We may be captive at the moment, but Leira has no idea what I can do.

“You look different,” Isolde says softly, from the doorway.

I twitch my uninjured hand, and thunder crashes in response. My lips curl in a smile. “I am different.” Then I flick the other hand out, and lightning sparks against the darkened sky.

author’s note

How do you write about autism without using the word autism?

This book was inspired by the theory that changeling mythology is an early description of autistic children, and, well, it kind of went off the rails from there. I wanted to write a story about someone like me, a story where the autistic character is the center of her own narrative. In a fantasy world where there’s no diagnostic term for it, I can only explain autism by showing you who Seelie is, how she thinks and feels and experiences the world. Seelie is flawed and immature, but she is also loved and accepted as she is. Too many stories about autism focus instead on the parent, the teacher, the caregiver...

This is not one of those stories.

When I was diagnosed, I wasn’t given access to resources by other autistic people. I had to find those perspectives myself, and it took years of searching and learning about how my brain works for me to accept it. After all, I knew the stereotypes: autism was white and male and cold. Either rude and brilliant, or nonspeaking and objectified. People tend to focus on the social aspects of autism, but it’s so much more than that. Autism affects how your brain processes all information. That includes social interactions but also language, problem-solving, input from your senses, executive functioning, and so much more.

It’s not a flaw or a fault. It’s just a variation of the many ways that human brains are wired. And you can’t separate us from the way our brains function without stripping us of everything that makes us who we are.

Too many autistic people go undiagnosed, without supports, for too long, because we don’t fit the image of What Autism Should Look Like. Because, of course, there’s no such thing. Autistic people, like everyone else, exist in infinite variety, in all genders and colors and shapes and sizes. We have different needs and different expressions. I can’t possibly speak for all of us—but I wrote Unseelie to challenge that image. If I had seen characters like Seelie, I might have been able to recognize and accept myself earlier and skip over years of identity crisis.

If you enjoy this book, I’d encourage you to seek out more information about autism from autistic advocates. And if you see yourself in these pages, I want to tell you what I wish someone had told me.

You are exactly the way you were meant to be, and you are the hero of your own story.

acknowledgments

First of all, I want to thank you, reader, for picking up this book, and making it all the way to the end. I wrote this for you, so I’m pretty psyched that you’re here.