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Autistic people don't all want boring jobs

Lately, I’ve been seeing a lot of variations on a story that goes “Autistic people love detail, and it makes them naturally well suited for repetitive jobs that most people find intolerably boring.”

This is usually said with great fanfare, and described as a step away from stigma and towards celebration.

But — autistic people don’t all have a convenient love of tedious tasks. Some of us find them as boring as everyone else does.

This model of “autistic strengths” celebrates us doing jobs everyone else hates. It has no room for us to pursue jobs that others want. We’re supposed to stay in a special place for special people, doing the boring tasks the ideology says we love — and making no trouble for the normal people who do the interesting jobs.

This isn’t ok, and it isn’t acceptance. Some of us like things that others don’t, but none of us should be forced into a box. Autistic people have the full range of interests, talents, and skills that anyone else does. We shouldn’t be tracked into jobs based on stereotypes. We have the right to decide for ourselves what to pursue.

“It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.”

— Chuck Palahniuk

Your writing will always feel awkward to you, because you wrote it.

Your plot twists will always feel predictable, because you created them.

Your stories will always feel a bit boring to you, because you read them a million times.

They won't feel like that for your reader.

Random linguistic worldbuilding: A language with six sets of pronouns, which are set by one's current state of existence. There's a separate pronoun for people who are alive, people who are dead, and potential future people who are yet to be born, and the ambiguous ones of "may or may not be alive or aleady dead", "may or may not have even been born yet", and the ultimate general/ambiguous all-covering one that covers all ambiguous states.

The culture has a specific defined term for that tragic span of time when a widow keeps accidentally referring to their spouse with living pronouns. New parents-to-be dropping the happy surprise news of a pregnancy by referring to their future child with the "is yet to be born" pronoun instead of a more ambiguous one and waiting for the "wait what did you just say?" reactions.

Someone jokingly referring to themselves with the dead person pronouns just to highlight how horrible their current hangover is. A notorious aspiring ladies' man who keeps trying to pursue women in their 20s despite of approaching middle age fails to notice the insult when someone asks him when he's planning to get married, and uses the pronoun that implies that his ideal future bride may not even be born yet.

A mother whose young adult child just moved away from home for the first time, who continues to dramatically refer to their child with "may or may not be already dead" until the aforementioned child replies to her on facebook like "ma stop telling people I'm dead" and having her respond with "well how could I possibly know that when you don't even write to us? >:,C"

my eyes - 20231225

I may seem dark, but come a little closer

Make me happy, I’ll reflect your light

You'll see silhouettes of warm summer days near forests and green lakes

Specks of black stay, but aren't they pretty?

Very few see my green truth, I don't allow others to see anything but black

Soften me, make me forget what I lack

You've shone it on me, the light

Both our faces, now painted with delight

passion to perform - 20230420

People ask me what the difference is between the want to dance and the passion to perform

Dance is a thing you can achieve pretty easily, just go to a party

Performing is different, and by my interest

calling it the same would be ignorant, deliberate, inconsiderate

Comical and dumb like a figurant

I’d like you to consider it, euphoria like a recently-burnt cigaret,

Childhood preliterate, summer with a refrigerant,

Breathless, right after your first hit on a vape

A protection cape, an inevitable escape

From the man-made world, view the landscape

You work and you thrive, chasing your drive

It’s an amenity of life, I’m alive!

I’m alive, I’m alive, not surviving like I do every day,

Mostly sadness but small happy moments along the way,

No, I’m certain I’m alive now, this is a real life!

I’m lurking, overworking, dehydration and exhaustion alerting

My passion asserting, as I’m on the stage preserving

my name, my claim, my temporary arbitrary fame,

I refuse to be tame. I’m giving my all, no time to worry about shame

It’s like a midnight summer swim

I’m tired, breathless, thrilled, elated, euphoric, all on my personal whim

I only have once, so I better make it count

1 to 8 I count, taking the rhythm into account

The end is near, I’ve got no time to fear

I wanna focus on the now and here.

