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Hey Reader,

Sitting on the sofa, heaving great sobs from my chest, I am ugly-crying as I watch something on screen that I’ve never seen before.

Season 1, episode 1, of The Good Doctor.

We’re only a few minutes in and the main character is in an airport. He wrings his hands compulsively as everything around him pushes in at him: sounds, lights, smells, peoplepeoplepeople and there’s somewhere he has to be. The cacophony is smothering and because he is experiencing everything at once at the same intensity and struggling to hold himself together, he’s experiencing nothing he can grab hold of.

Until there’s a huge crashing accident that pulls him into his zone of genius.

In his interactions with people, we see the processing delay after someone asks him a question: awkward silence as he gathers his thoughts, visible impatience or suspicion from those around him, his different patterns of speech.

We see him fail to understand when people are sarcastic or being mean to him, because he takes them at face value. We don’t see him feeling stupid and worthless later, like I do, when I’ve worked it out, but in my head it’s there.

He’s autistic and this is the first depiction of what it’s like to exist in a public space I’ve ever seen that even comes close to my experiences.

The main character and I are very different: he’s autistic savant and I very much am not. I don’t have the same level of communication differences and difficulties, I mask better, and I’ve learned more of what people mean over the years.

But seeing the traits we share on-screen punched me in the stomach.

I’ve seen what representation does — a little girl’s reaction to Black Ariel in The Little Mermaid, a disabled kid finding themselves in a book.

I felt it a little when I was watching the women’s football world cup because that would NEVER have been on TV when I was a kid.

But this was different.

Seeing some of my experiences on-screen was visceral and validating. It’s not enough to know intellectually that we are not alone and that other people like us can do the things we want to do. It helps, but it’s not enough.

When we see it, read it, hear it, FEEL IT, it’s transformative.

This is why I help people write books even if sometimes they don’t think anyone will care.

Let me tell you: someone will care.

Someone will read it and be ugly-crying because you’ve reached out and said, “I see you. I understand you. You matter.”

Write your book.

And if you’d like to do it with me, I’d love to help.

My Kickstart Your Book Session gives you a detailed pre-work questionnaire plus a 90-minute intensive Zoom call where we nail down your big idea, map your reader journey, and build your book structure. You leave with everything you need to start writing.

It's £1,450 + VAT and I have a 3 slots available in February. Hit reply if you want one.

TTFN,

Vicky 🫡

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