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"Beethoven & the Pirate"
This person’s name is Jonah Monahan. He likes jazz music, especially the works of John Coltrane and Miles Davis. He also likes going to any bookstore within a 25-mile radius when he has time to do so to look at any books that have to do with pirates or the open seas. He also likes movies. He is tired of being talked to as if he does not understand anything and being heckled by his supposed groupies. Because Jonah is being heckled, he has a form of autism. It is called Asperger’s Syndrome. His groupies are taking advantage of him because of this but I will not write about that.

As of this writing, Jonah is a high school senior. He is desperate enough to find a friend or girlfriend but he does not have the social understanding or time to make it happen. Although Jonah is preparing for college, he has met the college liaison for students on the Autism Spectrum. Jonah has sent the application for the University of Portland and will plan on sending the applications to various colleges in the Portland area. He does not have any friends, other than students in lower grades that he meets once a week. Jonah is hated by his peers because of his condition but is constantly asked by female students of his sexual orientation. He is heterosexual and sometimes is seduced by female students to either have a make out session or just have a kiss in between classes. Jonah says no to both and most of the female students respect his sexual decisions.

Jonah is lonely. He is depressed but does not bother to take anti-depressants to control his depression. Sometimes he throws fits of anger when no one is around but he is currently using classwork & homework as a way to calm himself. It is known as a stim, short for behavioral stimulation. An alternative Jonah uses is pacing up & down with his hands behind his back. His peers misperceive this pacing as Jonah retaining his gullibility or as Jonah being a time bomb for a nervous breakdown.

We are now seeing Jonah walking down a hall of his small school. He needs to talk to Raoul, the social studies teacher. It is the lunch period when everyone is hanging out with their friends, eating lunch or catching up with homework for the next block’s classes. Jonah also stands out because of his height. The tallest male student at Jonah’s school is six feet and one inch. Jonah’s height is six feet even and is thin enough to remove a Frisbee from a tree, like he did in Waterfront Park. As he comes closer to Raoul’s classroom, he is very nervous to speak to such an intimidating teacher like Raoul. Come to think of it, Jonah thinks most of his peers are very intimidating because they like to give him very intimidating looks whenever he speaks. Jonah likes to go outside during lunch but in this case, he needs to stop sweating so that his words to Raoul can be as straightforward as straightforward can be. Right now, Raoul is allowing his room to be open during lunch as a study hall. There are about six to eight students in Raoul’s classroom, quietly eating as they work. Let us go around the halls and see if we can find another student with Asperger’s Syndrome. We move away from the bespectacled Jonah and down a flight of stairs, down a hall, down another hall, and stop in front of the school’s commons. No one is there so we continue on to the school’s library, where some students are waiting to be let in. We have found another student with Asperger’s Syndrome. This student is of the opposite gender.


This person’s name is Alice Scott. She loves classical music and listens to Beethoven whenever she can on her MP3 player. She loves to listen to classical music and works at the Portland Symphony’s headquarters selling tickets in the hope that she can see the symphony for free. Sometimes, she does see the symphony as a reward or receives a free CD of the symphony’s best performances. When she is alone, Alice imagines she is conducting the symphony, but does not know how to play an instrument, other than percussion. She dreams of a breakthrough performance in music or dance. Alice is tired of being BS-ed around like she too does not understand anything either.
Alice has Asperger’s Syndrome and has a need to be around people but does not know how to initiate conversation. This is misperceived by her male peers as being socially unacceptable or downright uncanny. This misperception is fed by Alice’s knack for drawing the faces of her male peers.

As this is being written, Alice is a high school senior. She is desperate to find a friend before she graduates but she too does not fully understand the social concepts of what a friend truly means for her. Alice is too preparing for college but has not met the college liaison yet. Alice needs to file her FAFSA before she can continue on with her college education. Freshmen and sophomores gather about Alice, asking her questions about school and the assessment which comes every May.

Alice is an epileptic insomniac. She takes medication to control future seizures but believes her insomnia will go away on its own. Occasionally, she is agitated over her medication being mixed with magnetic gamma rays from monthly MRIs, despite nothing being wrong with her. She stims a lot. Her stims vary and the most prevalent stim that Alice commits is slapping her own face until her nose bleeds. During one stim session, Alice Scott broke her nose and had to fix it on her own by applying a large towel to her beautiful face and held it there until she was about to pass out from cutting off the blood supply to her brain. Gradually, Alice learned to love her new appearance and that riled her peers at school.

