Writing and Autism: My Views are not Universal

As I continue this irregularly appearing series on writing and autism, I hope that some readers form connections from some points to others — and reach conclusions about how we might better understand autism's affect on academic writing. This post is a good point to consider a challenge many autistics face when writing:

• Failing to explain conclusions, assuming readers share the author's experiences and views

A fair amount of autism scholarship focuses on issues of awareness of "self" and "other" when analyzing situations. Many of the instruments screening for autism include measures of how well, and how consistently, an autistic person can evaluate the emotions, needs, and desires of others. But, academic writing asks us to connect to the experiences of others — an impossibility.

Some writing instructors will say, "Don't assume your readers know anything." Of course, that's not really good advice. You have to assume audiences have some previous knowledge. What is necessary is audience analysis to form educated guesses about what readers know and what their experiences might be. It always helps to be specific for students with autism spectrum disorders; all students benefit from clarity.

Audience analysis is not intuitive, especially for autistics.

I only know what I know, and I can only recall my own experiences with any sense of certainty. I cannot understand how people form their viewpoints; my worldview seems "natural" to me. To guess about others is somewhat troubling, disconcerting.

The worst part of academic writing is that it is often a "lie" of sorts. I am rarely going to teach an instructor something new. What most teachers want is to see what I know, comparing that to what I should know. The entire academic situation is a falsehood.

A question to teachers: When have you assigned a written paper and not have a "right" answer in mind? Therefore, the real "audience" is you — the student has to impress you to earn a good grade. You're it. The entire audience, unless there is more than one reader or the teacher isn't the reader.

Teachers don't want me to write to them… but they want me to write to them. It's a complex game, at best, and an absurdity of audience. My audience, therefore is the person (teacher, editor, publisher, producer) who decides if my work is good enough for a decent "grade" in some manner. The reader is pretending to be an audience he or she isn't, and I'm writing for this fake audience. No wonder I get tense when writing academic papers.

My advice to autistic writers? Assume the teacher will feign ignorance of just about anything. Write to that ignorant audience. You can always remove any extraneous details later in the revision process. It is better to overwrite than under-write because editing is easier than adding content.

Start with an outline or brainstorm listing the points you need to make. I outline most long things I write. I even outlined this series of blog posts to ensure I addressed some topics. Learning to outline "just enough" takes practice. A good outline helps you avoid skipping around or skipping important points.

For any claim in the outline, develop a list of supporting evidence you might include in a paper. The list of evidence is what you can refine to the appropriate level for the (fake) "audience" of the writing. I often list silly things that "anyone should know" and try to decide which of those points can be safely omitted.

One model for academic writing is STRESS:
Statement (sometimes a claim)
"Trivia" (factual illustration of the claim)
Reason
Evidence
Supporting evidence, and more
(re)Statement (for emphasis)

Example:

[Statement / claim] The federal minimum wage should be increased because inflation is reducing the purchasing power of workers' wages.

[Trivia] While the minimum wage has been $7.25 per hour since 2009, the average monthly rent has increased from $780 to $1050 (The People History, 2012). 

[Reason] As prices increase while wages remain the same, the affect is similar to cutting salaries.

[Evidence] According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the Consumer Price Index has increased 8.5 percent between 2009 and 2013.

[Supporting evidence] The minimum wage was last increased by Congress in 2007.

[(re-)Statement, emphasized] The current minimum wage does not reflect the increased cost of living experienced by workers.

A teacher is going to be familiar with the concept of inflation. But, you still need to explain it. The same principal holds for literature, science, or any other topic.

Why do I have to state that William Shakespeare wrote Hamlet in a paper? The teacher clearly knows who wrote the play — he or she probably used Shakespeare's name numerous times in class. But, you have to include the author. On paper, or in a text document, I'd list as many facts about Hamlet and Shakespeare as possible. Any little detail might be important. As I'm listing the trivia, I try not to think too much about the specific assignment title or prompt. If I focus too narrowly, I forget to include details in the paper.

Pretend the reader of the paper has never read Hamlet — even though teacher certainly has! While most teachers don't want a complete summary of the knowledge being evaluated, it never hurts to be prepared. That's true of English literature papers and science papers. Yes, the science teacher knows that the benthic zone is the deepest part of an ocean, but you still need to state the fact to get a decent grade.

In future paragraphs of the above minimum wage example, opposing arguments would have to be restated and addressed in a manner favorable to the thesis. In the example, the thesis of the author is that the minimum wage should be increased to offset inflation. I would ask a student writing such a paper to list all the counter arguments he or she can imagine. I would also encourage the student to use Google, Bing, Google Scholar, and other resources to locate additional counter arguments. You might not be able to imagine what others believe — but you can find it online!

