘likeable’. They also report assuming that I’m socially capable and comfortable because of this, even if I can seem pretty unconventional.

Of course the people I’ve got this feedback from are the ones who’ve got on well enough with me to be having those conversations, so they may be overly skewed towards the positive, but that also means they’ll tend to be people who communicate in honest and direct ways because that’s who I tend to be compatible with.

If you’d like to judge my ‘first impressions’ for yourself, here’s a video I made two years ago talking about androgynous voices and here’s me giving a talk about asexuality at the WorldPride Asexual Conference in 2012 (note though, someone else briefly introduces). Both of which I begin by introducing myself and talking a little about my history.

The Disconnect

Despite coming across to most people as socially confident and able on first impressions, or when I’m interacting in an environment where I’m comfortable and appreciated, the specialists who undertook my diagnostic assessment didn’t have any difficulty giving me a diagnosis of autism. It’s standard procedure at that service to have the two assessors discuss and analyse the assessment results in detail and report back on if they’re diagnosing or not in a follow up appointment weeks later. But in my case they were both confident enough to tell me I’d been diagnosed immediately.

My diagnostic assessment report states that:

“Nat comes across as socially capable in their interaction and described themself as making an initial good impression. As more time is spent with Nat, it becomes more apparent that the social reciprocity is learnt rather than instinctive.”

That summarises the issue well. I have learnt good surface social skills (and enough social confidence that my failings don’t matter) and I have very little social anxiety, but the more time you spend with me past a first impression or a casual social interaction, the more likely you are to realise that we’re not making deeper social connections.

You might notice that I’m very often misunderstanding you or changing the subject back to something I’m more confident about. You may notice that I give ‘mixed signals’; seem to be socially reciprocating your interest but then seem to ‘go cold’. You may notice that I make ‘socially careless’ comments or don’t give the responses you’d expect.

If we socialise somewhere that overloads my senses, you might wonder why I’m so much more withdrawn than usual or seem to have trouble thinking clearly or remembering the words for things. You may wonder why I make my excuses and leave early, or why I’m too tired to talk to you the next day.

Ultimately you might give up on me, assuming I didn’t really like you or that I’m not worth the effort, or I might tell you I’m autistic which will either shock you or explain a lot, depending on how much time we’ve spent together outside of my ‘comfort zone’.

You might never even get to know me. I have difficulty approaching people, especially if we haven’t been introduced or there isn’t a reason or ‘permission’ to be talking. I also have difficulty recognising that people want to talk to me if they don’t show this in a direct way. When combined with the fact that I may seem socially able and confident enough to talk to anyone, this results in me only talking to assertive people who’ve approached me in a very direct way and then not been put off by my apparently carelessness.

Disclosing doesn’t always help. Lipreading deaf or hard of hearing people who ‘sound hearing’ (due to having the higher pitched sibilant sounds in their speech) can find that people with otherwise good deaf awareness find it difficult to remember to keep their lips visible to them while speaking because they’ve associated this behaviour with deaf-sounding people. In the same way, my over-expressiveness and ‘active but odd’ outgoingness can mean that people who understand how to accommodate autistic traits may forget that they need to when talking to me.

Most people’s stereotype of autism includes that the person is noticeably poor at socialising, this usually seems to mean that the person doesn’t seem confident, that they’re ‘rude’ or monotonous or boring. I’ve even had someone tell me when I was seeking assessment that I couldn’t be autistic because they found me too ‘warm and likeable’ – quite some prejudice there!

Even people with good autism awareness tend to expect to be able to tell that the other person is autistic so that they can adjust. Making a ‘good first impression’ isn’t always positive if it means that people assume too much of you or attribute malice to your impairments and coping strategies.

This said, I make very little effort to ‘pass’ as non-autistic. When I feel comfortable and safe my traits are very visible, if you know what to look for. I used to have negative coping strategies that made me socially withdrawn, repressed and constantly uncomfortable with who I was, but I’m lucky enough to have found a way to break out these while I was still in my teens and vowed never to ‘pass’ again long before I learned that I was autistic.

All the things that I’ve said about myself above are clear autistic traits that would count towards a formal diagnosis. Even the positive traits that lead people to see me as expressive, enthusiastic, engaging and likeable.

More autistic people than ever before are growing up having words for who they are and the understanding of the people around them. And more of us are talking openly about our experiences and are visible autistic faces to the world around us. I hope that soon the public understanding of the autistic spectrum will widen and more happy, flappy, stimmy, enthusiastic archetypes of all genders will join the currently understood stereotypes.

