#i mean i used it for my wordpress back in highschool but i was never ON tumblr like some of you freaks

[relencomp]

Listen Here. Yeah, You. I Have Something To Tell You.

I need to talk about the book I’m writing so badly but everyone I know is asleep or dead(?) and I hear Tumblr is cool about writing and stuff.

it’s got lesbians and big guns and magic and shenanigans.

I hear that sells like hot cakes here. Come take a bite.

[vincent-g-writer]

The Silver Screen Savant: Thoughts on Hollywood Autism, Pt. 1

When I was a child, I didn’t fit in.

A common statement, many people empathize with. However, to say “I didn’t fit in,” is a gross understatement. I stuck out like a sore thumb, and at times, still do. Now, why was this, you may ask? Well, there are things I could name. A banal little checklist of traits and characteristics would probably do the trick. But I’m not sure that would do it justice. So I’ll tell you what it felt like:

I had trouble reading facial expressions, because people’s face, and hands, and body would say one thing, while their words said another. Smiles that didn’t reach the eyes. Laughs that were a little too hearty, or loud, or hollow. Disingenuous conversations and actions frustrated me. If lying was wrong, why were, as my mother used to call them “little white lies” acceptable? Why did we smile and thank our new neighbors for their homemade casserole dish, before promptly throwing it away when they left? These things, and many others, puzzled me. But the thing that puzzled me the most, was interacting with my peers. I didn’t understand the sensation of a hundred million bees, pricking me with electric anxiety when I went to school, or played with children in the neighborhood. I didn’t understand why they weren’t constantly talking, wondering, asking- about everything. I didn’t understand how their minds worked. Most of all, I didn’t understand why it physically hurt me to look into people’s eyes, child and adult alike. On the other hand, I did notice they didn’t like me very much. “You’re weird,” they would sneer. Or “you talk too much.” And, they were right. I knew they were. Even as I would wax poetic about all sorts of nonsense, like the difference between a cocoon and a chrysalis. I knew. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t shut myself off.

And that’s just one tiny example, of a lifetime.

Back then, if you’d asked what was “wrong” with me, on a good day, I would have shrugged. Other times, when I despised every fiber of my being, I’d parrot back the sentiments of my peers. “Freak,” “loser,” and “r*tard” were words I heard often. And for a long time, I believed them.

Today, I know differently. Not to say the above struggles no longer apply. If anything, some of them are worse. But now, I now longer blame or hate myself for being different. Now, I understand.

The Lightbulb Moment

In 2014, my daughter began speaking. She was four years old. Before then, she could say “dada,” “juice,” “two,” and “go.” The rest was garbled noises, when and if she made a sound. Most of the time, she didn’t. My wife and I were concerned, to say the least. But it wasn’t exactly a new worry. My princess never crawled, never pointed to get people’s attention, or show them things, and did not play with toys. Plus a host of other concerns. So we hopped on Google, and after about, oh, half an hour of research, got in touch with a doctor. Now, I feel like I must add the caveat here that we wanted to have her seen before then. However, many issues (including a bout of homelessness) prevented that. So we were a bit…late, in that regard. No matter. Her doc sent her to a local play therapist, and after about fifteen minutes of interaction, the therapist knew exactly what was going on: Our little Princess was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.

But wait! There’s more-

Once this became clear, my wife started looking into other things. Her own independent research, as it were. She kept it to herself for a month or three, then avalanched it all into my lap . Our Princess wasn’t the only one, as it turned out. And really, had I ever bothered to look…it was obvious. But I was in denial. I couldn’t possibly be autistic. So, like the stubborn Taurus I am, I dug my heels in. I refused to discuss it, for almost year. But, my beloved wife, who is much smarter and wiser than I am, knew what to do. In the name of “research for Princess,” she had me read a list of common autistic traits/symptoms. And it all came crashing down. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was, without a doubt, also on the spectrum.

The gift of the Media: Fear, self hatred, stigma…superpowers?

Now, you might be asking, why exactly did I doubt myself? Cultural association, of course. And by “cultural association,” what I really mean is “the media.” Mostly, anyway. See, I’ve noticed a trend. In movies, tv and books, autism is usually presented in one of two ways: The Rainman, or the Idiot Perma-child, who cannot care for themselves. And I’m neither.

On the one hand, I was a straight A student. I could sleep through classes and make 100%. I was reading by the age of three or four, and I graduated highschool at fifteen. On the other, I have been known to go a full forty-eight hours without eating, because I “didn’t think about it.”