Counter arguments a minimum wage paper would need to address:

• Increasing the minimum wage increases inflation, resulting in a spiral effect.
• Increasing the minimum wage encourage employers to hire fewer people.
• Increasing the minimum wage increases youth unemployment.
• Indexing wages to inflation raises questions about "which inflation" (Core CPI, Inclusive CPI, or Chained CPI) to use as the model.
• Analyzing poverty rates reveals that cities and states with higher minimum wages experience no decrease in poverty, nor an increase in the standard of living.
• Appreciating regional cost of living differences, and existing state minimum wages, make a national minimum wage less meaningful today than it was originally. 

There are many more arguments that would need to be addressed. I always encourage students to use search engines to find other viewpoints.

Writing teachers need to work closely with all students, but particularly those with cognitive differences. Being autistic, being gifted, being different in any way, is a challenge for student authors. Encourage overwriting, and then help the students trim extraneous content.

When I turn to the narrow topic of a paper, I have to consider my viewpoint might not universal. Ideally, my viewpoint doesn't matter. I know writing teachers might cringe at my previous statement, but my "view" of Hamlet doesn't likely matter, nor does my "opinion" of the benthic zone. What matter is my ability to demonstrate knowledge and the ability to analyze information. I've learned that the less opinionated my papers, the higher my grades. (Yes, that contradicts many of the claims made about writing courses. But, reality is reality — focus on facts whenever possible.)

When a paper does ask for opinions and experiences, I struggle to earn the same grades I receive on factual writing. Other autistic students have shared similar experiences with me during interviews. For whatever reason, many of us struggle to express our views without offending others.

Working with other readers, people more experienced with college writing expectations, can help. If a college or university offers writing tutors, a writing center, or other free sources of feedback, then you should become a regular "client" to gain insights. Official writing tutors are students or adults with proven expertise with academic genres. They cannot write papers for you or evaluate papers, but they can guide you carefully towards the areas needing improvement.

Overwrite, to the point there's little doubt material needs to be removed. Take the overwritten paper to the writing center or tutors' offices. If they tell you something should be added, then you haven't overwritten! I always want an editor to tell me things need to be removed; otherwise, I might have left out important information or supporting evidence.

Best of all, writing tutors know the "audience" rules.

The Autistic Me Isn't Funny, Darn It!

"You're funny when you give a talk, but your blog isn't funny. I really wanted to like it."

You don't like the blog?

"Don't you read funny blogs? They deal with serious topics, but still make me laugh. You're too serious, darn it."

My wife and I do read the funny blogs. We were discussing two of the better blogs tonight:

http://thebloggess.com
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com

When someone expects The Autistic Me to be funny after hearing me speak or reading some of the other things I have written, I feel like I've let down that visitor.

You just saw this (apparently) funny guy on stage and he was all witty (with a dose of sarcasm) so you rushed home to read… this blog. No wonder you're disappointed. This blog isn't like the public appearance. Maybe, just maybe, someone else writes the blog. Maybe you got the address wrong. This can't be that guy with the tolerant wife!

Sorry, but this is me. Yeah, I get it. You wanted funny when you tried to find me online. What happened?

When I started this blog, it was for a graduate course. The course required students (including me) to create online profiles and some sort of online representation of their lives. I didn't want to be all flippant and sarcastic, like I am when speaking in public, so I took the assignment seriously. I've been taking it seriously ever since.

Should I find more humor in autism? Hey, it couldn't hurt. If there was ever a set of communities in need of some levity, it's the various autism communities. There's some sort of annual stand-up for autism thing that I've never seen. Maybe I should give it a try to learn about making autism funny.

"You write comedy. Use that skill here!"

Well, it isn't quite that simple. Comedy takes a lot of work. My family and friends get to read the drafts, the not-so-funny first, second and third versions of scripts and essays. Sometimes, actors and directors get involved. They read the scripts and tell me what wasn't so funny. I revise the scripts again. Eventually, an audience hears me speak or sees a play or reads an essay and believes I have some sort of natural talent for humor. I don't. I'm not that funny. Just ask my wife. I'm not funny at all most days.

I've had professors ask why I'm not happier. Why are most of my comments negative? Don't I like anything?

My theory is that most humorists are unhappy people, willing to say or write what bothers them about other people and life in general. When I write comedy, I'm mocking humanity and its institutions. Sometimes (often) I am mocking myself, too.

