Autistic Authorship
A Camphill Academy Essay
Context
Greetings from the academic chasm of summer. Amidst the frilling marigolds and the smacks of tomato leaf yellow up my arms, there is the light of the school year still glowing in me. The questions asked and insights gathered, still burning in me, still keeping the light on.
For those unaware, I enrolled in Camphill Academy last fall. This is Waldorf-esque adult education, built around the practicum of life-work in Camphill communities. Camphill communities facilitate life-sharing between people of all abilities, including those with support needs due to intellectual and developmental disabilities. We spend a lot of time gathering food for each other to eat, honing soul-sustaining crafts and making things to sell, and learning how to get along with our coworkers. We spend a little bit of time reading and writing, and a little bit of time tossing bean bags to each other and discussing the color and texture of the spirit.
This is an essay I wrote about some of my favorite writers, who have all shared about their experience of being autistic and how autism shapes their living/writing.
Autistic Authorship
Autism has been regarded as a defect that hinders connection. It has been considered an illness to overcome by either pushing the autistic population out of society, or to fit within society’s molds, depending on their level of ‘functioning’. But when we look deeper, we can find a hyper-connectedness that both overwhelms and overjoys. Are there functions present here that serve something deeper than independent living or a minimum wage job? With the neurodiversity movement, a potential emerges that autistic individuals contribute to an emergent society. This essay is not so much about the psychology of autism, but the art available to autistic individuals, and how they are making it available to everybody else. I will look at the place of autism in modern western culture, as autistic culture itself forms and transforms. I will trace the history of this movement, through autistic writers, beginning with co-founders of Autism Network International.
Donna Williams offered a story of autism “from the inside out” through her autobiographies; Jim Sinclair wrote articles urging parents to let go of the wish for a “normal” child. We will see the impact born on the next generation of autistic kids and their parents. The latter part of this essay will uplift some of the contemporary autistic writers whose flourishing has allowed audiences to be changed by their work: Hannah Emerson types poetry, inventing new words and digging into radical images of earthly joy; Joanna Sternberg pours their naked soul through their guitar, and performs “embarrassing” songs, with unfettered awkwardness, to rooms of smiling strangers. Through their crafts, these writers have opened refugia in our society, where connection is not bound to neurotypical norms. New forms of sensing and self-expression are available to all of us, when light shines through the autistic lens.
Autism
The term Autism, coined in 1911, is rooted in a condition of self-ness: Auto-ism. So we would infer that anybody diagnosed with such a term must be trapped up in themselves to an extent that medical professionals are called for. We might guess that such a person would rarely stray from the confines of their inner world, and would struggle to reach the world where other people roam. We might believe that it is the task of outer-world people to define the existence of those stuck inside. But what happens when Autistics become their own authors? Suppose a nonverbal child with a passion for facts grows up to be an outspoken activist? Or a woman extraordinarily dedicated to her own imagination finally gets herself a typewriter? Then what? A disabled descendant of a great poet is empowered to type words that refresh poetry itself! Somebody who rarely leaves their room is urged to find their voice, and sing where people can hear it! Is this what we call disconnected self-absorption? Are these the stale caves with mirrored walls we would expect inside of autism? I smell a finer fermentation here– a potential for incorporation with the big body of everything. I see connections between continents of once isolated concepts; acts of creation to question all forms and formalities.
The original characterization of autism was one of excessive, inescapable fantasy. It was figured that autistic people were reserved because they were preoccupied by something more appealing than real life. By the 1960s, however, observations of autistic children led researchers to conclude that autism limits the imagination, preventing autistic people from accessing fantasy or symbolism. (Evans, 2013) In both eras, we see concerned parents, psychiatrists, and social scientists, examining autism as a defect, and striving to help their children and patients overcome it. In both eras, this ‘defect’ is publicly discoursed exclusively by those who do not live it. Autistic individuals are regarded as children and patients, no matter their age and abilities.