But I’m not the autistic person you see on tv. Now, that isn’t to say those people don’t exist. They do. For example, my daughter deals with much more noticable struggles than I ever have, while I have another member of my family (also on the spectrum) who is a certifiable genius. And I’ve known many others who are “obviously” autistic, whereas I pass as allistic* (see footnotes below) easily. Which is a sad discourse altogether, really. One the one hand, an “obviously” autistic person, what one might call “Low Functioning” (I could write a whole other post about why “low/high functioning” labels are harmful, however, for the sake of brevity, there’s some here, here and here) are often boiled down only to their struggles, where as people such as myself are relegated to “Not autistic enough to be my problem” or “well, you don’t look autistic.”

To quote-

“The difference between high-functioning autism and low functioning is that high-functioning means your deficits are ignored, and low-functioning means your assets are ignored.” -Laura Tisoncik

Why is this? As you might have guessed from the title of this post- I put a lot of it on the shoulders of the entertainment we consume. Nevermind certain hate organizations who swath themselves in the cloak of “advocacy” such as Autism Speaks, and Anti-Vaxcers, who think it’s better to have a dead child than an autistic one.*

I could go on. At length. However, I’m going to try and stay on track, just this once. To put it plainly, Hollywood Autism often works exactly like “high” and “low” functioning labels: We’re either uplifted to inhuman portrayals of superpowered savants, or downgraded to an “inspirational” invalid. In these stories, we’re props. The “Magical Disabled person!” as Tv Tropes puts it, there to uplift the neurotypical character from their adversity. After all, if this poor dumb sod (i.e- me) can be happy with their burdensome life, surely the pretty white able-bodied protagonist can! We’re “funny,” “scary,” or “sympathetic,” characters, who lack dimension, and nuance. We’re “inhuman.” We’re the lesser. Or at least, that’s one way it’s written. The other is the hyper intelligent, almost “superhuman,” and definitely super jackass genius, who’s much too smart™, and logical© to ever have feelings, friends or empathy. That’s it folks! That’s the show!

That’s what books, tv and movies told me, anyway. And what I truly believed for a long time. It’s why I cringed away in terror and shame when my spectrum issues were finally noticed. And why it took me so long to come to terms with it.

So, there you have it. Part 1. On the next episode, I’ll give some examples, both good and bad, and maybe even a little “what not to do,” or at least a “please consider real hard before doing this in your own work.”

If you like writing, talking about bad tropes and even worse marginalized representation, you can follow me at wordpress or at my “still has that new car smell” twitter. For now- thanks for reading.

-Your loving Vincent

*allistic= Non autistic.

*Vaccines do NOT cause Autism, however, if they DID, it would still be better to have an autistic child than one who died at the ripe old age of “easily preventable but deadly communicable disease.”

[writerlydays]

candi smiles

Sophie is just trying to buy a pie for her nephew, but when she runs into an old friend at the grocery store, she’ll have to deal with feelings she thought were long gone.

Read on Wordpress

Music

Faceclaims: Sophie Marrow  |  Aranesa Turner Candice Lowe  |  Katie Leclerc

The grocery store is, predictably, packed. Every aisle is jammed with carts full of orange and black decorations and screaming toddlers. Toppled displays lay in the floor like fallen soldiers, spilled glitter and autumn garlands like guts.

Sophie can see her target in the distance, the table display with the last of the pumpkin pies. It sits there, lonesome and waiting, calling to her. She needs to get to it before someone else does, and fast. Out of the corner of her eye she can see someone else headed toward it, a lady with a soccer-mom haircut and a sullen teen at her side. No way is she getting that pie.

“Move, please!” Sophie growls, using her cart as a battering ram to get her through the crowd. She’d feel worse about pushing people if someone hadn’t actually pushed her down to get to a candy display earlier.

The Soccer Mom is closer to the table, sure to get there first, when a gaggle of women with similar haircuts call out to Soccer Mom, and she pauses.

Sophie surges forward, calling on a burst of energy she thought she’d long since used up, and reaches the table. She grabs the pie just as Soccer Mom extracts herself from the other ladies, and Sophie holds the pie up in triumph.

“I got it!” She tells the elderly woman behind her, who fixes her with a disapproving frown.

“I got it!” She says again, uncaring, “Hell yeah.”

Getting out of the crowd is easier said than done, but Sophie does it with a spring in her step, having accomplished what she came here to do. She’s a little surprised she made it out unscathed, to be honest. She’s seen people maimed at Taipon County Halloween sales before.

She’s almost to the row of registers when someone else’s cart slams into the side of hers, sending them both sliding into the giant cardboard ghost that sits in the middle of the floor.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Says the reckless driver, “It was too heavy, I lost control! I’m really really sorry, are you hurt? I didn’t hit you, did I?”

