We present an extract Wired Our Own Way: An Anthology of Irish Autistic Voices, the first collection of personal essays written by autistic Irish adults, edited by Niamh Garvey - read How Not to Write a Musical Composition by Justin Bakker below.
One in twenty-seven Irish school children are now diagnosed as autistic, and autism is entering the general population's consciousness much louder than it did in the past. This anthology shines a light on how important autism identification is, and how the label of 'autism' can enhance ones self-understanding and self-compassion.
Throughout this collection of essays, the writers highlight how the lived-experience of autism varies drastically from one autistic person to another, and show that there is no one way to be autistic.
How Not to Write a Musical Composition
Step 1: Master the trumpet
You're ten years old and you’ve decided to master the trumpet. You’re pretty sure your grandfather played it, but this might have been a misunderstanding. However, your autistic hyperfocus superpower won’t let that stop you. You start lessons, and practise daily. First twenty minutes, then an hour. Your parents eventually need to come to an arrangement with the neighbours about when you can practise and for how long, so everyone can get some sleep as well. You remain just as determined as ever.
When you get good enough, you learn that there’s such a thing as competitions for musical instruments, and of course you have to enter. Joining the local concert band is next and you become the youngest first chair in the band. The library has a great selection of music books and you try to memorise famous jazz solos, determined to play them flawlessly. This isn’t just about learning; it’s about immersing yourself in the music, everything else will disappear.
Step 2: Childhood composition
You’ve been playing the trumpet for two years now, you can hear a grand composition in your head. It’s just a matter of getting it on paper. Armed with your 1980s Apple Macintosh Plus and a basic music notation application, you dive in with high hopes. You’re in the zone and spend hours in the library reading sheet music and transcribing everything note for note into the music notation application, hoping this method somehow will teach you how to compose. The melodies come easy enough, you can play them on your trumpet, but you just don’t get the theory. No matter how many songs you copy into the application, the breakthrough never comes. Still, you give it your all, even if your masterpiece doesn’t make it past eight bars.
Step 3: Scrap the trumpet, guitar is the next thing
The trumpet was great, but now that you are a teenager it’s all about the guitar. Sure, you only picked this up to impress a girl, but soon the instrument resonates with you on a much deeper level. You’re all in, you find yourself as you lose yourself, working through library books and practising for hours. Blisters on your fingers? They are just battle scars, they will scab over, you’ll wear them with pride. Just being able to play a few chords isn’t enough, you study bar chords and finger-picking styles. The guitar consumes you fully, you feel a deep engagement. If you’re not playing, you’re thinking about playing, it’s the first thing you do when you get home. Reading guitar tablature has become second nature, when you get stuck you take a few lessons to get you to the next stage, but you keep going until you have truly conquered this instrument.
Step 4: Compose a song
Playing someone else’s music is getting boring, you want to work out how to write your own music. You notice that most music uses some variations of the same chords, so that’s a great start. You quickly put a song together and invite a few friends over to record it. The second song doesn’t work as well, neither does the third, you keep hitting the limit of your songwriting skills. The problem is your limited understanding of music theory, the only solution you see is to enrol in a year-long university course. You imagine the course will unlock your potential, but instead you’re struggling. Music theory is a lot harder than you imagined. You get through the exam but it drains you. Your excitement for writing songs has long since passed, and with it your passion for the guitar.
Step 5: Become a dancer
Why waste time studying music when you can dance? You discover salsa when you are looking for a salsa band to join and stay to learn the basics of the dance. Never one for half measures, soon you’re dancing six nights per week, it’s all you can think of. You go to every salsa class you can find, dancing is the only thing that matters right now. When there are no classes you practise at home, studying videos, listening to salsa music. You become known as a good technical dancer who not only masters dancing 'on one’, but also the far more technical ‘on two’. Who knew there were salsa congresses as well? You dance till your feet are aching and then you keep going. You struggle to walk the next day. You love being in the zone, it’s intensely satisfying, it’s like nothing else exists and all you are is movement and music.
