Neurospicy Subtext

For many years, I participated in a writing group headed by a retired special education teacher. More than once, he asked if this character or that one is autistic. My answers were a firm "no," as well as annoyance. I was the only person in the group that didn't write thinly veiled memoirs or family biographies. They assumed my work was too, even when I included elements like magic and space travel.

I am an autistic writer. Bits of me will come out into my characters, even if I don't realize it. However, I disliked my writing group's surface level assessment. A character's rich vocabulary or handful or quirks is not the same as being on the spectrum.

Symbolic representation of neurospiciness

Earlier this month, I described part of my upcoming book to an acquaintance who's also on the spectrum. She too asked if my lead is autistic, but I was a lot less bothered. Acquaintance didn't ask because my character likes trains, is a math genius, or something else highly visible. She asked because we both know what it's like living in a world that isn't built for us.

The protagonist in my current work is autistic. I don't know how obvious it would be to neurotypical readers, but my character's masking efforts and panicked inner monologue will be familiar to others.