For a 22-year-old author to publish a book is a major accomplishment. It’s even more impressive when the writer is autistic.
In “Episodes: My Life As I See It,” Carmel Valley resident Blaze Ginsberg recounts his teen years with all the normal tribulations of adolescence, compounded by the communication and social interaction problems that accompany autism spectrum disorders. Unlike the traditional memoir, Blaze tells his story in a format similar to that of the Internet Movie Database and TV.com. He writes about life events as though they are TV episodes, complete with release date, cast list and soundtrack.
“I thought (this format) was such a clever and natural way to communicate his way of thinking,” said Debra Ginsberg, Blaze’s mother and author of six published books. “I learned a lot about Blaze reading it. There’s no other young adult book written by someone on the spectrum —- this is the first one.”
Blaze’s name is most recognizable to those who read his story in Debra’s 2002 memoir, “Raising Blaze: Bringing Up an Extraordinary Son in an Ordinary World.” The book recounts her first 13 years as a single mother to a child who defied simple diagnosis. She fought fiercely to get him the education he deserved, even home-schooling him at one point. At 19, Blaze finally received an autism diagnosis. He now attends community college and has a part-time job at a grocery store.
Blaze is proud of how his mother told his story in her book, but seeing his own memoir published is even better. “It’s a nice accomplishment,” he said. “But there’s also an ironic taste to it because it shows people who doubted me that I could do something.”
Blaze’s journey as a writer began early, with much encouragement from his mother.
“He’s been writing songs, poems and short stories ever since he began keyboarding,” she said. “I always thought he had an unusual turn of phrase. I pushed him in a lot of things, but never with writing, because it was something he really enjoyed.”
The writing of “Episodes” began in December 2003, when Blaze’s everyday routine changed slightly, something he strongly dislikes. While thinking about that, he suddenly saw his life in a different light.
“I thought that stuff in my life was like TV,” he said. “When I got home that day, I went crazy writing. My grandfather read what I wrote, then my Nana and then my mother. My mother really encouraged me to keep going.”
When Blaze reached 50 pages, Debra sent those pages to her friend Steven Malk, one of the premier children’s book agents in the country. Malk sold the book to Roaring Book Press, and it hit bookstore shelves Sept. 1.
Many of the issues Blaze writes about affect most teen boys, such as finding a girlfriend and passing his driving test (he recently passed the written test, something that’s not in the book). “You see more stuff in the book being solved than not,” he said. “That’s what the book is really about.”
The reviews so far have been positive. “Ginsberg gives readers a unique glimpse into an adolescent mind that is simply wired differently,” read an article in School Library Journal. “Blaze has a capacity to translate the often untranslatable differences of human beings. Blaze blazes his own his literary path with humor and pathos,” wrote actress and children’s author Jamie Lee Curtis.
Blaze admits he never thought of how “Episodes” would inspire other teens on the autism spectrum, but would be happy if it does. He’s excited about his first book signing Thursday evening at The Book Works in Del Mar.
“I love public speaking,” he said. “I like talking about myself and letting people know what’s happening behind the scenes with me.”
For Debra, Blaze’s accomplishment is like another chapter in her memoir, one that shows what she always knew to be true —- with the right encouragement and assistance, her son could be whatever he wanted to be.
“I think that Blaze is the most courageous person I know,” she said. “The kinds of obstacles and struggles he faces take an enormous amount of courage to do every day. And even in the most difficult of times, he got up, went to school and did it. That’s how he approaches everything in life. For me, that’s true inspiration.”
Blaze Ginsberg reads from and signs “Episodes: My Life As I See It”
Monday, September 7, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Autistic savant shares his genius
THE instant Derek Paravicini heard the sound of the music, he broke free from his parents' grasp and headed towards it. The little girl on the piano stool took a tumble as the then four-year-old boy, blind, autistic and severely learning impaired, pushed her out of the way and began playing in her place.
"It was utterly extraordinary," says Adam Ockleford. "He was hitting the notes with his hands, his feet, his nose, even his elbows. It was clear he had never had a lesson, yet he produced this wonderful version of Don't Cry For Me Argentina."
Mr Ockleford, a music psychologist and then head of music at Linden Lodge School for the blind and intellectually impaired, realised at once that the child frantically bashing keys was a prodigy. Today, at 27, Paravicini is acknowledged as one of only 23 autistic savants in the world. He is one of those rare people with severe learning difficulties, who is a genius in one particular area.
He can neither count to 10 nor tell left from right. He needs round-the-clock supervision: without carers he could not dress or feed himself.
But Paravicini has the extremely rare gift of universal, absolute pitch and remembers every piece of music he has ever heard — not only the melody, but what each instrument is playing, just as Mozart could. Paravicini's precision is greater than professional musicians', despite his inability to communicate clearly with language. After listening to a melody once, he can play it without error.