Time has run out? My performance has been sincere

Just five more lines,

I’m no longer confined

And there it is, the sugar I’ve been craving

The high I’ve been chasing, I’m chasing,

I’m chasing, I’m chasing

And then it stops; standing ovation.

Think of me - 20240619

Think of my name as the sirens you hear fleeting by,

you always hear it, but you never know why.

Think of my laughter as music you hear, birds singing as the day starts anew.

Think of my beliefs as something to be discarded, as are you.

Think of my body not as a temple, but mother nature that bounces back every time you try to hurt her,

always surviving any problems you stir, any attempt at murder.

Think of my face as a shirt you have of a band you've never heard,

you show it to everyone, but your lack of understanding of it is absurd,

after all, you don't realise the hours of effort I've put into making it pretty –

hours wasted in an attempt to make you less shitty.

Think of my mind as the ocean. The surface is shallow and fun with the beaches,

but no one has ever seen how deep it really is.

No one knows what monsters lie at the bottom, and the density there is too intense to escape without death.

Just like the ocean, my mind is of incomprehensible depth.

Think of me as a paradox, a living contradiction, an enigma, questions without end,

I'll see chaos as the answer, the only thing I can understand.

Let writers ramble to you about their stories and they will forever love you.

pyro.maniac - 20231219

It's a good thing he's a pyromaniac

I am the pyro and the maniac

I am red with passion, love and hate

I am the beat of the living, I bring the heat

I'll make you happy, then burn you

An ever-lasting fire

The danger and the beauty, attracting your desire.

I feel like someone is standing next to me talking about how I'm dead

meliora couldn't tell you where it went wrong if you asked her.

maybe it was when her mom died, leaving her father and five year old self alone.

maybe it was when her father did things just to lose himself, to dilute himself with other substances.

maybe when she wasn't allowed to leave the house anymore?

when she started reading about gods; maybe that was it.

when she started reading about gods and their tales, their victories and their losses, their smiles and their tears. their wants and their needs.

she didn't know why it was eleutheria, really. maybe it's because she hadn't left the house in a decade? nonetheless, she worshipped her. made her a secret altar with what she had, and honoured her.

or maybe everything went wrong when her god gave her what she wanted; freedom.

or maybe it was just another form of being trapped. moving a bird from one cage to another.

though this place wasn't as bad as home. there was no alcohol-father mix to torment and trap her, no loneliness. no, these people were nice to her. she even made a few friends for the first time in years!

the grass beneath her feet seemed greener, the paradisiacal world's saturation values seemingly turned up in contrast to the place she used to call home.

used to; this was her home now. Collatio, the place Eleutheria had led — or, technically, kidnapped — her to.

a place far away from humans (except the five she was staying with, though she liked them). a place no one could reach.

she'd almost called her new friends crazy when they asked for her help to leave.

leave? leave Collatio? leave this perfect home?

...leave her?

no. that's what she'd told them; no. this place, these people, it was all too good to seperate from. she won't help them ruin a good thing.

and then owen got taken.

the group had gotten overwhelmed during battle for the first time, and since meliora had decided not to come along, they'd lost the battle. lost owen.

when they came back home to meliora, the group was frantic. understandably so; one out of six humans in this realm had just gotten captured.

killed? they didn't know.

meliora didn't know.

and fuck if it didn't feel terrible. she tried to stick to her values, she really did. but a voice in the back of her head kept telling her it was her fault owen was taken. that if she'd helped her friends, they'd all be here now, happy and safe.

so of course she joined the rest of the humans to go back to the boss and save owen. how couldn't she?

you know how the story goes. meliora went with her friends, they all saved owen, then meliora decided to join the humans in their endeavour.

not because she was happy they'd leave, but because she know it'd hurt more if her friends got hurt again because of her.

and so, the weeks went by. she trained, she talked, she lived, she laughed. some might even say she loved these new friends of her.

oh, how silly she was.

because then she found out there was a traitor amongst her new merry band of humans. one of her friends was not a human. no, they were a spy. one sent by god knows who, for who-knows-what reason. all she knew is that they didn't want the humans to leave Collatio.

but surely it wouldn't be an issue. surely, as long as she stayed focused, she could still help her friends leave.

notice how i said something went wrong? you wanna know what it was?

meliora and her friends were fighting the king. all eyes were on the king, when-

“meliora.”

