Blog Archives
Life-Changing Revelation
The Exiled Kin follows a sixteen-year-old Puerto Rican teenager with autism whose world is changed by bullying, betrayal, loss, and the shocking discovery of a truth about the father he thought was gone. What inspired you to create this foundation for the story?
As an autistic author who is also of Puerto Rican descent, I felt it was important to represent my community in my stories. Growing up, I didn’t always see that on paper or on screen, so when I had an opportunity to showcase a character that looked like me, I took advantage of it. Basing my main protagonist, Luke, off my own personal history was easy since I live those experiences in my daily life. An important aspect of autistic individuals is routine, and when that gets broken, disrupted, or upended, it can be difficult to adapt. Luke’s discovery of his father’s whereabouts is a life-changing revelation that would shake anyone’s world. For a teenager with a strong sense of justice and a deep reliance on structure, the impact is even more profound.
How did you approach writing a character whose differences are an important part of him while also showing his humor, strengths, fears, and ambitions?
Authors usually write what they know, and it’s vital to be self-aware of one’s own strengths and weaknesses, and how to apply them so you’re not in a tough situation. An important realization as I got older is that having a disability makes one different, not less. People get so focused on what makes individuals on the spectrum different that they fail to see our similarities. So, fleshing out Luke to showcase his humor, fears, strengths, flaws, and ambitions humanizes him to the reader and thus humanizes people on the spectrum.
The story explores Puerto Rican identity within a late-1990s Tennessee setting. How important was it for you to include cultural experiences, family traditions, and questions of identity in Luke’s story?
I was raised in New England, so I knew and met many people of different backgrounds throughout my young adult life. A highlight of my books that readers have mentioned is that the characters are so diverse that there’s someone relatable for everyone. When it comes to Luke, I felt it was important for the audience to understand his experience as a young Puerto Rican male on the autism spectrum. The best way to do that was to emphasize his family, his culture, and his struggles. Additionally, I grew up in the 2000s when there wasn’t a lot of representation for certain cultures or groups, so making identity a prominent focus in my stories wasn’t mere creative choice; it’s something deeply personal to me.
Can you give us a peek inside the next book in the Looked Down Upon series? Where will it take readers?
So far, I have written and published two books in the Looked Down Upon series, and as I grew as a writer and a person, Luke grew alongside me. I wrote The Exiled Kin right after high school and A Masked Wickedness while in college. Now that I am an adult, we’ll get an idea of what Luke is like as a full-fledged adult in the workforce and what challenges he has to go through in the final book of the trilogy series. Without giving too much away, one of those challenges will involve the Outcasts, a group I introduced in book two. Their return will play an important role in Luke’s journey and the conclusion of the series.
Author Links: GoodReads | X (Twitter) | Facebook | Website | Amazon
But everything changes when Lucas discovers the truth about his father’s supposed death. Furious and determined to bring his deadbeat father to justice, Lucas embarks on a dangerous mission that takes him on a journey of self-discovery and redemption. Along the way, he grapples with issues of faith, love, and the complexities of family dynamics.
Tom’s True Colors
Tom’s True Colors is a children’s book about perception, dignity, and the slow, necessary work of helping a child be truly seen. The book follows Ellie and her autistic brother Tom through an ordinary trip to the park, where small details like Tom’s headphones, his hand-flapping, and the wary attention of other children quietly establish the social world he has to move through. When Ellie later begins to understand what her mother means by Tom’s “true colors,” the story turns toward Tom’s art, which becomes the language through which other children finally meet him with curiosity instead of judgment. By the time the school art contest arrives, the emotional arc feels clear and satisfying: not a transformation of Tom into someone more acceptable, but a change in how others learn to look at him.
What I liked most was the book’s tenderness. It has a soft heart, and it earns that softness. I was especially moved by the early park scenes, where Tom’s joy is rendered with such ease, and by the later moment when Ellie lies awake thinking about how hard it’s been for him to connect with other kids. That passage gives the book a little ache, which I appreciated. It doesn’t pretend that misunderstanding is harmless. I also found the cloud game and the breakfast drawing particularly effective, because they reveal Tom indirectly. We don’t just get told that he’s imaginative, loving, and deeply expressive. We watch those qualities surface in the shapes he sees in the sky and in the red heart he draws for his family. That’s where the book felt most alive to me, less like a lesson and more like a child’s inner world gently opening.