We now return to Alice feigning softer speech as she answers questions to the best of her ability. Revolted at how soft Alice’s apparent speech is, most of her underclassmen walk away, giving the stately Alice judgmental looks. Alice gives a huge sigh of relief as most of her peers walk away. Some of her older peers glance at her then begin forced conversation among themselves. This moves Alice up to the start of the line, alone, lonely, and composed. The library door opens and Alice slowly walks in to the same computer that she uses. After typing in her Linux number, she now has access to her account and to the Internet. She now goes to the FAFSA website and is now confused, casually moving dirty blonde hair from her eyes, so that she can see better.
Her confusion grows and notices that the school’s Panic Room is open. She logs off and goes to the small room and continues her FAFSA quest from the comfort of her laptop computer. It begins to rain. And it begins to rain hard, prompting Alice to shut the Panic Room’s door. Alice continues her FAFSA quest and begins to fill out the worksheet that she printed beforehand. Her only companion is the scratching sound of her black pen. It is soothing to her and she laughs.

Dear AnonymousAnonymous,

There's way too much clinical detail crammed in there. I'm surprised the two main characters aren't twitching on the floor and carried out on stretchers, their case histories sound so wretched. If these characters are "different", "show" but don't "tell". Let the power of descriptive force do the talking-- not piteous fact after piteous fact which sounds like it's building up to a tasteless "wish fulfullment" fantasy which is the hallmark of self-indulgent amateurs.

What I'd do is scale down the drama and talk about how two quirky people-- by fate, by luck, by cosmic forces, or anything so prosaic as random chance-- meet up and slowly form a relationship against the hostile forces outside. It could be a very sweet story, because in the end all anyone wants universally is to find somebody to love. That's a daunting challenge across the board. Avoid the ludicrously romantic Unless you're making fun of it.

You wanted an honest answer? That's your answer from an experienced writer.

Michael "Lawless" Adams
http://www.dearwinona.com

Thanks.

There is more to the story if you want to read it.
I will post it later.

Try this one for size.

Jonah

I notice that I am sweating as I round a corner to Hell on Educational Earth. It is Raoul’s classroom. A claustrophobic piece of Hell that used to be Kara’s classroom before she left for reasons that were not stated. Apparently, Kara ditched her colleagues at the last minute and so, Raoul was brought in from Canada as her replacement. Mind you, Raoul is not as bad as Kara but still, he acts like a male version of her, a human version of King Kong on Richter 9.99 times 10 to the infinite power! I am still sweating, not the kind of sweat you receive after a good jog, but big half-dollar sized drops of sweat when you are tense. The kind of sweat that, when it makes contact with floor, sounds as though everyone can hear it and trace the sweat back to you! I wear very good cologne to cover up the stench!

I lead several underclassmen, most of them really pretty girls, on as I vault on up another flight of stairs, trying as hard as possible not to land on the floor waiting for me. Performing a very shaky 360, I land on one foot and continue their chase, sailing my way through several of my alleged supporters until I screech to a stop in front of Raoul’s door. His door is closed, so I test it to make sure it is open, since Raoul allows sporadic study halls during lunchtime. He must be an Aspie, so it wouldn’t hurt to ask? Or would it?
Knowing Raoul, it is possible. I say to the girls following me, “Oh look, it is David Benioff, the writer right behind you!” The girls squeal and turn their heads and I run fast into Raoul’s classroom.



Raoul’s classroom is just the way Kara left it before she vanished to become a vagabond. There are not six students, like that stupid introductory voice-over at the beginning said, but ten students seated together, doing their work, quietly eating their food from home or bought at a grocery store called Merchant Bob‘s. Raoul is seated on the left hand side of the room, grading papers before afternoon classes started. His Cockney accent always thickens whenever he speaks to students with special needs, especially students with Autism Spectrum Disorders. Students like me. There are several students with an ASD that manage the authoritarian-like method of teaching that Raoul uses. Slowly, I entered the classroom and tip-toed my way to Raoul’s desk. If there was a legend of a teacher, then Raoul would fit the criteria of a legend! This tension that Raoul builds between him and his students is so intense that there should be a name for it!
How about The Bitterness? Or how about The Sphere? Anyway, in Raoul’s classroom, there is an ominous air of menace about him, like he is about to socially hurt a student. He does it anyway. You must speak to Raoul very slowly, to make sure Raoul understands everything you say. Or Raoul will turn into King Kong.