SLASH.

“my sincerest apologies,”

a sword behind her lifted once more.

“and my deepest condolences.”

she could barely feel like a piece of paper getting stapled, before the idyllic world went black.

« GAME OVER »

destiny - 20240425

1

She looked her fate up and down and asked "who do you think you are?"

Fate challenged her, "you will know when you catch me"

2

She dreamt of constellations sown of people she touched, clarity drawn between the lines

She dreamt of sweating from the colourful lights on her, everyone'd say she brings the heat

She dreamt of becoming one of the lights in the sky, but the biggest stars are the furthest away.

3

She could feel people staring at her in disgust, wondering who she thought she was

She could feel this was where she belonged, this is what she keeps working towards

She could feel certainty, dancing with it as she was meant to do

People make a lot of good "thank god I'm not a kid anymore" posts about like school bullies or homework or puberty. But actually my #1 top of the "thank god I'm not a kid anymore" list is the fact that I can leave the event when I want to.

Any event I'm at! I can say "okay well I'm tired I'm going home goodbye." Could not do that shit as a kid. If you're a kid it's like yeah you will sit here at your brother's soccer game in the cold for the next 1.5 hours. You will sit here at your sibling's football practice. You will stay at this BBQ until the whole family is done with the BBQ. You are stuck at the mall until mom finds the pants she needs. You are stuck at the grocery store. No we don't know how long. You are stuck at band practice. It's running late but you're not allowed to leave. You are stuck at the party that the adults said you're leaving soon but they keep talking to these 2 people who showed up late. What the Fuck.

And that shit is on top of having homework.

i like to complain that i'm neck deep in burnout and that i haven't had the drive to do anything i want to since february

except then i randomly get energy to Do Stuff™ on a random sunday afternoon and by monday evening i have a whole new fucking portfolio.

i'm not joking.

i spent 8 months on version 2 of my portfolio. i made version 3 in a little more than a day. subject to change and improvements, of course, but so was version 2 (i never edited v2). wtf??

brain pls explain to me. give me a sign

hey actually i am NOT a lurker at heart i'm just scared of being perceived

Kill off your main characters. Please. Not as a cheap ending, or right at the beginning for shock value. Kill them in the middle, and do it well. Leave every character reeling and unable to comprehend what happens next. Leave your antagonists without a solid enemy, wondering if they've gone too far.

When you shatter the heart of a story, a thousand tiny shards will spilt away and grow. Focus on the side characters; the supporting cast, the love interest. Think about how they would change, break and reform. Think about the growth, the quiet moments of reflection and depth.

You don't have to do it, but think about it.

If your story stops with a single character, your story is weak.

Kill the protagonist.

Have you become so addicted to doing what you like that now you don’t even have time to do what you love?

We know many of you have seen NaNoWriMo's recent statements on generative AI...

Well, we have too—and that's why we've made the decision to retract our sponsorship of NaNo.

Your support and belief in human creativity, transparency and collaboration mean everything to us, and we're committed to staying true to that. Thank you all! 💙

You can read our full statement here.

The Ellipsus team xo

When you understand that kids and teenagers being salty about literary symbolic analysis comes from a very real place of annoyance and frustration at some teachers for being over-bearing and pretentious in their projecting of symbolism onto every facet of a story but you also understand that literary analysis and critical thinking in regards to symbolism is extremely important and deserves to be not only taught in schools, but actively used by writers when examining their own work to see if they might have used symbolism unintentionally and to make sure that they are using symbolism effectively:

rewarding yourself has kind of become a silly joke like everything is "a little treat" but you really have to reward your accomplishments, lack of gratification can become a serious problem, gratification crisis is a serious problem please do better <3

“Not everyone has to like you. Not everyone has taste.”

— Manila Luzon