I also admired the book’s central idea. The phrase “true colors” is a clear and child-friendly metaphor, and the book uses it with sincerity rather than cleverness, which suits the age level. I liked that Ellie’s mother draws a distinction between what people notice on the outside and who someone really is on the inside, and I liked even more that Tom’s artwork becomes the bridge between those two things. The story avoids turning Tom into a symbol. He remains a child with preferences, nerves, humor, talent, and shyness, and that grounding is great. The writing itself is direct and purposeful, with enough warmth to keep the message from hardening into instruction.
I found Tom’s True Colors kind, emotional, and refreshingly intent on building empathy without stripping away personality. It understands that inclusion starts with attention, with learning how to read another person more generously, and that’s a meaningful idea to place in front of young readers. I’d recommend this picture book especially for elementary-age children, families talking about autism, and classrooms trying to open conversations about difference in a way that feels approachable but still emotionally real.
Pages: 36 | ASIN : B0GTMRPQ2Y
Freya the Deer
Freya the Deer is a literary coming-of-age novel with the strange shimmer of a fairy tale. It follows Freya Rubenstein, a young woman with autism who moves from Cambridge to a small college in the woods of Washington, carrying with her an intense love of animals, a restless curiosity about the soul, and a way of moving through the world that other people constantly misread. What unfolds is part campus novel, part moral reckoning, part dark fable: Freya falls into love, politics, and danger while trying to hold onto her own fierce sense of truth.
Author Meg Richman writes Freya with real conviction, and that matters because this book could have so easily turned her into a symbol, a lesson, or a bundle of quirks. Instead, she feels singular. Odd, funny, tender, literal, and sometimes almost severe in the way she sees things. I loved how the novel lets the world arrive through Freya’s mind rather than forcing her to translate herself into something more familiar for everyone else. The prose can be lush, but it is not showing off for the sake of it. It feels attached to the character. At its best, the book has that rare quality where the imagery actually deepens the person on the page instead of decorating her. The fairy-tale texture really worked for me. The woods, the red cloak, the animal imagery, the sense that menace and wonder are always standing close together. It gives the novel a charged atmosphere without floating away from real harm.
It was interesting, and at times unsettling, how the book handles morality. Freya is not written as innocent in a simple or sentimental way. She is perceptive, but her perceptions do not always line up with the social scripts everyone else is following, and that makes the novel ask harder questions than I expected. About consent. About ideology. About cruelty dressed up as righteousness. About whether love and truth can survive each other. The campus politics and arguments about justice, Israel, capitalism, race, and activism could have felt schematic, but Richman keeps dragging them back into lived experience, where ideas stop being neat. Some choices are messy on purpose. Some conversations feel jagged. I admired that, even when I was wincing. The book trusts the reader to sit in ambiguity, which I respect. It also made me think about how often people mistake clarity for coldness, especially in someone like Freya, when in fact her honesty may be the most morally serious thing in the room.
I’d recommend Freya the Deer most to readers who like literary fiction that takes risks, especially if they’re drawn to coming-of-age stories with a darker edge, socially engaged novels, or modern fairy tales that are more thorny than cozy. This is not a breezy read, but it is a memorable one. I think it will land best with readers who are willing to follow an unusual protagonist without needing her to become easier or more legible by the end. For me, that was the point. The book asks for patience, openness, and a little courage. I think the right reader will be grateful for all three.
Pages: 206 | ISBN : 978-1578692156
Allan Learns to Talk
Readers meet Allan, a five-year-old autistic boy who does not speak. His silence often leaves him overwhelmed; when the words simply won’t come, he collapses into tears and screams, unable to express what he needs. His sister Ashley worries constantly, unsure how to bridge the gap between her world and Allan’s.
Everything shifts when Allan begins working with a speech therapist at school. She introduces him to sign language, and the discovery feels life-changing. At last, he has a way to share his thoughts. His family, eager to support him, learns to sign alongside him. As Allan gains this new voice, they notice a remarkable change; he glows with happiness.
Allan Learns to Talk by Sharon Austin offers a gentle, motivating, and deeply inspiring story for young readers, especially those who have siblings or friends on the autism spectrum. Austin’s portrayal of Allan’s experience feels authentic and compassionate, allowing readers to view the world through his eyes. The illustrations elevate the narrative, capturing Allan’s intelligence, creativity, and vibrant imagination with striking clarity.
Equally moving is the family’s unwavering commitment to understanding him. Their willingness to learn sign language enriches the story and highlights the power of support and connection. The book deserves a place in school libraries, pediatric offices, and anywhere children and families seek stories that reflect real challenges and real hope.