“You wanted to see me Raoul?” I ask.
“Yes Jonah. Take a seat.” replies Raoul, vaguely sounding like Dracula.
I do as Raoul commands me to do, sitting in front of him in a beat-up chair with a very wobbly leg.
Continuing my exchange with Raoul, I ask, “What is it that you wanted to see me about?”
Raoul slowly responds, “It is about your column Jonah. IT IS BS!”
Shocked by Raoul’s frankness with me, I fire back, “What is wrong with it?”
After a few moments to accumulate his answer, Raoul continues his slander of me.
“It is too honest. Are you aware of what you wrote concerning several female freshmen as you were coming out of Fred Meyers? Here, let me read what BS you wrote!”

Clearing his throat very loudly, Raoul continued his humiliation of me, adopting a voice similar to that of a parrot and began to read loud enough so that everyone in his classroom could hear. “I felt as though I was a gunman on the loose being chased by a sheriff’s posse in 19th Century America. That is, a mostly brunette green-eyed, giggly sheriff’s posse, shouting “MINE!” on bicycles for one good cause. Pursuing dudes like me in order to take advantage of Aspies…Hold it Jonah, what the hell do you mean by Aspies?”

“I do not know” was my self-pitying response to Raoul.
“Sure you do.” sarcastically said Raoul.
I kick his desk out of anger, confusion, and astonishment.
“Jonah, please don’t kick the desk and don‘t shout in my classroom.” yelled Raoul. He continued his defamation of me. “I had very poor timing. With my bag around my shoulders, I was very fortunate enough to run into Pioneer Place. Running around a shopping mall for twenty minutes is not easy, especially when there is a sky bridge to a movie theater on the fourth floor. Being chased around with security on my ass is not easy. Me being chased around Pioneer Place by a group of freshman girls and a slender, androgynous security guard is not funny. Again Jonah, what the hell is an Aspie?”

“To be an Aspie, one must submit characteristics such as telling teachers like you to stop it now!” I shouted in a supposedly bold manner.
“Stop what?” mocked Raoul.
“To stop being your arrogant, conceited, snobbish, egotistical self!” I roared back at Raoul.


The sounds of the room faded out very fast. One could have heard a pin drop from the floor below Raoul’s classroom. Raoul and I stare at each other for what appeared to be about a few minutes, as if we were playing a game of human chess, with both of us being kings in a draw. After everyone else settled back in, Raoul made his move.
“You think I’m what?” he hissed.
I move. “You are arrogant & a total ass. You treat people like me like garbage!”
“Look dude, at least I am not as lame as you!” he jeers.
I know the hostilities between me and Raoul is a complete stalemate but I move again out of desperation, “Raoul, why can’t you treat other people with respect?”


Raoul counters with, “Pardon me Jonah, but I didn’t hear you the first time. Why can’t I do what to other people like you?”
I repeat what I said.
“Why Raoul, can’t you treat other people with respect?”
Raoul nonverbally responds by raising his eyebrows and utters, “What?”
Just as I thought his reaction would be. Now standing, I quickly read a small tablet on Raoul’s desk. I notice his love for international music followed him to his work, where a large upright CD case is leaning against the wall. About 150 compact discs are in the case, most of them being either bossa nova or samba music. I love bossa nova but jazz music is my muse. Returning briefly to the tablet, it reads as follows:

“We will not live in fear of one of another”
-Edward R. Murrow

Cool tablet Raoul, but what you are doing is contradictory of that statement.

Raoul and I sit back down and I softly continue this verbal war. “Is there anything more we should say to each other?” I continue. “No Jonah but there is something I would like for you to do. It must be done with your classmates.” says Raoul.

“What is it?” I tense up.

Raoul hands me a piece of paper and a pen as I continue to tense up.

“50,000 lines please. I would like for you to write: Teachers are not arrogant. Teachers are not arrogant. 50,000 times Jonah. You have 20 minutes. Begin now!” evilly laughs Raoul. I am grateful to my peers who attempted to assist me when I did some of the 50,000 lines Raoul assigned me to do. I think my fingers on my right hand were on the verge on skeletal deterioation but I managed it.