Unblocking myself

Huge apologies for not updating this site since June. A few people told me they were excited that I was writing here in general or because of particular topics I mentioned I was covering, and I feel like I’ve let them down, so I’m sorry about that. I have in fact written several posts but I seem to have lost the …confidence(?) to properly finish or publish any of them.

I think one of the factors behind this is that I feel that my first ‘explanation’ should start off with something general about the autistic spectrum as an introduction, but autism is such a huge and complex subject and autistic people’s experiences are so diverse, any attempt to represent things concisely fails.

My natural tendency when proof reading and editing is to expand and clarify rather than remove and simplify, which means the result quickly becomes unreadably dense and confusing, or I’ve produced a hugely long post about something that only really makes sense as a side point in an introduction. The nature of the subject and my natural tendency to add caveat after caveat are interacting badly and producing unmanageable and overwhelming drafts.

I’ve been struggling with this problem, giving myself insomnia, talking to friends about it and musing on Twitter. Today I went back and looked over my draft posts and noticed that the common factor was that I start off by saying that I can only talk from my own perspective and experiences. Yes, I’ve researched a lot, have autistic friends, go to autistic conferences, support and social groups, but ultimately I can only explain my perspective and my understanding.

So I’ve just started another draft post (that I’ve edited these first five paragraphs out of) to explain autism in general by giving an overview of how it affects me and how that might differ from other people. I’m going to try to keep that post brief, talk about the breadth rather than the depth (although that still probably means an essay; I tend to verbose even when trying not to). Perhaps this will both give an overview of what the autistic spectrum can encompass while also serving to explain who I am, how I’m autistic and what my perspective is. Perhaps that will manage to satisfy my need for a ‘perfect introduction’ post.

However, that’s not my only problem. I think the fact that I’m so fixated on why I’m not finishing posts is affecting my ability to finish posts, so perhaps letting myself off from the pressure of having to produce a perfectly formed ‘explanation’ before I post anything else, and instead allowing myself to just blog my thoughts about this situation might also help me get on with producing something useful. So I hereby declare this post ‘not perfect’ and give myself permission stop worrying about that respect. This is just a ramble about what’s happening to block me, not a great work of literature.

Another factor that’s scuppering my ability to finish posts is that some of the ones I’ve written need to be illustrated and need about a dozen illustrations, while I’ve been failing to incorporate drawing into my routine for months. I also know my tendency is to take longer and longer on illustrations, tending toward photorealism. The last one I drew easily took me a full week spread out over months of free time, which is clearly not sustainable. I think I need to take the pressure off drawing and ‘finding an illustration style’ and all that and get back to having drawing be something that I do everyday for fun, not a long list of illustrations that I’ve failed to produce. In fact perhaps I should forget about drawing for this site all together and perhaps rewrite a long should-be-illustrated draft I’ve finished into a shorter concise introduction to the other post I started today.

The other problem is that I’m not very good at providing my own structure and deadlines, but I know from bitter experience that I need structure, deadlines and a degree of non-stressful pressure to be able to finish anything reliably (or at least efficiently). I believe that this is an executive function and autistic inertia issue, and it’s one of the things I’ve been given accommodations for at work.

I know that I can write high quality content for this site, but due to my executive function and autistic inertia interacting poorly with my full time job, energy levels and all the other factors above, every attempt to write here spirals into something unmanageable.

Not being able to obsess about structure and revisions also seems to help. One of the best things I’ve written about the autistic spectrum was a Storify made from a sequence of tweets I sent to Twitter during World Autism Awareness Day. I had been thinking about it for months, I knew the shape of what I wanted to say and the subjects I wanted to cover. I tweeted them in a stream, while I was travelling to and from an appointment with an autism specialist to work on my self-awareness (ironically). All I did when I made the Storify was arrange them in order (with very few changes), add an introduction and include clarifications at any point I didn’t think my intentions were clear. I couldn’t rewrite any of the tweets, they were what they were. That actually made things much easier.

I also know that I do a hugely better job with writing if I’m provided with a pitch to respond to, a first draft to improve on or a blog post to reply to, rather than a blank page or a title to start from. This is evidenced by the fact that I only managed to write here when there was a flashblog event to contribute to, and that I was happily producing regular blog-post-length comments on other people’s autistic spectrum blogs for months, yet totally fail to do the same on my own blog. I recently produced 24 well reasoned and well received responses to panel questions on someone else’s blog, but since then I’ve never managed to finish any of my own work.