The voice is familiar, and as soon as Sophie looks up she recognizes the speaker. She’d recognize her anywhere. It’s been about ten years, the woman has grown her hair out, lost a little weight, and gained a few lines around her eyes.

“Oh my god, Candi?”

Candice Lowe blinks, taken aback for a moment before recognition sets in. “Sophie! Holy shit, I didn’t even recognize you! Oh my god, you look so good!”

“Thanks,” Sophie shakes her head, “This is so weird. I thought you moved to Florida or something.”

“I did, yeah. I moved to Tampa after graduation, but I’m back now. What are you doing nowadays? We should catch up!”

Sophie moves quickly to procure a place in line at the checkout and Candi follows behind her.

“I’d love to, yeah! You don’t have facebook, do you? I could never find it.”

Candi shakes her head and her curly, strawberry-blonde mane shakes with her. The movement mesmerizes Sophie, who always used to fantasize about having hair like that when she was kid, long and soft. These days she’s happy with the natural beauty of her own wiry hair, but Candi’s has always been something else.

“Not my thing.” Says Candi, bringing Sophie out of her hair-induced hypnosis, “My business is my business, you know?”

“I get that, but it does make it harder to keep in touch.”

Candi’s face scrunches in a thoughtful motion, “I know. And I pretty much just up and left with no warning, barely told anyone where I was going. I lost touch with just about everyone.” She gives a humorless laugh as Sophie reaches the conveyor and starts to put her groceries on.

“What happened?” Sophie wonders, “You were so popular in highschool.”

“Not really. I mean, people liked me, but I never really felt like I had any friends. You were pretty much it. It all felt so… shallow, you know? None of it seemed important. So, I turned eighteen and I hitched to Florida.”

“As you do.” Sophie teases.

“Right?” Candi’s things are one conveyor now, and Sophie feels the need to wait for her at the end of the register. It doesn’t feel quite right to leave, even though she’s in a bit of a hurry. This doesn’t seem like the end of the conversation, and she’s not sure she can live with this tugging in her chest if she goes without finishing it. She can feel the universe pulling her in one direction, even though she needs to be going in the other.

Candi finishes paying for her own items and Sophie finally registers the amount of apple pie in her old friend’s cart, which is fairly ridiculous.

“What’s with the pies?”

Candi looks down at the monstrous pile of pastry in her cart. She seems to have forgotten it was there. “Oh, I’m taking these to the 7th street children’s shelter. I thought it might be nice.”

Something stirs in the pit of Sophie’s stomach, a wonder so familiar that it seems like deja vu. A pride, a longing.

“I’ve gotta go.” Says Sophie.

“Oh,” Candi looks unfairly disappointed, “Well, let me give you my number and we’ll catch up, yeah? I’m sure a lot has changed since I’ve been gone.”

“Yeah, absolutely!”

Sophie drives home in a daze. It feels like she’s dreaming, but it’s a dream she’s had before. Her feelings for Candi are age-old, and she’s never quite forgotten them. Candi was always too big for this little town, and everyone knew it. They all knew she’d leave eventually, but Sophie, at least, never thought she’d go without even saying goodbye. They’d been friends, once, and Candi’s disappearance had felt like a betrayal at best. It’s a wound that never really healed, just tickled at the back of her mind from time to time when she thought it was finally gone. There’s a part of her that’s been angry, even. Now though, now she’s back, and Sophie can’t be angry when she looks at Candi. It’s just not possible.

She pulls up her sister’s driveway with a frown playing on her mouth and it doesn’t go away until she opens the front door to find her nephew crouched in the entryway.

“Hey, Caden.”

“Hi Aunti So.” The four-year-old doesn’t lift his gaze.

“What’cha doin’, bud?”

“Watchin’ the ants.” He points at where, sure enough, a trail of ants goes from the window across the floor.

“Are they doing anything interesting?”

“Just collaborating.”

Sophie laughs and steps around him toward the kitchen. “Well I have your pie.” Caden doesn’t answer, and Sophie knows he won’t until he’s done watching the ants. It could be a while, so she sets to making chicken salad while she waits, watching the street outside from the little window above the counter. The air smells of fallen leaves and changing weather, and Sophie closes her eyes for a moment to savor this feeling, whatever it might be called.

“This isn’t pumpkin.” Says an accusatory voice from behind her. She turns and finds Caden has climbed up onto a chair to look at the pie on the island counter.

“Sure it is.” Says Sophie, she distinctly remembers grabbing the last of the pumpkin pies.

“Nope.” Says Caden.