As the autistic children of the 60s grew into the autistic adults of the 80s, the general public began to tip their ears. Psychologist Bernard Rimland lent the hand of his academic authority to autistic writers Donna Williams and Temple Grandin, hoisting them up onto the main stage. The frame around the writing, however, was still the frame of ‘qualified’ non-autistics such as Rimland. Grandin’s work, published in 1986, remaining the most seen today, sits comfortably within the defect-to-cure paradigm of autism. Beginning with her 1992 autobiography, Nobody Nowhere, Williams invites readers into her colorful, complicated world, and begins to poke questions into the familiar narrative. Could autism be a blessing as well as a curse? Who decided which world is ‘the real world’ that everybody should live in? Why do we label people ‘Autistic’? (Pripas-Kapit, 2019)
The Normal Way of Hearing
“I hear you trying to help
Me great teachers
Of the normal way of hearing. Please
Learn from me because
It is hard being meet me great humans
Just try greet me with fullness”
- Hannah Emerson, “Animal Ear”
This is where we jump from non-autistic experts writing for a non-autistic audience, to autistic authors writing for autistic readers. The validity of an autistic person’s first hand account of autism is recognized, and held dearer to the masses than the scientific literature that preceded it. “We have to do this from the inside out”, Donna Williams says, in her film Jam Jar. The film is a vivid expression of Williams’ life: her sensory processing, her playful metaphors, and her defiant yet sweet personality. Donna Williams accrued a mass of pen-pals who identified with the internal experience she had portrayed. Some were regular-looking folks who felt trapped within the mask of normality. Others typed letters with the help of caregivers, sharing things they had never expected anyone to understand. She began her work as an autism consultant, working with autistic individuals and their loved ones to find acceptance and self-expression. She joined with fellow autistic academics to form Autism Network International (ANI), helping to establish autism as an identity about which a community could form.
From an interrogation of autism that focused on causes, cures, and assimilation, there is a shift towards a more open-ended exploration. Jim Sinclair, cofounder of ANI, did work in the 90s that sowed the seeds for the modern day neurodiversity movement. In their 1993 essay “Don’t Mourn For Us.” Sinclair acknowledges the grief surrounding autistic children, and urges parents to see past that cloud and meet the child before them. “Grieve if you must, for your own lost dreams.” says Sinclair, “But don’t mourn for us. We are alive. We are real. And we’re here waiting for you.” Perhaps this shift of perspective allowed the next generation of parents to look beyond the development markers of their children’s neurotypical peers. Perhaps this made way for autistic children to strive in an entirely different direction from that ideal of development. If we can believe that nobody is born wrong, we might realize that each person born among us has a place with us, and we might discover that we need them here. To accept those born different in our society is to welcome the change they will make on our society. What do we learn when we pay attention to what the non-speaking have to say? What happens in a social gathering for the socially anxious?
Through their writing, Jim Sinclair opened the possibility of autism as a word worth gathering around. It was no longer an unfortunate diagnosis, but a helpful guide to one’s needs and potentials in a world that might disregard them. Sinclair also created gatherings for autistic people to meet each other, where a web could be woven across diverse experiences of a common type of hardships and wonders. These retreats, called “autreats”, became temporary zones of autistic normality. The agreements of that space centered autistic people, instead of shoving them aside. Measures were taken to reduce the sensory overload typical of mainstream social functions. Limits were placed on strongly scented products, and attendees wore cards on lanyards to wordlessly communicate whether they were up for a chat. Above all, this space held a quality of radical readiness to embrace each attendee, meeting them with the assumption that they belong.