Raoul laughed as he watched me suffer my unreasonable reprimand, then he told the students who wanted to help me to return to work or else he would discontinue study halls at lunchtime. He did anyway. Under the conditions Raoul put me through; I disciplined myself to become ambidextrous, meaning I can use both hands in writing in equal measure. After about three minutes of writing “Teachers are not arrogant” nonstop, I began to feel my fingers begin to bloat, as if I was trying to make the pen I was using detonate and I would be covered in blue ink. There will be more about me later in this story but I need a break from writing this story.

As I write this sentence, another human has been diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder somewhere in the world.

As I write this sentence, another couple is facing a nasty break-up.

As I write this sentence, another autistic child’s family is facing persecution from families who refuse to understand autism and harass the family with anything one can think of.

Last edited by AnonymousAnonymous on 23 Oct 2007, 6:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Your story is inventive, but entirely self-referential. I read it, and I'm not entirely sure "what's going on". It may make sense in your world, but it may not necessarily "click" to an outsider who's not aware of your quirks, mannerisms, habits, and ways of speech. The challenge of writing is communicating a reality, a complex idea, to the widest possible audience as possible. Your story would only make sense to a very small circle of folks. . . . . maybe only you. Here's a story I wrote about being a social misfit with my friend, Andy in the crazy classroom of our history teacher, Mr. Baker. I can't sum it up in a paragraph. You either had to be there, or you have to read a well-crafted story for the whole thing to make sense. Here's the link:

http://www.dearwinona.com/andy.html

What you'll notice about that story is that it has purpose and drive and that it's heading somewhere. Most stories have a point, or if they don't have a point that was it's own point, ironically enough. Try to get more focused and stay on the ball.

-- "Lawless"

Alice

I sit in the library’s Panic Room in what used to be known as Margot’s office. Margot is one of three school psychiatrists who moved upstairs to what is known here at school as the Room of Sources or The RS for short. In The RS, you can find anything you are looking for and can find anyone who is available. I sit in the library, alone with the sound of my pen for company. I sit in this room lonely with me. That is right, just me and anyone who can hear me through the soundproof Plexiglas windows. Infrequently, some of the underclassmen who love to play hacky-sack come to the windows during their games to shout out my name. They add “In Wonderland” to it. It is annoying as hell. That is hell with a capital H.


Beginning my quest for a college to call home, I frequently dream about high-priced colleges outside of Oregon. Just a few days ago, that stupid introductory voice-over was watching me look for colleges outside of Oregon. I do not desire to go to sophisticated colleges such as Georgetown, Yale, Harvard, Brown, NYU, etc but in the case that no Oregon college will accept me, I will apply for any expensive college. People do tell me when I become older, I should become a lawyer. Just because I have a pin through my left nostril & long wavy blond hair does not mean I should be a paralegal! I accomplished my community service last week at an Outdoor School venue in the rugged woods of the state. I love working with smaller children, teaching them about the world around them, especially when it comes to the environment. I travel to school on my bicycle with a crash helmet to go with. From my home on North Interstate and Portland Blvd, I propel to the MAX station and follow the MAX line from there.
I see Jonah a lot as he walks up to the doors.

I now take my PC and attach it to the Xerox machine next to me. I weaseled my way out of a project for Lit/Comp. We had to pick a French song & sing it in the presence of the high school. Because both teachers may be Aspies, I asked them if they needed a stage director. They already had a tech crew, so I felt it was a good opportunity to skip out on this project. But I still had to do an essay about France with pictures to go with it. Being who I am, I carried away on this particular essay. It accumulated to a ten-page essay on various characteristics about France. The reverberation of the Xerox printer is a beautiful sound because it is waiting to service the next student who needs the Xerox. As the ten pages start appearing from the Xerox’s mouth, I am grateful that this nightmare of a project is over.

Rushing off to Raoul’s classroom, I encounter Jonah being chased by girls in the direction of the small area close to the gymnasium, which is rarely used. Jonah is attractive but not George Clooney attractive. As he runs past me, he yells or mouths “Help me!” If I had the power to stop all those girls, I would. But I do not. Jonah’s dark jacket comes off to reveal several movie tickets flying out of the pockets. Jonah falls on one knee, as if he was being knighted in England, to pick up all the tickets. Standing a few feet behind him, I watch as he gives some of the tickets to the girls. Was he bribing them to go away? I think so. I did it myself once.

