THIS WEEK
Black Focus Opinion
Elle Machray
Receiving a diagnosis of autism has empowered me to advocate for accommodations to make my life in publishing full and satisfying
No need to hide away I
me retreating into the nearest toilet cubicle. Then came the blissfully blank calendar of the pandemic, and the resulting hours of TikTok videos I scrolled through to fill the time. Aſter falling finger-first into NeurodiversitTok, the explanation became clear: I’m an AuDHDer. Sensory overload was my foe, not social aversion. This revelation was validating and heartbreaking, but another fight was on the horizon. Aſter finding the courage to talk to my GP, I spent the entire appointment in tears. His dismissals—“You function too well for a diag- nosis”, “Autism and ADHD aren’t common in females or Black communities”—confirmed my internalised fear: you’re just plain wrong, Elle. It took three atempts, and stern words from the practice nurse and my old counsellor before he correctly scored my assessment questionnaires. A further six months before he agreed to refer me, another year before he actually did. By then, it was spring 2022 and the wait time for an ADHD diagnosis had ballooned from two to four years.
It was around this time HarperNorth offered a publish- ing contract for my début novel. Without it, I’d likely still be on the NHS waiting list and editing Remember, Remember. My advance granted me the privilege of a swiſt, private ADHD diagnosis and the abilit to (just about) afford the expensive medication titration process. Then, two weeks before the publication of Remember, Remember, I finally received my autism diagnosis. My diagnoses and publishing experience are
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inextricably linked. I’m starting to reframe past experi- ences and self-advocate for accommodations without feeling guilt, difficult or entitled.
’ve spent countless hours hiding in the bathroom during events. For almost 30 years, crowded rooms have felt like a batleground. I’m an ambivert by nature, not particularly anti-social or overly anxious (though my agent might tell a different story). But at events—the cacophony of conversations, the migraine-inducing flickering fluorescents and the kind of forced proximit that I only enjoy in romance novels—would routinely send
I’ve found other neurodivergent authors whom I can share experiences with and collectively we can continue to normalise neurodiversity in publishing
Elle Machray is the author of alternative historical novel Remember Remember, published by HarperNorth in February.
Ask questions I’m learning that it isn’t cheating to ask for questions in advance of an interview. It compensates for my delayed auditory processing, allowing me to give more thoughtful answers, which benefits the final piece. Requesting a quiet space to decompress doesn’t make me a diva, it allows me to privately stim and unmask and prevents sensory over- load—because being around strangers can be exhausting. One of the most wonderful parts of my publication experience has been being able to talk about my special interests—books and history! Hearing that Remember, Remember has been enjoyed at autism-friendly book clubs (hello, fellow readers with a strong sense of justice!) is both reassuring and connects me to a bigger communit. It’s not all been easy. Publishing is an industry that thrives on connections both on and off the page, and social situations can still be daunting. Research suggests that ADHD medication may increase the prevalence of a person’s autistic traits. This makes it harder to mask when I need to and increases the likeli- hood I’ll make a social faux pas. I’ve spent entire evenings dissecting conversations, trying to figure out why so-and- so didn’t seem to like me, worrying that I was too blunt or behaved strangely or didn’t reciprocate enough. For the most part, I’m glad I’ve been open about my diagnoses. Instead of ostracism, I’ve usually been met with compassion. I’ve found other neurodi- vergent authors whom I can share experiences with and collectively we can continue to normalise neurodiversit in publishing. We could all likely benefit from neuroaffirming prac- tices like quiet spaces and sensory considerations becom- ing the default at events. My hope is that by talking about neurodiversit more, we’ll become more proactive in all of our inclusion efforts and continue building a welcoming, more equitable industry.
Sustainable change is slow and budgets are tight, but if
I’m lucky enough to make it to the publication of a third book, perhaps I’ll no longer feel the need to hide away anymore.
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