Autreat died out just as I was being born, in 2001, but I’m lucky to have experienced such zones. One such place, where weirdos are the norm, is a Joanna Sternberg concert. I remember entering the venue, Joanna already sweating in the spotlight, and I was amazed to be bathed in that glow. It is a rare thing for somebody so nervous to give so much of their heart to so many people. And the more Joanna hushed and doubted themself, the more we listened and believed them. And the more they stuttered, the more we leaned in, for we were a crowd of stutterers, in our own ways. In interviews, Joanna admits that they hardly leave their room. It’s on the 40th floor and it’s full of all her favorite stuff. Donna Williams has written on this autistic habit of self-captivity, and warns “You can visit there in freedom, but if you stay there, you stay there in fear.” But when Joanna hears other people singing about hard things, they say they get “too inspired to be scared.” When your voice is buried deep, there are few things sharp enough to pierce the surface and get said. But those of us who have struggled to express ourselves can recognize that those few sharp messages are the ones the world needs. Joanna looks back with gratitude on the teacher who led them to their real voice:
“I was singing in my own version of my voice, but it was this weird low voice that I thought was ‘good’, I don’t know why… she basically said ‘That’s not your voice. Take it down’. And then she caught me singing in my voice for a millisecond and she went ‘There! That!’”
Donna Williams echoes this sort of miracle in her second memoir, Like Color To The Blind. After desperately searching through her various personas, Williams recalls bursting into tears when she heard herself speaking in “Donna’s voice” for the first time. It is a story of self-discovery, but nobody does it alone. Though her parents misunderstood her, Williams’ partner, an autistic man, held her hand and made leaps and bounds alongside her. Joanna Sternberg speaks of the awesome love of their parents, whose 40th floor apartment they still live in, and who encourage them to step outside of said apartment daily. With this balance of accommodation and striving, we see autistic individuals who grow into themselves, not some neurotypical ideal.
One of the great lessons of disability, indeed, is surrendering to the support of others. Writers of all kinds will struggle with conveying the meaning we mean to convey, and we might wish we could control the reader’s understanding of our words. It takes a great deal of trust to allow another person to present our work for us, whether editing on the page or reading aloud. Hannah Emerson, a poet who does not have the option to read her own work aloud, has cultivated friendships with likeminded people who do speak. In a reading, we see the love pouring out of Hannah as she sits beside her mother and listens to a dear friend give his best try to her words. She responds in kisses and hums, and short typed phrases read out urgently by her mother. She is the author, yet she lets her work live through the voices of others. Somehow, Hannah comes through, and her words live in us. How can a love as big as hers come through a keyboard, with no volume, and no spoken tone? As poets, we remember that a word was only ever a tiny car to carry something huge. As readers, we do our best to let that little car arrive at our door, and open, and open.
“Love the drops of rain
That just sit on the branch
Waiting to be called
To dance dance dance yes yes yes”
- Hannah Emerson in “Just Happy That Lovely Children are Dancing”
The Slowdown podcast features Hannah Emerson in an episode entitled “The Listening World.” The host observes that “Paradoxically, often it is the ones not listened to, who listen most acutely.” So what does it mean to listen to someone who does not speak? Instead of focusing on the lack of communication skills in autistic people, we might point to the limitations of normative neurotypical listening. Technologies like Emerson’s keyboard can help bridge this gap, bringing her thoughts into the visual world. But to appreciate her writing itself, we need to stretch our listening and release the notions of ‘correctness’ that schooling may have burdened us with. If readers can open in this way, we can meet Emerson where she is, and be in awe of that place. In a curatorial statement on a collaboration between four disabled poets (including Emerson and herself), Heidi Andrea Restrepo Rhodes critiques the dominant understanding of silence– that zero intelligible sounds equals zero message.
“We each take up what ableist culture can only read as silence and failure, transforming language by way of speech’s absences, collisions, and lacunae. What emerges again and again, I notice, is evidence of our lives as given to a kind of music…”
If we can learn to listen, the world of this music can open to any one of us, and our world will become more musical for us. Encountering these writers’ work, we might find ourselves high on the vibrancy of autism, or within the grasp of its snags, or merely beholding it all from the riverbanks. No matter how we are labeled or label ourselves, there is connection available there: amongst our fellow humans; within ourselves; between ourselves and the world. Poet JJJJerome Ellis reflects “When I’m stuttering, the world can come rushing into the clearing that’s opened by my dysfluency.” What we perceive as a gap might turn out to be an opening– the humility required to consider that the wind and the leaves might have something important to say in the middle of the poem you are trying to speak.