Despite being sure that she grabbed pumpkin, she knows before she even goes to the island. Sure enough, right there on the top, it says Apple.

“Oh goddamn- darn. Goddarn it. I freaking grabbed pumpkin, I swear.”

“What’s with the not-swearing?” Says a new voice from the doorway, where Sophie’s older sister Anita stands with her eyebrows raised.

“I grabbed pumpkin pie.” Sophie insists, “I swear to god I did. But now I’ve got apple.”

Anita frowns and looks down at Caden, who has his eyes narrowed at the interloping pie. “You know he won’t eat apple.” She says, voice lowered.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is there any way you could go back?”

“That was the last pumpkin. I was about to have to fight a bitch- ah, a lady- I was about to have to fight a lady for it.”

“Oh boy.” Anita sighs, “This… won’t go well.”

“I know, I know! Look, i’ll figure this out- wait!” She remembers, all of Candi’s pies on the conveyer behind hers, close enough to get mixed, “I think I know who has my pie!”

On the front porch, Sophie agonizes over the phone call she has to make. She has to call Candi, there’s real nothing else to do about it. Caden wants his pumpkin pie, and there’s a good chance that Candi has it. On one hand, most of Sophie yearns to call Candi, the want aches in her chest. On the other, she’s terrified. Terrified of embarrassing herself; terrified of seeming desperate; terrified of what might happen if Candi guesses her feelings.

She takes a deep breath and presses call before she can lose her nerves, brushing her hair out of the way to press her phone to her ear.  It’s only moments before Candi picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Hi- uh, it’s Sophie. I’m just- um, I’m calling because- because, ah-”

“It’s okay,” Candi laughs, “Take your time.”

“Yeah, ha, sorry to call you so soon. It’s just- I think you might have grabbed my pie by accident, and I think I grabbed one of yours. And I was wondering if there’s any way we could exchange?”

There’s a long silence before Candi answers, “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I probably did grab your pie. But, uh, the thing is, I already dropped those pies off at the shelter. I’m really sorry, Sophie!”

“No, it’s alright.” Sophie rubs at her temple, already trying to figure out what to do next, “I got so caught up talking to you I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, I get it. It was really good, talking to you. I barely remember driving home, I was thinking about the times we had in high school.”

“Those were not good times, Candi.”

Candi laughs again, “I guess not. So, do you hate apple pie or something?”

“No, no. The pumpkin pie was for my nephew. Halloween scares him so we try to do things to distract him. He wanted pumpkin pie this year, so…”

“Oh my god, I can’t be responsible for ruining a child’s Halloween! Look, tell you what, I’ll make you one.”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll bake you one! I have the stuff for pumpkin, I made some and dropped them at the shelter yesterday, I only had to go to the store for apple.”

“You really don’t have to do that, it’s not that big a deal.” “Won’t your nephew be upset?”

“…I mean, yeah.”

“Can’t let that happen. I’m making you a pie. Can I come over.”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely. I’m at my sister’s house, you remember Anita?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“We’re at 312 Oakland, over by the Simmons Car Wash.”

“Alright, I’ll bring my stuff. I’ll be right over!”

Sophie only has to wait about fifteen minutes, but it’s a horrible, nerve wracking fifteen. When Candi pulls up in her little purple Corolla, Sophie’s heart leaps into her chest. As Candi climbs out of her car, Sophie can feel her palms getting clammy.

It’s like she’s back in high school, thrust into a teenage head space against her will. All those stupid hormones and feelings rearing their heads once again. High school… hadn’t been easy for Sophie.

“Hey, Soph!” Candi waves, a cardboard box under her arm. She’s grinning wide, her smile is like a crescent moon.

“Hey, Candi.”

“I hope this isn’t too weird, me coming over. I just thought maybe we could catch up while I was cooking?”

“No, yeah! That sounds great. I actually- you know, really wanted to talk to you.”

Candi beams, “Great!”

They set Candi’s things in the kitchen, and she sweeps her long red hair up into a messy bun. This way, she looks serious, with strands escaping to frame her face. She’s rolling out the dough when Caden pokes his curly head into the kitchen. He takes one look at Candi and disappears again.

“Caden!” Sophie calls to him, “It’s okay, it’s just Aunti So’s friend Candi. You want to come and say hi?”

His head appears slowly, and he eyes their visiter with obvious suspicion. Sophie doesn’t think he’s going to come in when, finally, he spots the pie crust.

“What’s that?”

“I’m making a pumpkin pie,” Candi tells him, “you want to help?”