No, this blog isn't funny. That's probably because I never looked at it as part of my creative writing. (Yes, all writing is "creative" — blah, blah, blah, other teachers will respond.) The blog was meant to earn a good grade in a serious class, which sucked all the humor out pretty quickly. All of graduate school lacked much humor; if you've read enough of this blog, you understand. The Autistic Me is probably too often the serious and frustrated me.

Am I going to start trying to be funny? No, because trying too hard would be too obvious, and not funny at all. I have a blog where I intended to post humorous thoughts. But, like so many other projects on my todo list, I find myself too busy to tackle the requirements of humorous blogging. I don't seem to have enough time to be funny on this blog.

Now, all this writing about humor reminds me that if you live in Pittsburgh, then May 19 and 20, 2013, you should try to see the premier reading of my play, The Gospel Singer at Bricolage. Here's the informational link to the production's website:

http://www.bricolagepgh.org/events/gospel-singer

Autism and Creative Writing

I have met, in physical and virtual spaces, many autistic creative writers. A good number enjoy fan fiction, some are poets, a few prefer stage and screen, and others write non-fiction — creatively conveying knowledge and experiences. The sheer number of blogs and forums dedicated to autism indicate the community outputs a significant number of words daily.

Writing is always a creative act. There are non-verbal writers, and there are loquacious individuals like me. Autistic traits affect communication, presenting some challenges, but autistic writers find ways to adapt. I love writing on paper, but that can be painful. When I cannot write, I type. When I can't type well, I dictate. When I can't dictate, I type… slowly.

I consider myself a good writer — not great, but good. That's not false modesty, since I have earned a few acknowledgments for my works. However, I also know my works are far from timeless masterpieces. There are many writers I admire, men and women with more talent than I posses. They likely also have more discipline when finishing projects. My perfectionism leads to too many unfinished works.

There are two broad issues I want to address in this post, based on questions I've been asked by parents.

• Is "fan fiction" really creative writing?
• How do you write good fiction if you lack empathy?

I'm addressing both because they are related.

First, fan fiction. Why is it not creative? A great many authors have started their careers by writing about characters or situations created by other authors. Isn't that "fan fiction" legitimized? When a writer agrees to tackle the James Bond, Star Wars, Star Trek, or the Bourne series, that's fan fiction — unless the author secretly dislikes the characters. Then it is writing for money. Isn't taking over any series fan fiction? Most young adult series have several writers. These authors should be "fans" of the series.

Writing with constraints is like writing sonnets: there are rules, but you still get to be creative. In fan fiction, the constraints are the characters and settings. You cannot violate established canon, or other fans will complain vocally. If I made it big and was asked to contribute to a series, I doubt I could. An author has to be immersed in the universe of the series. I wouldn't mind being the creator of a series (I have three well outlined, in fact), but to assume another person's universe is intimidating.

Isn't writing historical fiction, or even non-fiction, constrained in the same way? I'm always impressed by the research required to write some works. James Michener comes to mind. His books are amazing. They are also constrained by events.

Fan fiction, therefore, doesn't need much of a defense from me. Having characters and places pre-defined doesn't automatically write a story for you.

The second question, regarding how I write fiction, implies a similar lack of creativity that the parents assumed of fan fiction authors.

I've always had several "imaginary worlds" in my mind. I create places and characters to explore what makes people do the things they do. Most of my works examine that basic question of life: Why are some people "bad" and some people "good"? Why do we struggle so much to be kind, honest, and trustworthy? When we try to create a rigid ethical or philosophical system, that system eventually fails us. How we react with life contradicts our values makes for good stories.

What if ghosts really did explain the bumps in the night? Wouldn't being a ghost be a lousy existence? Stuck watching others, unable to do much more than thump about the world. I've always felt sorry for ghosts — though I also know they don't exist.

I'm fascinated by the idea of worlds between life and death, Heaven and earth. The worlds between Hell and earth are particularly fascinating. I've outlined a trilogy of books with characters "stuck" in the between spaces — knowing their choices led to this predicament and their current choices have eternal implications. How would knowing, with complete certainty, that there is a Heaven and Hell alter behaviors? Would the knowledge change anyone? Already, we know true believers are among the worst people.

What if there are Klingons or Vulcans or other aliens out there, with their own ethical systems? Using "aliens" to explore cultural conflicts risks offending fewer people than comparing "real" cultures. I'm not a science fiction fan, but I understand that sci-fi explores human issues from safe locations lightyears away. Science fiction explores politics, philosophy, and theology from that distance.