The Lineage, Reaching
Between elders Donna Williams and Jim Sinclair, and youths Joanna Sternberg and Hannah Emerson, we can trace a lineage of autistic authorship that strengthens and diversifies over time. We can see the swell of support that lifts these authors into view, and empowers them to write not only their own life, but the life of the world. This writing reaches out to those who need a hand, and teaches the world with its tenderness. This blossoming world of tenderness, of course, is not the whole world, nor is it near the majority. It is a constellation of subcultures. The venn diagram may link the queers and the punks and the autistics in one area, and the autistics and scientists and scholars in another. Disability activists ranging from war veterans to teens with tourettes are linked by that web. Some have a higher degree of agency in their lives than others. Some were born into a higher degree of privilege than others. Our writers intermingle and bridge these categories, laying groundwork for the undervalued to be uplifted, and the silenced to be heard. The service to humanity is immeasurable. If we are stuck in our ways, as a society, the cycle will only be broken if we look at other ways of being.
Turning to our autistic contemporaries, we can see how they turn themselves out unto the world. Far from being solely self-obsessed, we see autistic people losing themselves in the other. Many of these people are absorbing the living world on a sensory, intellectual, and emotional level that is incomparable to the popular way of being. Far from ‘disconnected’, the writers among them can connect us to this experience, and to each other. We can eat up all the unexpected, taboo, brand new words, phrasings and ideas, and broaden our view of the human voice. We can recognize rejected parts of ourselves and offer them the mic once in a while.
Though this huddle of radical writers may not be big enough for a world-scale revolution, the work they give us can be a flickering candle in this darkening time. It may be the candle one needs to write by, or see their own reflection clearly for the first time.
“I always say I’m done with tryin’
But then I try some more
I don’t feel right inside my body
Never felt right before
Never felt that I was a lady
Never felt like a man
You’re not the first to think I’m crazy
How could you understand?
But don’t you ever feel like no one really knows you?
Don’t you ever feel like no one ever will?
Don’t you ever feel like no one will ever love you?
Don’t you dare feel that you are alone”
- “Don’t You Ever” by Joanna Sternberg
References
Bruchman, B. (Director). (2023). Joanna Sternberg: No One Really Knows You [Film]. Stereoactive Media.
Elrichman, S. (2023, October 18). The Listening World. The Slowdown. Retrieved May 1, 2026, from https://www.slowdownshow.org/episode/2023/10/18/979-the-listening-world
Evans, B. (2013, July 26). How Autism Became Autism. History of The Human Sciences, 26(3), 3-31. PubMed. 10.1177/0952695113484320
Historicizing Jim Sinclair’s “Don’t Mourn for Us”: A Cultural and Intellectual History of Neurodiversity’s First Manifesto. (2019). In S. K. Kapp (Ed.), Autistic Community and the Neurodiversity Movement: Stories from the Frontline (pp. 23-39). Springer Nature Singapore. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-8437-0_2
Martin, C. (2022). Hannah Emerson - a special featured reading [Zoom recording]. Vermont Studio Center.
Restrepo Rhodes, H. A. (2022, August). Zoeglossia Poem of the Week Series: Crip Grammars and the Fullness of “Silence”. Zoeglossia. https://www.zoeglossia.org/curatorial-statement-by-heidi-andrea-rhodes
Sinclair, J. (1993). Don’t Mourn For Us. Our Voice. https://www.autreat.com/dont_mourn.html
Sinclair, J. (2005, January). History of ANI. Autreat. https://www.autreat.com/History_of_ANI.html
Sodomsky, S. (2023, June 29). The Real World of Joanna Sternberg. Pitchfork. https://pitchfork.com/features/rising/joanna-sternberg-ive-got-me-interview/
Williams, D. (1992). Nobody nowhere. Times Books.
Williams, D. (1996). Like Color to the Blind. Doubleday Canada, Limited.