Seeing Raoul’s door is locked, there is a small sticky that says “In Corridor to Gym.” I am wolf whistled by several guys over what I am wearing, my feet begin to hurt as I walk to where Raoul and everyone else is supposedly gathered.

{I am wearing a dark blouse under a red midriff that would have exposed my stomach if it was a nice day. I am also wearing a long skirt exposing my bare ankles in sneakers.}

It is hard to run while one is wearing a skirt, but sneakers help very much. It is also cold enough that I fear a draft of wind could blow my skirt up or get my hair in my face. So, without breaking stride, I make a quick stop to the restroom and do up my hair. Standing in front of the mirror, I play lazy and grab one of my many pencils. I hold the pencil to the back of my head. Being aware this hurts a bit, I curl a handful of hair around the pencil, creating a simple chignon. As for my skirt, I think carefully. Since I am wearing a long skirt, I open my bag and grab a roll of duct tape. I go to my favorite stall, the one in the middle, and place several pieces of the tape to the hem of my skirt so no embarrassments would occur.

I decide to return to the library because the corridor leading off to the gymnasium is very narrow and very crowded with stuff that can no longer be used or is too old to be used. Here at school, it is called The Dump. Back in the library, it is difficult to sit down because of the tape. I see Jonah sitting at the far end of the room, looking like he is in pain, clutching his hand, murmuring something as if he is in a trance.

My Asperger’s induces a sensitive type of curiosity, so I slowly go to Jonah and begin to speak. Jonah is not aware of my presence. He continues to murmur whatever he was mumbling about. Instead of scaring him, I drag out a chair & sit in front of him.

“Jonah?” I lightly ask.

He does not answer.

I repeat again, “Jonah?”

Again, Jonah does not answer. Is it typical male behavior? NO!
So I decide to gently prod his shoulder & scream his name.

That got his attention after a few screams.

He grunts a “What?” and tries to hide what he was writing.
He looks like he is in pain.
But it is none of my business so I try to make conversation with him.

“Uh…hi Alice.” says Jonah.

The only thing I can do is stare at him.

I continue with, “I was wondering if you know where Raoul is?”

“There is a zine committee meeting now.” says Jonah.

“Where?” I ask.

“In the corridor that leads off from Paul’s room to the gym.” Jonah mumbles at me.

“Why there? It is too filthy!” I shout back at Jonah.

We continue to shout back & forth at each other for a few minutes.
Our shouting match ends a bit like this.

I yell, “Bull yourself Jonah! I am on occasion right! I cannot lie! I am trying to be a good person!”

This scares Jonah after I yell, “See you at the meeting!”

Jonah yells, “Wait! Please!”

The library door does not hit me on my bum but I trip several times as I make my way to the zine committee meeting. It is a nightmare since the basement of the school building is very shadowy. You have to be lucky just to get around to the other end of the basement through the refectory. Usually, people go through just fine. Jonah and I can not. I make my way carefully on the linoleum, seeing that some classes are in session. Above my head, there is a sign that says, “WARNING: Do not Open! Asbestos Fibers! Please Avoid Creating Dust!” I slowly walk in to let Raoul acknowledge me.

He screams at me, “Come in & sit your ass down!”

Everyone who does not have an ASD looks at me, thinking I am stupid to show up. Since I have no self-confidence, I take a seat in the back of The Dump. I sit on top of what appears to be old science projects emitting radiation from the 1970s! Yikes! So I slowly move myself to an old staircase that led to another basement. Heck, I don’t even want to know what is there. Maybe an old bomb shelter? Maybe another Panic Room?
The place where our meeting is very crowded & very disorienting because there are too many people in one confined setting.

Where is Jonah? Is he still in the library? As Raoul starts to play some music on a CD player he hauled from his room, everyone starts to make conversation with anyone sitting within range. My bag obstructs anyone who wants to talk to me, so I quietly contemplate my apology to Jonah.


