Actually Asten

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like being autistic and creative, let me sum it up in one word: intense.

My brain doesn’t just “like” stories or music or art — it devours them. When I fall in love with an idea, it’s not a passing interest. It becomes a world. I live in it, breathe it, write it at 2AM with crumbs on my hoodie and four browser tabs open on niche 90s references. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Good Stuff

Being autistic means my imagination is ridiculously detailed. I don’t just create characters — I know them. I know what Jonas would order from Greggs (steak bake, no hesitation). I know exactly how Daisy would ruin a book launch (glitter cannon, bad idea). My brain latches on and fills in every gap with texture, feeling, chaos, life.

That hyperfocus people talk about? That’s not a bug — it’s a feature. When it hits, I can write chapters, design covers, plan an entire series arc with the intensity of a caffeinated raccoon. It’s magical. (And a bit exhausting, let’s be honest.)

The Hard Stuff

Creativity doesn’t always play nice with executive dysfunction. Some days, I want to write, but my brain is stuck buffering. Or I spiral because I can’t decide which version of a scene is “right.” Or I start seventeen projects and finish none, because the dopamine ran out and took my spoons with it.

And don’t even get me started on perfectionism. Autism plus creative ambition? Oh babe, that’s a cocktail of “this must be flawless or it’s worthless” — even when I know that’s not true.

But You Know What?

I’ve learned that my creativity isn’t just in spite of being autistic. It’s because of it.

The way I notice weird little details. The way I replay dialogue in my head like a film reel. The way I feel things — deeply, vividly, unfiltered. That’s what makes my stories what they are. That’s what brings Daisy, Amber, and Jonas to life. That’s what lets me connect with people — even when I struggle to connect in real-time conversations.

So Here’s to Us

To the autistic creatives. The hyperfocused dreamers. The stimmers with a sketchpad. The ones who turn special interests into entire universes.

Your art is valid. Your voice is needed. And if your creative process looks different from everyone else’s? That’s not a flaw — it’s your flavour.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go rewrite a scene for the fifth time because Daisy hijacked it again. Typical.

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🌈 Daisy’s Corner: Autistic? Creative? Same, Babe. 🎨🧠

Look. I don’t know the sciencey bits — all I know is Amber’s brain is like a Pinterest board with glitter explosions and mine is like… a confetti cannon with anxiety issues.

Being autistic and creative is like living in a house full of ideas, but the front door is sometimes superglued shut and your keys are in the fridge.

One day I’ll write an entire script in one go (Oscar-worthy, obviously). The next day I’ll stare at a notebook for six hours and cry because I can’t decide what pen to use.

BUT. And this is important.
We don’t need to create like everyone else.
We don’t need to be like everyone else.

We’re the ones who make weird, beautiful, oddly specific things that shouldn’t work — but do.

So keep creating, even if it’s in 3-minute bursts between meltdowns. Keep writing, even if it’s chaos. Keep drawing, singing, filming, daydreaming.

Because babe… the world needs our weird.

Especially mine. You’re welcome.