When I write, I am trying to ask myself, "Why would this character make the choices he or she makes?" Is it nature? Nurture? Culture? A bit of everything? And, more importantly to me, can a person change?

Fiction, therefore, is how I examine the human condition. I'm asking myself questions and plotting out possible answers to those questions with fictional characters. What gets strange is when I "lose control" of a character and write something I didn't anticipate. Of course, I am in charge of the characters — what they do, I had to imagine. That means my creativity was outpacing my analytical process.

My creative writing is constrained by what I know about psychology, neurology, and other fields. My characters do what I imagine "real people" would do.

Some people tell me that writing is therapeutic. For me, it is almost occupational therapy. I write to understand the people and events around me. I don't write simply to create something new; my imagined worlds and universes are tools to understand reality.

Writing and Autism: Audience Analysis

This will be one of the shorter posts in my writing and autism series.

Students with autism spectrum disorders can analyze situations and audiences, but they are more prone to mistaken assumptions about their audiences. The challenge for students with ASDs might be summarized as:

• Assuming audience familiarity with information, generally assuming too much prior familiarity with the topic addressed

I tend to forget that not everyone shares my interests. This is not uncommon among people with autistic traits. I cannot comprehend why other people aren't fascinated by computers, history, music, economics, theater, typography, and a dozen other topics. If there's something to be learned, why would anyone not want to learn it?

When I write about various topics, I forget that not everyone reads and researches compulsively. My wife, who edits most of what I write, often identifies the "leaps" I take and reminds me to fill in the gaps. That's not always easy, since I have difficulty imagining less knowledge than I have on a topic. I can, however, imagine having more knowledge — because that is what I want.

The autistic students I've interviewed often have narrow interests, with extreme depth. They assume a great deal of knowledge, too, at least in that special area. However, they also have little or no interest in some other topics. That can pose a problem in higher education, too.

I'm not sure how to best address challenges with audience analysis. My suggestion is to use peer review and discussions to help college writers see what others do not know. That would be similar to the function my wife provides for me: a reality check on what my audience knows.

Question from a Reader

This question was asked by a reader of The Autistic Me:

I just stumbled upon your blog today as I was seeking out feedback from other people regarding residential support programs for my 21 year old HFA son. He desperately needs, wants, and deserves the opportunity to live a more mainstream life — he has isolated himself from the world and I know he's unhappy and frustrated. Unfortunately, my finances are such that I cannot afford to take risks and the fees I'm finding to be prohibitive. Any insight you could offer would be greatly appreciated. We are in the DC suburbs.

Does anyone have any thoughts? I don't know much about residential programs, other than what parents and individuals have told me. The programs are expensive — and no two programs are the same.

I have recommended college residential programs. The programs were $30,000 or more per year and they work well for only some students. That's a lot of money to risk on the hope that a program helps an autistic person gain the life skills necessary to live independently.

There are no easy answers for parents and caregivers. Still, ideas might help.

Writing and Autism: I vs. One

One of the challenges for autistic writers is the artificial nature of "academic perspective" in college writing. Instead of the concrete "me" and "you" of other genres, academic writing uses the distant, artificial, and abstract, "one" — or nothing at all. Academic writing avoids the first- and second-person point of view vigorously.

• Emphasizing the personal instead of the general, leading to a "first-person" perspective when inappropriate to the genre

Readers of this series of essays will recognize that abstractions pose a problem for many, if not most, students with autism spectrum disorders. Since a diagnostic criteria for ASDs is concrete thinking, writing teachers need to resist the impulse to "fix" the autistic perspective. Instead, I argue that it is academia with the problem, not the students.

Writing and literature classes discuss the "constructed author" (or some variation of that phrase). The notion that the "persona" of a writer is artificial bothers me — and many autistics. When I write, I am not somebody else. I am always me, period. Yet, writing pedagogy doesn't accept my perspective. Sometimes, the resistance to the autistic experience is outright aggressive.

I've been told, "Of course you're playing a role. That's what writers do." No. That is not what I do.

Some writing scholars compare the persona of a writer to an online profile. Ironically, last night my wife reminded me that I might have too much information on a profile. I am me, even online.

From my dissertation:

[The] concept of an "invented self" conflicts with autistic conceptions of self and identity (Baron-Cohen, 1995; Baron-Cohen, 1999; Baron-Cohen, 2000; Frith, 2001). As students with ASDs have difficulty with role-playing, an issue addressed earlier in this project, the notion of creating an alternate self is likely to be problematic as well. I have observed that the social naiveté of students with ASDs includes not understanding why people would exaggerate or omit information from online profiles. If anything, it is possible that students with ASDs are too open and honest (Hane, 2004; Wolf et al., 2009).

