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When I was little, I once typed to my father—I use a text-to-voice synthesizer to communicate—“Autism sucks, but I see things that you don't see.” The sky, for example, before it has become the sky. Or a barn before it has become a barn. Or even my own hand before it has become my hand. As in a painting by Seurat, the object appears as a million points of color, little flecks of something that do not need a name, and that hold my attention completely.
As a journalist, you can create a free Muck Rack account to customize your profile, list your contact preferences, and upload a portfolio of your best work.