It seems that my ideal writing project is “take this, see why it doesn’t work, make it better”. This usually involves moving things around, adding a narrative, expanding on some things, achieving others in different ways. But somehow I can’t do that with my own work, the only response my brain produces is “Needs to be longer and more detailed” or “Argh too long and detailed, can’t cope!”. Alternatively “This needs to be split into more posts” after which each of those posts expand to become too long and too detailed. I’m hoping that this tendency is being amplified by the fixation I have on making my first post encompass and represent the entire spectrum, and maybe when I move on to smaller topics this won’t be such an issue.

I seem to do better when I have a length limit (more structure!) or pressure not to write something huge and comprehensive because I’m commenting on someone else’s blog and writing more than them would be rude. Or in fact when someone else has done all the introduction and attempt to be comprehensive and I can just write detail for the part that interest me, which again happens with blog comments. Perhaps I should actually start enforcing a word limit on my posts, and perhaps I should write a blog post introducing why I want to write each ‘explanation’ post so I don’t get sidetracked trying to do that in the post itself (rewriting the introduction multiple times as the post’s content changes) and also have a pre-announced fixed topic with some form of pressure that I’ve already announced it? (Not that I haven’t already announced several of my posts on Twitter then failed to publish them).

I think ideally I’d make this site a collaborative partnership with someone else who was competent and very compatible in their interests, writing style, strengths and weaknesses, but I know that it’s extremely unlikely that I’ll manage to find such a person who would also be willing to commit to spending so much time on this project with me. In fact I’m quite baffled at the idea that anyone manages to set up such collaborations. Presumably a large degree of luck is involved, or both people also happen to be friends with existing work that both admire and similar goals?

One thing I did consider was perhaps organising some sort of group blogging project where weekly topics and deadlines would be set with a description of what sort of thing should be written about and who it would be aimed at, then everyone would post their finished articles in the comments at the end of each week and have them compiled into a group blog. I even suggested this idea at Autscape and had positive interest. Thing is, I think that would really help me if someone else organised it, but if I ran it then I know from experience that I’d end up using up all my energy on administration and commenting on everyone else’s work and never actually manage to write my own content. I’ve done that before with art communities and it was a frustrating dynamic. I think I would need to have worked out how to produce a blog with one quality post a week before I even started considering trying to organise other people to do the same.

If anyone else reading has struggled to get into a routine of blogging or doing any other type of regular writing or creative work, especially if you’ve had trouble with finishing things, I’d be very interested to read your insights of how you eventually got around the problem? Please leave comments if you have any suggestions 🙂

Working through all the above has really helped me to organise my thoughts on this, but I haven’t ended up with a neat conclusion. I think ultimately I need to learn to keep my posts to a sensible length. Learn to edit my own work in the way I might do other people’s, and provide myself with my own deadlines and structure. I know from experience that it’s important to work this into my routine and make a rule that I have to spend at least an hour a day on writing (or every other day, but somehow that’s harder), but that’s difficult when my full time job can sometimes expand to take up all my free time and energy. I also think it’s important to let myself write unstructured rambly blog posts about my thoughts and plans, like this one. This kind of low pressure writing helps me to break cycles of perfectionism. Although believe it or not, I’ve read it through multiple times, expanded on minor things and rewritten a number of sentences to make them clearer. I can’t help but think that I’ve actually made things worse and harder to read though 😐

The most important thing though is that I need to actually start publishing my draft posts and letting my work get out there even when it isn’t perfect. So in the spirit of that, despite not being at all happy with this post (particularly the excessive length), I now declare this post to be finished and I’m releasing it to the world! Who knows, maybe I’ll actually get my autistic spectrum overview post done now I’ve got this ‘out of my system’…

Autistic Pride Day: Why I’m Openly Autistic

autistic pride day - june 18 - there is no cure for being yourselfToday is the 9th annual Autistic Pride Day and the first since I’ve been ‘officially’ on the autistic spectrum. Of course I’ve been acutely aware that I was different from other people since childhood, and known that I was definitely neurodivergent since diagnosed as dyspraxic in early 2007.

Pride is the opposite of shame, and that’s what pride events are about; not being ashamed of who we are. Autism is pervasive, it affects how we perceive, think about and interact with the world, and so it’s an inseparable part of who we are as autistic people. There are a lot of negative things written and said about autism so it’s important for us to push back and say that we like being who we are despite of all the challenges.

I’ve already written here about how there are positives to being autistic but I also want to say a little more about why I chose to be open about my diagnosis rather than keep it as something personal that I only shared with family, close friends, and employers or other professionals on a need to know basis.