When we discuss authorial persona, it is a discussion of ethos and credibility. Consider the word author leads to "authority" — a position of power, a command over the subject at hand. For an autistic writer, the only perspective from which I can speak with authority is my own. I'm not going to overstate or understate my qualification on that: I am me, so I know my motivations and intentions when I write.

To fully address the value of online persona in pedagogy, it is essential to define what constitutes "persona" in composition. The persona of a writer is both the image the author intentionally attempts to create and what each reader infers. Though the author normally asserts control over his or her persona, the reality is that no two readers reach the same conclusions about an author. This can be considered a negotiated, social understanding of the persona (D. Selfe, "Collaborating with Students," 2004).

Again, though, we find that individuals with ASDs are confused by notions of creating or negotiating an identity, a problem mentioned by most of the memoirs by individuals with autism. These individuals simply "are" themselves, unable to analyze with any ease how their actions create perceptions of identity. Without the ability to reference "self," there is little ability to consider "the other" in a writing or speaking context (Attwood, 2007; Frith, 2001; Nazeer, 2006).

College composition teachers, and academic writing in general, embrace the notion that being "apart from" or "distanced from" the topic of a paper gives the author more authority. To me, that's simply ridiculous. If I'm reading a paper by a distinguished scholar, his or her use of "I" or "me" is going to enhance the paper, not distract from the content.

I'll be blunt: writing that uses "one" and other rhetorical gymnastics to avoid "I" and "you" is annoying. It is absurd and reflects only the biases and stupidity of academic writing. Yes, stupidity. Does "one" really hide the "I" from a reader? Of course not. In fact, it draws attention to the artificial, stilted nature of the writing. It is as annoying as the overuse of a thesaurus to impress readers.

I use personal pronouns. If that means my works will be rejected by some journals and publishers, so be it. I'd rather be true to myself than to academic traditions.

Need for Scholarship

In the past, I've written that I do not want to be boxed in as "autistic autism researcher" when I am interested in other aspects of communication that have nothing at all to do with autism. No matter the topic, as long as autism is involved someone will hate the research(er). Yes, people are passionate about other topics, but the "rhetoric of theater" or "rhetoric of fiction" isn't going to lead to quite the same animosity. (However, I do admit that writing about "philosophy and fiction" leads to some pretty nasty emails.)

But, the more I read about "autistics and writing" and "autistics and school" that doesn't have anything to do with my experiences or those of other autistics with academic skills, the more I must admit that we need autistic scholars to express their experiences, theories, and to conduct scholarly research.

I'm not about to stop pursuing my creative writing, computer programming, or many other interests — but to not advocate for change in our educational practices and systems would be selfish. Not that the research isn't also self-serving for my career as a professor. However, I do feel a duty to push for change when I meet other people who have struggled within the system. We are wasting talent because our educational system is unwilling to accept difference.

Frustrated — and motivated to push for change — I am going to resume searching for a publisher for several academic texts this summer. The topics: academic writing and autistic students; autism and self-perception in writing; and I have a list of other ideas. We really need quality scholarship by autistics and others with cognitive differences in the humanities. We have plenty of "studies" (including disability studies) but not enough about autism and neurodiversity. Autism affects how individuals process information and analyze that information. It also affects our creative processes.

I will return to sending queries to publishers and editors after May (following a big creative project)… and begging publishers to take these topics seriously. I'm tired of reading what "experts" believe, instead of how autistics actually approach creative tasks — especially academic writing, which is the "composition" of new, original works.

There are some collections and books about autism and writing, many theorizing that various writers were "autistic" — which can only be supposition in the case of authors long dead. That's not what I want to write. I want to explore how autistic students — now and in the future — can be nurtured as writers.

Let us hope this is not a Quixotic effort to bring attention to neurodiverse students.

Find a Place, a Community

A former classmate recently asked me if I belong, actively, to any of our academic communities. The very question reminded me how outside the community of scholars in my academic discipline I am. The word "community" is overused in composition and rhetoric. Beyond overused, I've wondered if it is part of an inside joke.

He clarified, thankfully, by asking which groups of scholars would know my name or my work. I asked why that matters; as long as I'm writing at home with my cats and my wife, I don't need to be known. I wasn't understanding his point.

"To build an academic career, you need to be known."

That makes sense, I suppose. You have to publish papers and appear at conferences to earn tenure. You must be a part of the "community" to reach the top of the field.

I doubt I'm destined for the top of rhetoric or writing studies. I'm on the fringes of the community.