Caden does nothing for several long seconds, and then, a nod. Sophie is surprised, but maybe Caden is having a good day. He climbs up onto a nearby chair and watches Candi with his unwavering gaze. He’s watching her hands intensely, like he’ll remember how to do it himself next time. Of course, knowing Caden, that could well be.

“So, you’re not a fan of Halloween?” Candi asks Caden.

Caden frowns and shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“Too scary.”

“What, you don’t like ghosts?” Candi asks, spreading the pumpkin mixture inside the crust.

“Um, no.” Caden says firmly. His views on ghosts are clear.

“But you like pumpkin pie?”

“I love pumpkin pie.”

“Well we’re gonna get some pumpkin pie into you, little dude.”

Caden grins and moves one chair closer.

Candi’s baking prowess impresses both Caden and Sophie, as well as Anita who shows up briefly to pour herself a glass of wine and disappear again. Sophie is also impressed by how good Candi is with Caden. She’s patient, she’s kind, and she answers his myriad questions happily. When they’re done, the three of them retire to the living room with their respective pieces of pie to watch My Neighbor Totoro, which is Caden’s current obsession.

“I love that you let your hair go natural.” Candi says, reaching out to tug gently on a lock of Sophie’s curly hair. She usually hates it when people touch her hair, but in this case she can’t really bring herself to mind. She leans her head back against the couch and lets Candi wind the curl around her finger.

“Yeah, I kinda fuck- uh, messed it up in high school, didn’t I?”

“I mean, it was cute, but you used a lot of product.”

“Yeah, I actually used so much relaxer that I just ended up shaving it all off a few years ago, it was so brittle.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I missed seeing you bald!” Candi gasps, “I bet you looked so cute!”

“I actually did look very cool.”

“I knew it.”

“Oh, stop it. Yours looks great, by the way.”

“Took me forever to grow it out, it’s a pain in the ass but at least it looks pretty.”

Sophie laughs, “I think that’s what they said about you in high school.”

Candi gasps in mock offence and smacks Sophie lightly on the arm. “Don’t point out my flaws, lady! It’s impolite.”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve gotten cheeky in your old age, haven’t you?”

“Old what? I’m not even thirty!”

“Okay old-timer.”

“Wow.”

The night feels… good. It feels like old times, but they never had old times like this before. It’s easy to talk to Candi, she’s just as funny and even more down to earth than she used to be. Growing up has made her even softer, even kinder than she was. To her dismay, Sophie finds herself growing more and more enamored as the night goes on. She should have never agreed to have Candi come here, not when a crush was so inevitable.

She can’t help it, she’s never been able to stop herself from falling.

She walks Candi to her car much later, because she’s a sap and she can already feel her heart aching with this new want. She doesn’t want Candi to go home, she wants her to stay. She wants to hear Candi laugh more, wants to cook with her more and see what she looks like in soft pajamas.

“Thanks for letting me stay so long.”Candi says, grinning and leaning back against the side of her car. Her hair is loose now, falling down around her shoulders in soft red waves. The smells of warm sugar and pumpkin still cling to her skin, and she could be a siren, as drawn to her as Sophie is.

“It was good.” Sophie says, immediately cursing herself. Why can’t she be more elegant, better with words? She should think of something insightful or flirty, or both, but she comes up blank.

“It was so good. I can’t believe I went so long without talking to you.” Candi reaches out and wraps her fingers around Sophie’s wrist, giving her a little tug, “I really missed you, you know?”

“Yeah,” Sophie sighs, “I missed you too. You just… left.”

“I know. That was so shitty, and I’m sorry. But i’m never going to be able to make up for that.”

“Just promise, if you leave again, you’ll let me know.”

“Yeah, of course.” Candi gives Sophie’s wrist a little squeeze, “I’m not eighteen anymore, I like to think I’m not that selfish anymore either.”

“I don’t think you are. I’m just glad you’re back.”

“Me too. I want to hang out with you more.”

Sophie’s stomach flips, and she has to fight to keep from fidgeting. “You want to, um, get lunch with me sometime this week or something?”

“Sophie, I would love to get some lunch with you.”

Sophie’s heart feels warm, her stomach full of butterflies. She’s suddenly thankful for the darkness, and that Candi can’t see her cheeks flush in the dim light.

“I’ll text you.” She says.

“You’d better!” Says Candi, and then, very suddenly, leans forward to press a kiss to Sophie’s cheek. It might be completely platonic, but it still sends Sophie’s head spinning. Just one chaste kiss and she’s a mess. An adult, and getting flustered over a kiss on the cheek.

So flustered, in fact, that she keeps thinking about it long after Candi is gone. Long after her thoughts should have turned elsewhere, she’s still dreaming of Candi’s smile.