As Allan grows more confident, spoken words gently emerge, an especially touching moment occurs when he says, “Mom.” Many parents will recognize their own journeys in these pages, making this book both relatable and heartwarming.
Happy Thoughts: Going to the Beach
This sweet little children’s book follows Emma, a young girl with autism, as she heads to the beach with her friends Harper and Jerry. The day is full of excitement, sandcastles, and learning moments. Emma communicates using special waterproof cards her mom made, and through her friends’ kindness and understanding, the story shows how love and patience make adventures fun and safe for everyone.
I really liked how real the story felt. It didn’t sugarcoat things but still stayed gentle and positive. The way Emma’s excitement sometimes turns into overwhelm was so true to life, and the way her friends helped her made me smile. The writing is simple, but it fits perfectly for kids. I felt a lot of warmth from it, like a big sunny hug.
What really stuck with me was the message about friendship. Harper and Jerry never judged Emma, and that’s such an important thing for kids to see. The story didn’t feel preachy, just kind. The vibrant, cartoon-style illustrations depict heartwarming scenes of diverse characters. The illustrations are colorful and happy, matching that summer beach vibe. The writing has this rhythm that makes it feel like a conversation with a child, curious, honest, and full of energy.
I’d definitely recommend Happy Thoughts Going to the Beach by Lisa Jacovsky for kids around preschool or early elementary age. It’s perfect for storytime, especially for families or classrooms that want to talk about autism and inclusion in a positive way. It’s the kind of picture book that teaches empathy without even trying too hard. A good one to curl up with before a trip to the beach or anytime you just need a smile.
Pages: 29 | ASIN : B0FHL3Q61L
Barely Visible: Mothering a Son Through His Misunderstood Autism
Kathleen Somers’ Barely Visible is a raw and often gut-wrenching memoir that tells the story of her journey as a mother navigating the heartbreaking loss of a daughter and the challenging road of raising a son with autism. The book begins with a detailed account of the late-term abortion she and her husband chose after discovering a severe chromosomal disorder in their unborn child. What follows is the story of their second chance at parenthood, a son, Jack, whose development is anything but typical, and whose autism remains invisible to many who interact with him. With honesty and grit, Somers invites readers into the daily struggles, small wins, crushing doubts, and fierce love that shape her life as a mother.
The writing is plainspoken and real, never dressing up the pain or dressing down the joy. Somers doesn’t flinch when describing her darkest moments and emotions like grief, rage, and guilt, but she also doesn’t wallow. Her voice is steady and direct. What I liked was her description of being caught in a kind of no-man’s-land with Jack: not disabled “enough” for sympathy, not neurotypical enough to be understood. That tension runs through the whole book, and it’s heartbreaking. She captures the loneliness of parenting a child who doesn’t fit the mold and the silent battles she fights in parking lots, classrooms, and her own mind.
What I appreciated most was that this isn’t a story wrapped up with a bow. Somers doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. She admits to losing her temper, to doubting her decisions, to questioning herself constantly. But she also shows up for her son, over and over again, even when it’s hard, even when it’s thankless. There’s a quiet bravery in that. And her reflections on how people perceive disability, how a child’s challenges are judged based on how visible they are, stayed with me. She writes with a dry wit at times that cuts through the heaviness, which I found refreshing and relatable.
I would recommend Barely Visible to any parent, especially those who feel like they’re walking a path they didn’t expect. If you’ve ever struggled to make sense of a diagnosis, to advocate for a child who’s misunderstood, or to stay afloat when life doesn’t look the way you thought it would, this book will speak to you. It’s not just about autism or motherhood or grief. It’s about resilience and love and the messy, beautiful, brutal work of showing up.
Pages: 312 | ISBN : 978-1647428822
Love and Connect
In Watching Sarah Rise, you share with readers your experiences parenting a daughter with special needs and the way your family embraced a child-centered approach to autism therapy. Why was this an important book for you to write?
I wanted to share my experience with the Son-Rise Program so that more parents could know about it and how transformational it can be for all involved. I also wanted to help other people (parents and non-parents) know that any and all of their feelings are ok, even the ones they might judge as being too terrible to admit to. I often receive feedback that my honesty about my experiences and feelings that I write about in my blog is helpful for others, so I’m hoping that the book is helpful in the same way and can reach a bigger audience than my blog has so far.
I appreciated the candid nature with which you told your story. What was the hardest thing for you to write about?