I am walking in Northrup Park, adjacent to the school looking in the direction of the river. It is beautiful with deciduous trees as far as the eye can see. I hear someone playing piano in a dramatic way. Inquisitive, I slowly make my way across the park’s concrete walkway. My feet crunch on underfoot leaves that have fallen from the trees, some have been picked up by a great gust of wind. Some blow into my face & my hair catches some of them. Excited, I squeal and continue my trek across the park. Now, I hear someone singing. It sounds like a woman with a deep voice with feminine traits in her tone. The piano now changes to a joyful saxophone performed by a tenor. I stop where I am and listen. The performer’s song speaks of sadness induced by loneliness by another person through coincidental events. I find a quiet spot and sit down, continuing to listen. I hear someone calling my name. First it sounded very charming, like a variant of a Prince Charming. Then the voice becomes hesitant, like a person with a bullhorn for vocal cords. I hear my name being called, hitting me like a jackhammer punch to the stomach. Slightly stumbling, I continue to be there in this supposed daydream.

I hear…


“Wake up Alice!”


Raoul’s wind-beaten face is about three inches from mine. His face is very red.
“No sleeping during class sessions. Are you ret*d?” he yells. His breath smells like mouthwash-flavored coffee and I see his Jack Sparrow goatee glistening with sweat. I am winded just by his yelling. We glare at each other for what felt to be not a few minutes, but for a few years. Raoul still looks like his head is about to explode but calms down as he begins to speak to the class after we were dismissed for afternoon break.

He calmed himself down by saying this statement.
“All right as*holes, break is over! Most of the writing I have read is comparable to that of first graders! Our columnists will speak first. Will Jonah & Alice speak first?”

I hear Jonah mumbling something to Raoul.
Raoul replies “I beg your pardon?”.
To save Jonah from a big embarrassment, I shout, “I’ll go first!”

“Thank you Alice.” was Raoul’s monotonic response.

Because of how small the area was, I begin to sweat.
Composing myself, I begin to read my column to my 50 peers in the room.

“I do not know about you, but please do not see The Roofies at Mississippi Pizza. They are the worst local band I have seen perform. If you were browsing at a DVD joint for something explicitly equivalent to their talents, rent Plan 9 from Outer Space. The Roofies are so lackluster in their charm-free delivery with the intention to brainwash the crowd into hipster wannabes.”

There is a generous round of laughter coming from a supposedly renowned sophomore and her entourage. The said sophomore is a total control freak and has tried many times to initiate me into her group. She likes to fake smile me all the time! Her shrilly laughter encourages me to tap my fingers on the wall. I continue to speak. “Despite the band members allowing each other to lead a song, they do live up to the band name. The members of The Roofies sing their songs like they got high before the sound check.”

I stop abruptly when I was about to recall when the drummer jumped into the front row. The drummer was indeed high and grabbed an audience member by the shoulders. {I couldn’t tell if the receiver was a man or a woman.} The person on the receiving end had a surprise! The drummer pinned the recipient to the seat and had a make out session in front of the 100 people in attendance. {Lap dance included.}It took about an hour before the concert could continue. The person I believe the drummer landed on was seen crying outside Mississippi Pizza, dodging TV cameras.

Returning now to school, I am in a bit of a haze. 50 pairs of eyes look directly at me, determining why I stopped in the middle of a sentence. A wad of paper hits me and I am alert again. I look around, searching for the thrower. It is Raoul. Figures, doesn’t it?
I mumble, “Uh…I…well.”
More laughter is heard, to a certain degree.
I mumble, “Uh…I…well…I am…nervous.”

Raoul eases his way around everyone sitting on the floor and stands too close to me.
Is it just my imagination, or did I feel an unwanted hand grab my buttocks?
No, it is just the wind making contact with my taped-up skirt.
I feel a sharp pain in one of my hips. Someone grabbed a piece of tape from my skirt and holds it up to show, like a recently prized possession.

This makes me even more tense. I become agitated by the heckling.
Raoul stops everyone’s side conversations & disrespect of him and me.
He does it by using a bullhorn he dragged from his classroom.

The bullhorn burbles his speech. I cannot understand what he is saying.

He sets the bullhorn down at his feet and it becomes quiet.
You could hear younger students outside hard at work building their garden.

In the most neutral, most sarcastic tone of voice summoned, Raoul says to me, “Everything will be all right Alice. Are you ready to speak Jonah?”

Being the tall person in the group, I slowly make my way out of that crowded space, trying not to unintentionally kick someone.
As I take off from the group, I hear Jonah begin to speak.
I wince as I sense the feeling coming back to my legs.