My friend advised me to focus on the communities I would want to be among, the people I admire and enjoy. That is, he wrote, a good way to build the career you want instead of the career people believe you should have.

For the last decade, my scholarship has focused on technology and writing instruction. I'm planning to explore the "rhetoric of interfaces" and "rhetoric of computing" at some point. I'd also like to explore the "rhetoric of economics" and the "rhetoric of theater." There are an infinite number of ways to apply my rhetorical education to the knowledge ("content areas") I enjoy. Writing about "rhetoric of…" should grant me some admission into the community of scholars, but I sense that isn't going to be my path.

Maybe I will write on rhetoric outside academia. I seem to fit better outside my discipline, both by way of my interests and in terms of my personality.

I love so many topics, as I've written many times on this blog, that I don't want to be a specialist. I love being a generalist — always learning a bit more about everything I can.

Currently, I'm trying to give a few hours over to computer programming. It is no humility to state I am a mediocre computer programmer, with rusty skills I am trying desperately to revive. As the least-skilled of coders in the local CocoaHeads chapter, you might imagine I'd feel like an outsider. But, I find programmers generally embrace those willing to learn. They enjoy discussing technology and spreading their passion for coding. I am comfortable among programmers.

I'm far, far less comfortable among my academic colleagues — despite my academic and professional qualifications. It's not bragging to say I have more accomplishments as a writer than programmer, but I always feel like an outsider among my colleagues in English and writing departments. When I work on theater projects, I am as comfortable as when I'm among programmers, so I must conclude this is not techie vs fuzzy. It is a discomfort with some academic disciplines.

Can one find success on the fringes, or do I need to belong to a community to have success? Belonging is more than simply meeting the basic requirements of residency, too. I can live somewhere and never belong to the place. Minneapolis was that way for me — we could live there for 20 years and I'd never "belong" to the city.

I can be "in" rhetoric, but never quite belong. An interesting situation, if it didn't also affect my livelihood.

Writing and Autism: Abstractions

Note: This post is part of a continuing, irregular series on writing and autism. (See: Autism and Writing)

Autistic writers struggle with "abstraction," according to the limited research available. I would love to conduct more research on this topic, since I also dislike abstractions in writing — yet I am a creative writer. The signs of this challenge with abstraction include:

• Using figurative language poorly or incorrectly, an issue associated with "undeveloped" metaphorical thinking (and second language learners)

What does this reveal about autism? More importantly for students with autism spectrum disorders, how can you pass required writing courses if you don't even understand what writing processors consider "mature" writing? Based on my experiences, most writing teachers cannot appreciate how autistics experience written language.

What's an Abstraction?

An abstraction is any thought that cannot be readily converted to a concrete metric or representation. Concepts like love and friendship are abstractions. The idea that "knowledge is socially constructed" is the biggest abstraction that I've encountered as an academic — and something I still reject as an absurd statement. How we express knowledge is a human process, but the factual basis of knowledge? That's concrete to me. This might be a "humanities" vs. "sciences" perspective. Science "discovers" knowledge, meaning it reveals and studies, but does not create facts. English professors talk of "creating" knowledge. That's an entirely different perspective, and one I don't like. It makes me physically uncomfortable.

Here's the difference, using language as an example:

(Yes, I am simplifying a complex debate for this example.)

I believe grammar is descriptive. Humans with no concept of nouns, verbs, or adjectives communicate using words or symbols that might be classified using a grammar. We happen to use the word "noun" to as a category marker: these words refer to things and concepts. Humans did not create nouns, we merely discovered the pattern and assigned words to various categories.

Many English professors believe grammar is prescriptive. That means the rules are created and then followed. I've discovered that although English professors might claim to be descriptive, they certainly grade and evaluate on a prescriptive model of language. I've had professors argue that grammar is "socially constructed" and that the dominant social powers set the rules.

Sorry, but grammar seems to be something many animals have. Vocalizations, gestures, and even scents have patterns and meanings among various organisms. Grammar seems to be something "wired" into the brain. We speak and write long before we can diagram sentences. (Most of us with English degrees can't diagram sentences without some effort.)

So, I believe facts exist to be discovered. How we interpret those fact or try to understand them is cultural, but the facts are the facts. Technology is science applied, so it can create new "things" for our lives. But, technology is constrained. Life is constrained by the facts around us. You don't get to create your own facts. That's why I tend to understand people from science, technology, engineering, and math.

Curiously, some of the best artists I know are employed in STEM fields. They have little difficulty appreciating music, painting, sculpture, or other art forms. Most love reading. Yet, they also hated literature and writing courses. Since many (but not all) autistics favor STEM disciplines, could this explain why the traits of autism and requirements of English composition courses conflict?

