Since graduating from my MA in Creative Writing, I’ve taken on a new academic adventure: a PhD focused on how authors like me can collaborate with parents to create personalised stories for children on the autistic spectrum. The exciting part? I’m exploring how large language models (LLMs)—yes, the same kind of AI that powers tools like ChatGPT—can help in this creative process.

A New Type of Storytelling

So, what exactly am I researching? My main question revolves around how LLMs might support authors and parents in creating engaging stories that are tailored to each child’s needs and interests. LLMs have the potential to assist in generating story ideas, suggesting character traits, and adapting story elements in real time. But as promising as it sounds, crafting stories with and for children on the autism spectrum requires deep consideration, from sensory preferences (such as colors) to language style and structure.

For example, I recently discovered research suggesting specific colour preferences and even recommended orders to present them in stories. Who knew that something as seemingly simple as colour could play such a pivotal role? These insights are helping me build a literature review—yes, 25,000 words of research—that will serve as the foundation of my PhD project. While this doesn’t feel creative I can see the benefits into how it will help parents and other authors in the future.

Keeping the Creative Juices Flowing

While diving into the research, I’m still nurturing my creative side and having been focussing on writing short stories. This creative practice is essential for the practical part of my PhD, where I’ll experiment with crafting stories that embody what I’ve learned.

Here’s a little story I recently wrote after an unexpected adventure in the supermarket car park. I call it, while it’s not for a child on the autistic spectrum it kind of demonstrates how frustrating normal things can be sometimes. I hope you enjoy it 🙂

Lost and Found…Sort Of

I have become adept at manoeuvring a loaded trolley across the cambers of the local supermarket car park. The wheels on those things do a miserable job of negotiating bumps and turns. Still, this week, as I steered the trolley in my usual sideways scull through the sea of parked cars, I felt an elation I hadn’t had to use my body weight to slow the darn thing down for a gormless shopper. You know, the ones who see that you have momentum, know you have no brakes, yet selfishly dive into the tightest space just so they can waddle around the store and then stop to stare into the shelving units just when you want to grab the last packet of chocolate digestives.

I reached the car, ready to unlock and load, but as I went into my pocket, my short-lived feeling of joy drained into the soles of my feet. Instead of my fingers finding a groovy, symmetrical, smooth plastic device, I discovered only lint and a soggy tissue, which had come in handy when I needed to wipe the drips off my middle-aged cheeks as I stared at the newly laid-out cleaning aisle, panicking that I would never find the mould and mildew cleaner.

I froze.

The surrounding cars blurred around me as bass beats emanated from my chest, in time with the music blaring from a blacked-out BMW that whipped past me like the driver was on his way to practice doughnuts for another illegal car meet.

Then it started—the frantic pat-down of my entire body, confirming there was NO KEY. The trolley groaned and tried to run away as I searched the laden bags without a plan. I wagged my finger at it and said, “Not today,” as if I were talking to a child. Passers-by must have assumed I was hunting for that last packet of digestives.

I started the awkward half-trot back toward the supermarket entrance, retracing my steps and scanning the ground like Hansel and Gretel, but with notes of spat-out chewing gum. I hoped my key had been rescued by a piece of residual stickiness instead of ending up in the drain, a dustpan, or, worse, the wrong hands. A woman pushing her trolley toward me gave me a sympathetic look as I muttered, “Why today? Why now?”

The sudden warmth in my upper body crept toward my face; that leftover tissue wouldn’t help me now.

When I reached the customer service desk, my face inches from the floor and my glasses slipping from my nose like a cartoon bloodhound, I received a blank, sympathetic look and a shoulder shrug. I had to make the call.

“Hello? Yes, it’s Mum. Yes, I’ve got the chicken and the sauce you requested. Yes…I know it’s lunchtime, but look…I know this is ridiculous, but could you bring the spare car key? Yes…before you have your lunch.”

Now, which bag were those digestives in?

The Journey Continues

As I move forward in my research, I’ll be sharing more about how parents, authors, and LLMs can work together to make personalised storytelling accessible, enjoyable, and engaging for children on the autistic spectrum. It’s an ambitious project, but I believe in the potential to use these tools creatively.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed “Lost and Found…Sort Of.” Stay tuned for more updates from my PhD journey—and more stories inspired by life’s little (and sometimes frustrating) moments including my next insect book Flynn’s the Bin which will be coming soon…