His international audience is immense — a few months ago he played to several thousand people in Las Vegas, and in the next few months will play in Hollywood and Connecticut. His first CD, Echoes Of The Sounds To Be, a jazz compilation, will go on sale on Amazon next month.
Paravicini lives at the Royal National Institute of the Blind College in Surrey, where he spends much of each day at the piano. But if his first love is music, his second is meeting people. He can conduct simple conversations but, in common with many who have autism, he reverts to echolalia, repeating what has just been said to him, when he cannot comprehend the comment.
Suddenly, he announces: "I'll play now."
Mr Ockleford guides him to the piano and Paravicini flexes his fingers. As they ripple across the keys, the haunting Mozart Sonata in A fills the room. Engrossed, Paravicini and his piano have become one. He slips effortlessly into Rimsky-Korsakov's Flight of the Bumble Bee. Just as swiftly, as he began, he stops.
That Derek survived at all is remarkable. Born prematurely at only 25 weeks, he "died" three times. Before long, his severe disabilities, caused by an overdose of oxygen, became apparent. "We noticed straight away that he couldn't distinguish between light and dark," says his mother, Mary Anne. "No one played any instruments at home; the only reason we gave him a plastic, toy organ, when he was around 18 months, was because we were desperately trying to find things to stimulate and engage his interest."
Mr Ockleford began teaching Paravicini when he was four. It took eight years to straighten out the boy's technique. His classical playing is superb, but he cannot resist improvising — an approach much better suited to jazz.
For Paravicini's parents and Mr Ockleford, now the director of education at the institute, it has always been difficult deciding how often to sanction his public appearances.
"It's true that he cannot, himself, give informed consent," Mr Ockleford says. "Ultimately we can only take decisions on his behalf and hope they are in his best interests. There is no doubt that he is, truly, one of the world's greatest savants."
"It was utterly extraordinary," says Adam Ockleford. "He was hitting the notes with his hands, his feet, his nose, even his elbows. It was clear he had never had a lesson, yet he produced this wonderful version of Don't Cry For Me Argentina."
Mr Ockleford, a music psychologist and then head of music at Linden Lodge School for the blind and intellectually impaired, realised at once that the child frantically bashing keys was a prodigy. Today, at 27, Paravicini is acknowledged as one of only 23 autistic savants in the world. He is one of those rare people with severe learning difficulties, who is a genius in one particular area.
He can neither count to 10 nor tell left from right. He needs round-the-clock supervision: without carers he could not dress or feed himself.
But Paravicini has the extremely rare gift of universal, absolute pitch and remembers every piece of music he has ever heard — not only the melody, but what each instrument is playing, just as Mozart could. Paravicini's precision is greater than professional musicians', despite his inability to communicate clearly with language. After listening to a melody once, he can play it without error.
His international audience is immense — a few months ago he played to several thousand people in Las Vegas, and in the next few months will play in Hollywood and Connecticut. His first CD, Echoes Of The Sounds To Be, a jazz compilation, will go on sale on Amazon next month.
Paravicini lives at the Royal National Institute of the Blind College in Surrey, where he spends much of each day at the piano. But if his first love is music, his second is meeting people. He can conduct simple conversations but, in common with many who have autism, he reverts to echolalia, repeating what has just been said to him, when he cannot comprehend the comment.
Suddenly, he announces: "I'll play now."
Mr Ockleford guides him to the piano and Paravicini flexes his fingers. As they ripple across the keys, the haunting Mozart Sonata in A fills the room. Engrossed, Paravicini and his piano have become one. He slips effortlessly into Rimsky-Korsakov's Flight of the Bumble Bee. Just as swiftly, as he began, he stops.
That Derek survived at all is remarkable. Born prematurely at only 25 weeks, he "died" three times. Before long, his severe disabilities, caused by an overdose of oxygen, became apparent. "We noticed straight away that he couldn't distinguish between light and dark," says his mother, Mary Anne. "No one played any instruments at home; the only reason we gave him a plastic, toy organ, when he was around 18 months, was because we were desperately trying to find things to stimulate and engage his interest."
Mr Ockleford began teaching Paravicini when he was four. It took eight years to straighten out the boy's technique. His classical playing is superb, but he cannot resist improvising — an approach much better suited to jazz.
For Paravicini's parents and Mr Ockleford, now the director of education at the institute, it has always been difficult deciding how often to sanction his public appearances.
"It's true that he cannot, himself, give informed consent," Mr Ockleford says. "Ultimately we can only take decisions on his behalf and hope they are in his best interests. There is no doubt that he is, truly, one of the world's greatest savants."
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