As readers know, I have two English degrees (bachelor's and master's) and a doctorate in rhetoric — but I struggle with the language and culture of English departments. These struggles represent how different English departments are, even if English professors don't always appreciate how different they are from some disciplines (and students). Abstraction and relativism are part of English department cultures. So are buzzwords and political correctness in ways that don't make sense to some autistics. (This doesn't mean the autistics might not align politically with their professors — there are language barriers.)

People ask me if I "love" my wife. I answer yes, and I assume that is the right answer. I like being with her and we have a lot in common. I believe she's special. But what is "love" and how can it be explained? I have no idea. I certainly don't get the type of "love" in most books. "I'd rather die than be without you!" strikes me as astoundingly stupid.

From my dissertation:

Recall that students with ASDs approach language as a series of patterns to be mastered (Tantam, 1991). Students with ASDs view the language they read as detached from the emotions of the writer (Attwood, 1998; Happé, 1991). Individuals with ASDs who are interested in language are likely to be grammatical and style perfectionists, able to identify even the most obscure errors. They are also likely to be tediously slow readers, having to translate any colloquial language into concrete ideas (Attwood, 1998; Grandin, 2006; Harpur et al., 2004).

The students (and former students) with ASDs I have interviewed tell strikingly similar stories about their writing course experiences. Generally, the experiences were horrible. For more than a few autistic students, college composition or other required English courses (writing or literature) were their last college courses — barriers they could not pass. Imagine being a math or science star, with a genius-level IQ overall, and failing out of college because you struggle with the language used in English courses. You might even be gifted with languages, and yet fail to master the English class.

Let's compare the research to my experiences as a student, which parallels that of the autistics I've interviewed. I'll use the points found in my dissertation research:

1) Language as a series of patterns.
2) Language detached from the author.
3) Grammar and mechanics perfectionism.
4) Reading as a translation process.

Abstraction is a barrier to success because of the four items listed, and probably for many additional reasons.

1) Language as a series of patterns. This is why many autistics, including me, love to learn new languages. It is also why I happen to like computer programming languages, musical composition, and other pattern-based forms of communication. Abstractions often break the patterns, jarring my efforts to follow sentences or paragraphs.

2) Language detached from the author. Abstractions seem to make more sense if you can connect the words to a person. When I read, though, I have to focus on the words. Some autistics do respond emotionally to written works, but I don't and many others do not. I cannot explain it, since I am a creative writer, but words on a page do not "move me" emotionally. Words on a page are just dots of ink or pixels representing letters. That's an appalling proposition for English teachers.

The questions I hated most as a student dealt with abstractions of emotion. "How does Sally feel when she writes that she loves the wilted flowers on her table? What do the flowers represent?" I have to assume she likes the flowers and that's what she feels — because that's what the author wrote. I have no idea what the flowers represent. For a question such as that, I'll need to spend hours tracing the flowers backwards. Other people seem to do this instinctively. "Sally was given the flowers by Walter. They must remind her of him, which is how wilting flowers can trigger a good memory." Really? Seriously? They are flowers. They aren't Walter.

Now, I have things in life that matter to me for "sentimental reasons." Only one is related to a person, though. My wedding ring. Not much abstraction there. It's called a wedding ring. It reminds me of my wife. If I have wilted flowers in the house, they are going into the trash.

3) Grammar and mechanics perfectionism. Underneath patterns are rules, stated or not. As I mentioned above, I follow words by anticipating patterns. You break the pattern, you've shattered my reading experience. For English professors, that's literature at its best. For me, it is simply annoying. Follow the rules, please. If you don't want to follow the rules, fine, but don't expect me to read what you write. Don't even try to demand it of me — I'll quit because violating the rules upsets me that much.

A fair amount of abstract writing is "literary" — which isn't going to appeal to me, anyway.

4) Reading as a translation process. I read at a painfully slow pace. Yes, painful is a literal word for me. Reading some fiction or literary works causes horrible headaches. I don't want to be impressed with how obtuse a message can be. When I read, I keep a list of words and phrases to look up later. If my computer happens to be on, I'll use its dictionary and various websites to translate the words.

If I don't have a way to translate the figurative language in a text or some abstract concepts, then I'm skipping and jumping about the paragraphs. It's a lousy way to read.

What about Autistic Writers?