Y'know, for once, I would like to read some piece of fiction by someone on the spectrum which DOESN'T involve any form of Autism in the characters. I know what it's like to have AS, I don't want to read about it. Get out of your frickin' comfort zone and try something challenging and interesting, rather than just recycling the story of Mozart & the Whale. Tell a story, not smother us in your Autism, which will only appeal to other autistic people (me excluded) and no (god I hate this word) Neurotypicals.
I'm really tired of writers who know nothing about fiction, or storytelling or how to reach an audience. the internet has reduced writing to people indulging themselves and achieving nothing.
If you want to succeed in writing, the first thing you should do is keep your ideas to yourself. Professional writers don't flash around their half finished novels for everyone to steal and plagiarise.
Second, as I said before, do something you find creatively challenging. If your writing isn't difficult to do, it probably isn't going to get a great reaction. Climbing a hill won't get you the recognition of climbing Everest.
Third, try writing at least 60,000 words. if your idea peters out after less than 10,000 words, write something else.
Fourth, write down every new idea you have. if you don't cover half a page of bullet points in a month you're in trouble.
these are thing I've implemented in my own writing, And I'm closer now to being published than I have ever been in the past, Speaking as someone with 7 years of full time writing experience.

Thanks.

This is definitely interesting and original. It is a bit on the technical side for me. It takes me ages to read things, so it took me a while to respond. Also, as such I am not a good editor so I won't be making comments on any mistakes I may have found because I would have forgotten them by the end.

Do you have plans for publishing or something or are you just planning for it to be here?

Cheers.

Oh, new avatar of d00m! Beware the Hypno Smilie. Hmmm. That will make a good story. You look at it and can't but be hypnotized into feeling happy ... or feelings of wanting to get an adblock to remove it.

Thanks.

There is more to it but since most reviewers say it sucks, I will continue on with it.


This story is based on personal experience so I say "F You!" to negative reviews.

you'll never be a better writer if you don't take criticism.

Don't forget "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time" by Mark Haddon.


I agree. If you're writing to emote, which I do often, you might try journaling. It's more direct and therapeutic. I'm a member of a online writer's group, and they have no idea that I have Asperger's, and I like it that way. If they knew I had Asperger's, they'd probably only give positive critiques, and I'd never improve.


This is good advice too. I have started about 1/2 dozen stories in the past year, and my two best friends have said they're tired of reading unfinished stories. Until I finish a story, they're on strike.


Not sure what you're talking about here, Vorzac. Are you talking about new ideas for your current story?

If you're getting critiqued by another writer, they'll probably find something wrong with your story. My most praiseworthy reviews have come from non-writers. They're encouraging, but not very helpful.

By the way, there are quite a few helpful books on fiction writing out there. One of my favorites is "How to Write Science Fiction & Fantasy" by Orson Scott Card.

I read most of your story.

Positive Feedback: I think you have a good feel for sentence flow, and that's very important.

Constructive Feedback:
I'm going to provide this in the form of quotes from two famous authors:

"Information is to your audience as water is to a plant - it's the life of the story, and yet you have to keep it in balance. Too much raw information up front and the reader can't keep it all straight; too little information and the reader can't figure out what's happening...Instead, information must be trickled into a story, always just enough to know what's happening." (How to Write Science Fiction & Fantasy, Chapter 4, Section 1 - Exposition).

"Don't say it was "delightful"; make us say "delightful" when we've read the
description. You see, all those words (horrifying, wonderful, hideous,
exquisite) are only like saying to your readers "Please will you do the job for me." C. S. Lewis

Do you know where I can find a copy of the "How to Write" series?

This is not a sci-fi story, but a romantic drama that is way different than Mozart & the Whale.

Haven't heard of that series.
There are a lot of "How to Write" books out there though. You have to filter for what you're trying to improve.


True. However, Card offers some good advice about fiction writing that applies to all genres in the book "How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy". The quote about balancing how much information you dole out is a good example. He also wrote a good book on writing titled "Characters and Viewpoint".

Btw, I did inadvertantly run across a web page on Romantic Archetypes. That might be helpful for developing the characters in your story. I'm at the office now. When I get home, I'll see if I can find the bookmark and share it with you.

Take Care!