Step 6: Piano is the new frontier
As expected, your interest in dancing fades, but you’ve already moved on to a new passion: learning to play the piano. You buy the instrument, order a book and get on with it. Your fingers start hurting again, as you stretch them in unfamiliar ways. You will make them get used to this, it worked with the guitar, it will work with the piano. You keep practising and bit by bit you get the hang of it. Reading two staves is a bit tricky; your years of trumpet come in handy but you can’t read the bass clef fluently. You start to translate guitar chords to piano chords and experiment with chord styles. There’s that submersion again, that warm wonderful feeling where everything makes sense. Time is meaningless, sometimes you find yourself at 2 a.m. and you’re still playing, where has the time gone?
Step 7: Start painting
OK, maybe piano isn’t it after all. After a while, learning the piano started to feel like a chore, and staying motivated became harder. It’s difficult to keep up. Why do you feel such an intense interest and then suddenly it’s gone? What you need is something that truly captivates you. And after a few months you discover this in painting. You plunge in, squeezing an easel into the cosy sunroom off the kitchen, overfilling the shelves with paintbrushes and oils. When you work on a portrait of your wife you keep telling yourself you’ll just spend five more minutes tidying things up. By the time you get up your legs feel stiff and you realise it’s 4 a.m. It’s relaxing to de-screen and switch off. Research becomes crucial, what palette did Van Gogh prefer? Are there tutorials online on achieving more lifelike skin tones? You set yourself an ambitious goal to create enough artwork to join an exhibition at St Stephen’s Green. Being in the zone is wonderful, and you’ll miss it when it’s gone. Interests are intense, all-consuming, but you notice they rarely last. This one will fade as well, so you try to enjoy it.
Step 8: Run a marathon or four
Goals keep you motivated, but after a few disappointing paintings you feel your enthusiasm waning. You really love painting, but you no longer feel the passion. You try another painting, but even as you prime the canvas, you struggle. It’s no use. The intensity of the interest is gone. You mourn it, for weeks you are restless, looking for something to do, something to sink your teeth into.
You’re in your forties now and the need to stay healthy presents you with a new ambition. You’ve run a bit here and there and you were decent enough at it. You decide to give it a go. But why run a 5k if you can do the marathon? Without too much thought you sign up for the Dublin marathon, and running quickly becomes your new passion. You research training plans, equipment (you don’t need a lot, that’s good) and race tactics. This really suits you and you start to build some serious endurance. Running quickly goes from the odd run to running five times per week.
This is what you are meant to be doing. Before long, you’re talking about fuelling, carb loading and pace like a pro. One marathon turns into four, and you find yourself in the zone once more.
Step 9: Write a composition
Once the marathon is over each year, your running falls off a cliff until the following spring and you’re restless, waiting to find something new to sink your teeth in. Music has always been there, lingering in the background. You need to go back to your first goal, you’re going to compose that piece of music. When you were a child you lacked the skills and endurance, but here you are now. Joining the local concert band has brought back the idea of writing a composition. And being who you are, there’s no doubt you’re going to go for it. You learn everything there is to know about it, from theory of composing to just experiencing again and again your favourite compositions. You take time off work to attend a composition workshop at the National Concert Hall. Guitar and piano taught you about chords, while the trumpet trained your ear for melody. Dancing improved your sense of rhythm, and running marathons, well, that built your stamina.
The beauty of being in the zone
Each passion burns brightly, and then one day, the spark is gone. You’ve learnt to live with it, to embrace it. Your obsessions never last, but this is who you are. If there’s one thing autism has taught you, it’s that you have the ability to chase a passion with unwavering enthusiasm and commitment.
Interests may come and go, the beauty lies in the intensity of the moments when you are fully absorbed, when all that matters is music, dancing or painting. It always seems to slip away, and you’re dreading the moment when it’s gone, but when you’re in it, it’s yours.
As you rehearse your composition with the local concert band, you’re not worried about how long this will last. For now, you’re in the zone again, and for now, that’s more than enough.
Wired Our Own Way: An Anthology of Irish Autistic Voices is published by New Island