There is limited research on autistic writers. Again, I hope to continue some research in that area, if I find employment at a university again. However, we do know from analyses of "autistic poetry" that the writers tend to use figurative language as other students might use large words from a thesaurus. The figurative is "unnatural" for the autistic, substituted somewhat rigidly for ideas.

If I know that "roses" mean "love" then I can "mimic" the use of figurative language. It isn't a metaphor that simply "comes to me" without conscious thought, though. I have to make an effort to recognize a teacher wants a metaphor. Then, I have to search for a good metaphor. I've memorized a great deal of figurative language. That's how I used to write mediocre poetry: insert metaphor here, add simile, end with hyperbole. For poetry, I stuck to patterns I observed among other writers.

I encourage teachers to read:

Osteen, Mark. Autism and Representation. New York: Routledge, 2007.

In particular, read the following:

• Chapter 4: "Autism and Modernism A Genealogical Exploration," by Patrick McDonagh
• Chapter 5: "Autism and the Imagination," by Bruce Mills
• Chapter 6: "Imagination and the Awareness of Self in Autistic Spectrum Poets," by Ilona Roth

Instead of calling autistic students "immature thinkers" or insulting their approach to knowledge as somehow inferior, I hope more writing teachers can come to appreciate that autistics do think differently, especially about words on the page or screen.

Sex, Love, and Autism

Question: You and your wife seem to have a good relationship. I worry that my child isn't going to find love, since he struggles with friendships. He's an Aspie, and says he wants to have a girlfriend. What should I tell him? I don't worry about sex, since he doesn't date, but maybe he will. Any thoughts?

I am not the best person to answer questions about relationships. I don't know what "normal" is for anyone, autistic or not.

I've had brief discussions about this with some of the more well-known autistic adults. Some have said they simply don't think about relationships. They have friends, but they don't really think about connections. If you don't have a desire for friends, I cannot imagine you have a desire for love. Others, however, have indicated they really, really long for a romantic connection. Then, I've met autistics who are hypersexual, but they don't seem to realize that sex isn't love or even friendship.

My first bit of advice: meet people by doing things with small groups. That seems to be how I've met most people who might consider me a friend. Join clubs and organizations that value knowledge and special skills, more than they value charm — though "charm" always matters.

In high school, my wife was involved in math club, science club, and similar groups. I was involved in science, newspaper, and yearbook. Today, I'm active in a local theater group, a programming group, and some other organizations. For both of us, a group with a purpose is better than a group focused on drinking and socializing.

You'll never find my wife or me "clubbing" for fun.

Q: How did you meet your wife?

A: We attended the same junior high and high school. We were both honors students, not athletic, and not student government types. We were science geeks, and still are.

College was more social than high school. I believe that's because I was surrounded by other honors students. My wife, who attended a different university, was also surrounded by smart people interested in science and technology.

I hosted parties in my apartment, but I liked to stay behind the counter and serve the food and drinks. I still love baking cookies — which were a popular part of some gatherings. Movie nights, hosted by a roommate, were also popular. Parties allowed me to socialize, without being social. I can't say the parties led to any friendships or connections, since the guests tended to be the other honors students I already knew.

(Tangent: As a store owner and manager, I also liked hosting events. Again, I didn't need to do anything. Book a band, hang some artwork, or whatever. The events weren't about me — people came for other reasons. My networking skills are minimal; it is best if I socialize for a "reason" like an art event, live music, or a book signing.)

Q: When did you start dating your wife?

It was after college, in the early 1990s. Our dates, or what I can recall of them, involved a few movies and dinners. Mainly, though, we did free things, like walking in parks and going to the beach. Free was all I could afford.

Q: When did you get serious?

We moved in together. That was pretty serious. It was a nice apartment, except for some ants. We moved to "less nice" place to adopt Fido, our first cat. Fido was living with my parents, but he didn't get along well with the other pets.

Q: What about physically serious?

Beyond "that's personal" — the truth is that we're not as "affectionate" as some couples. We don't often walk holding hands, and we don't "cuddle" much. We both like our space. At night, I sit in my chair and she sits on the sofa with a book or project.

It isn't that we are never affectionate, but it isn't often. We would rather have a nice dinner and walk though a park. We like to be near each other, not touching.

For people with a greater need for physical intimacy, I don't have any advice. I know couples with very different physical needs. It doesn't seem to work well. I imagine that's a problem for all couples.

Q: Do you think autistics should date each other?

I don't know. Some people claim autistics understand each other better, but I think "geeks" understand each other, too. My wife doesn't mind my preference for educational television, especially History and Science. We have similar tastes. That seems important to me.

But, my wife and I are also different. Maybe just different enough.

I doubt this post answers much of anything…