Josey Pickering
Bio
Autistic, non-binary, queer horror nerd with a lot to say.
Achievements (8)
Stories (331)
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Unmasking
There I was, in my thirties, letting myself act childish. Now, not in the bratty sort of why, just allowing myself to do things stereotypically reserved for children. I was carrying stuffed animals around in public, dancing when the movement hit me, making noise and existing in ways that made people stare. I broke their norm, and for once in my life, I didn’t care. I mean, to be truthful, I noticed the staring but it didn’t knock the wind out of me. Sometimes I even felt vocal enough to ask them not to stare. Often they would just pretend they weren’t staring, but some would scoff and there were even those who got defensive about it. It wasn’t my problem anymore. If asking for human decency was offensive to people, they weren’t worth my time after all. I was tired of explaining my brain didn't work like them, as if I were a completely different operating system, using unfamiliar & hard to find parts.
By Josey Pickering2 years ago in Psyche
Little Women and their non-binary fan
I started reading at an early age, I was three when I started to put words and pictures together in my board books. My mother read to me every night. We had our little routine and for a young child who would eventually be diagnosed autistic, it was what I needed. I got into the bath at 7, and into bed at 730 for a story until it ended and it was time to get some sleep. Simple picture books turned to storybooks complete with voices and then those turned into chapters each night from a book. Little Women was one of those chapter books I remember fondly, a book that sticks with me just like my Mom's banana pancakes on Sunday mornings.
By Josey Pickering2 years ago in BookClub
Grade School Dickinson
I must have been around eight when I wrote my first poem. At least, the first poem I can remember writing. There was a bunny and a snowman and it was complete with an artistic crayon interpretation. I’m sure my Mother even has it stored somewhere for safekeeping. I loved to rhyme, and I’m sure there were poems that came before this one I remember the most. There have been a literal hundreds of poems since then, I can state that with absolute confidence.
By Josey Pickering2 years ago in Writers
Avatar is not the way
The Avatar series is not as ground breaking as people claim. It is stolen stories that warp indigenous tropes to create a fictional society complete white savior a who becomes one of their own. It dances with colonization as if it's a beautiful waltz & not a dance of death.
By Josey Pickering2 years ago in Critique
Gutter. Top Story - July 2023.
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. - Oscar Wilde Pinky was late. It wasn't like her to be late. She was one of the few people it seemed these days who still relied on a watch to tell the time and not a glowing little screen. Besides, she didn't have a place to really charge said glowing little screen, and she didn't have the money to keep it turned on. Not many of us did. Every now and then, someone would get a free phone and service through some program, and it would usually end up stolen and therefore useless. So, there I was, peeping the time on the CNN building, waiting for Pinky while Boo paced and milked a cigarette. I always said she was too young to be smoking, but she didn't have much else to calm her nerves. I wanted to glance up at the clock again, and tried to stop myself. A watched pot never boils or something, right? Time seemed to not matter much on the streets while also mattering a little too much. It only took a second to lose everything. I gave in, and looked up at the clock.
By Josey Pickering2 years ago in Fiction
Being Proud & Disabled in an Often Ableist World
Disability Pride Month occurs every July in the United States. It is a reminder of the passing of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in July 1990, but also as a reminder disabled people exist and not just for able folks to pity or treat with disdain.
By Josey Pickering3 years ago in Humans
Chipped Paint
I watched her grow up. Her mother sang lullabies and read her storybooks and remembered to do all the voices. I often wondered what she dreamt of, and wished I could soothe her on the nights her dreams turned dark. I couldn’t protect her from the monsters in her dreams, much less reality.
By Josey Pickering3 years ago in Fiction