The hardest thing was figuring out how to share the story in a way that would make sense for others because I felt like I could write chronologically or focus around different topics. I wanted to do both at the same time, and I think I sort of managed to do so, but that was difficult and took the help of my editor and husband to make it all work. Writing about difficult experiences and my feelings wasn’t difficult. That part comes easily for me and helps me accept and understand myself and Sarah more. Every time I reread the book, I learn things from my past self about how to really love and connect well with Sarah.
What is one misconception you think many people have about parenting a child with autism?
The idea that kids with autism have trouble recognizing the emotions of others. Sarah has a keen sense of how others are feeling. She definitely knows when I am stressed or sad, or upset about anything. She will either ask me why I’m sad, listen attentively and wipe my tears away, or feed off of my stress if I’m feeling anxious. That makes for two anxious and upset people so I’m really working on how I can keep myself on more of an even keel.
What is one thing you hope readers take away from your family’s experiences?
You don’t have to know all of the answers or be a perfect parent to make a world of difference for your child.
Author Links: GoodReads | Facebook | Website | Amazon
Families who have supported a child with special needs will connect with this memoir about Sarah, a feisty girl with autism and a unique genetic blueprint. Her mom, Jenny, is equally feisty and determined, which leads her to make a commitment that dramatically changes her and Sarah’s lives—as well as those of many others.
Sarah’s early years are filled with challenges, and Jenny and her husband, Carl, try various therapies in an effort to help her. At four years old, Sarah is still nonverbal, still doesn’t use the potty, and still struggles with eating. Jenny knows she must do more. She has heard of a method developed by the Autism Treatment Center of America called The Son-Rise Program, which, through loving, supportive interaction, aims to foster social connection in people with autism. It is a huge undertaking, requiring hours of one-on-one therapeutic playtime, which means Jenny needs to find and train volunteers to make it possible. Though Jenny isn’t sure she can do it, she decides to try. She calls her program Sarah-Rise.
Accompany Jenny as Sarah’s language explodes, her eye contact intensifies, and she plays games, plays imaginatively, uses the potty, eats healthily, reads, and writes. Have your heart warmed and your socks knocked off by this momentous journey.
Watching Sarah Rise: a Journey of Thriving With Autism
Jennifer Celeste Briggs’s memoir, Watching Sarah Rise, is a deeply personal and unflinchingly honest account of her journey in parenting a daughter with special needs. At its heart, it’s the story of a mother’s fierce love, persistent hope, and tireless effort to help her daughter Sarah grow, connect, and thrive in a world that often sees difference as deficiency. The book chronicles their family’s embrace of The Son-Rise Program, a child-centered approach to autism therapy, and how it transformed their lives. Blending storytelling with reflection, Briggs invites readers into her daily struggles and hard-won triumphs, painting a full and textured picture of both the heartbreak and the joy of parenting outside the norm.
I was moved from the very first pages. There’s a raw, grounding honesty in the way Briggs writes. She never pretends to have it all figured out. She’s vulnerable, tired, sometimes angry, sometimes thrilled, and always full of love. The writing doesn’t hide behind big words or try to be poetic; it’s just real. That’s what hit me hardest. She describes small moments with her daughter, spelling out “milkshake,” playing with candles between their toes, as if they were miracles. And you know what? They are. You start to see what she sees. Sarah’s progress becomes your progress, too. I also appreciated that Briggs doesn’t sugarcoat the toll, emotional, physical, and mental, that caregiving takes. She talks about the crying in the kitchen, the fights, the loneliness. But there’s always a thread of grit and warmth that carries you through.
What surprised me most was how inspiring the ideas in this book are, not just for parenting, but for life. The Son-Rise Program is about joining someone in their world, instead of pulling them into yours. That hit me like a brick. What if we all tried that more often, with everyone we love? I kept thinking about how much better the world would be if more of us acted with that kind of patience and respect. And it’s not just philosophy, Briggs shows how it plays out in real, messy, funny, frustrating, beautiful ways. It made me reflect on my own beliefs, my own judgments, and even how I show up for the people around me. That’s the mark of a good book: it changes how you see.
If you’re a parent, especially one raising a child with special needs, this book will speak to you like a friend who really gets it. If you’re a teacher, therapist, or anyone working with kids, it’s a reminder to lead with heart. And if you’re just someone who wants to understand more about love and growth and resilience, this book has a lot to teach. Watching Sarah Rise is not just about autism. It’s about listening. It’s about choosing to believe in possibility, even when everyone else says don’t bother. And it’s about rising, not just Sarah, but all of us.
Pages : 320 | ISBN : 978-1647428242