Firstly, being open that I’m autistic makes me make sense to other people. It means that friends who’ve struggled to connect with me or assumed that my ‘mixed signals’ meant that I probably disliked them realise that there’s maybe something else going on. It means that people who previously saw me as ‘socially careless’ gain some insight into how hard I’m actually working to be ‘socially correct’ and considerate. It means that people who always saw me as ‘difficult’ might understand how stressful the wrong type of sensory environment can be for me. It means that people who might have been indirect and implicit in their communication might think twice about wording things in a more direct and explicit way. And it means that when I say that I don’t understand something, people are more likely to stop and take the time to reword it, and less likely to assume I’m joking or ridicule me.

Secondly, it means that non-autistic people who know me are aware that they know an autistic person, and that there’s more to the autistic spectrum than the stereotypes and media depictions they’ve probably learned. It means that when I write about how I experience executive function, emotional awareness, sensory overload, social interaction etc, these aren’t just seen as my personal foibles but as there being more to autism than they might have understood.

And perhaps most importantly of all, autism is a spectrum where each of us can have wildly different traits; different strengths, different challenges, different coping mechanisms and different personalities. So being openly autistic means that there’s one more example of autism visible for other ‘undiscovered’ autistic people to recognise themselves in.

I’m out and open for those people who are like I was from ages 12 to 32; aware of being different, aware of so many challenges but not aware of exactly why, not having the words to search for to find all the help and insight that’s other there. People who are working it out the hard way, struggling on their own. Those who might be aware of the stereotypes, but not of the true diversity.

As an extraverted autistic person who makes friends but struggles maintaining friendships, who’s expressive and ‘active but odd’, has poor emotional awareness but strong verbal skills, difficulty dealing with stress and terrible executive function but many coping strategies and successes, I wanted to share my experiences, share what it looks like to be me. To add to the diversity of autistic voices out there, so hopefully even one more person like me can find a word for who they are, and realise that it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Introducing Graphic Explanations

Welcome to Graphic Explanations! I’m Nat, a 30-something IT professional and amateur illustrator from the United Kingdom, recently diagnosed with an autistic spectrum condition.

Growing up autistic is challenging, and not having the words to describe and explain what makes you different is a challenge of its own. As an adult, I developed strategies to use my strengths and talents to hide my difficulties, but these were fragile, flawed and stopped me from making true connections with others.

Recently things have been changing, gradually I’m finding ways to be happier and more effective. What drove this change was knowledge and understanding. For the first time in my life I found a conclusive reason for why I’ve always been different.

From the word ‘autism’ I’ve found more words, ideas and personal stories that explain why I see the world the way I do. I’ve found others who have the same problems I struggle with, who were sharing insights and solutions that applied to my life.

Understanding was the key to accepting who I am, to help me stop struggling to do things in ways that looked ‘normal’ and actually get them done in ways that worked for me. It has allowed me to be honest with other people, to stop bluffing my way through social situations, and to ask for help and understanding from others when I need it. It’s helping me to get the most out of life; not by ignoring, suppressing or hiding my autistic traits, but by maximising them. I’m learning to be happily and openly autistic.

Why ‘Graphic Explanations’?

When I deal with something difficult or upsetting, I cope by researching. I learn as much as I can about the subject so I can understand what caused the difficulties and how to avoid them happening again. I’ve been searching for answers and learning as much as I could about how I was different for as long as I can remember. Now, for more than a year, I’ve had the greatest research lead possible.

I’ve started this site to collect and explain everything I’ve learned about the autistic spectrum since coming to understand my place on it. I’d like this to be the clear, comprehensive resource that I wish I’d had available to me when I first started trying to research my traits.

Because I don’t like to make things easy for myself, my true aspiration is to make my resource as a nonfiction graphic novel. However I know that I don’t have the time or experience to achieve that yet, and to aim that high would be too much of a barrier to even beginning. So instead I’m launching an ‘occasionally illustrated’ blog that may hopefully become increasingly visual as time goes on.

The name is a play on the fact that ‘novel’ means a long fictional work, so ‘nonfiction graphic novel’ is a contradiction in terms, despite being correct. ‘Graphic explanation’ was my wryly suggested alternative. It also has the benefit of the double meaning suggesting a very detailed, explicit explanation, should I only ever manage to achieve prose output without illustrations.

To begin with, I’ll be reposting articles I’ve written elsewhere, including rewriting blog-post-length comments I’ve left on posts by other autistic bloggers. Once that’s done, I have a list of subjects I’m planning to tackle, some of which I’ve already planned how to illustrate. It’s going to be interesting to see how this site develops, right now the possibilities are inspiring.