David Nguyen
Project A, Issue 1
Growing up with my brother Matthew was a lot of fun. When we first moved to our home in Scottsdale we were part of brand new neighborhood with a nearby elementary school. Naturally we went together and we had a lot of the same experiences growing up. We watched the same movies, went to the doctors, and did fun activities after school like horseback riding and sports. Some days we’d both need speech therapy – I totally thought that was normal for every kid, since I had a lot of trouble with my R’s and my L’s. Other than a two year gap in age, I didn’t feel any different from Matthew. We even had different classes from the rest of our peers. But it wasn’t until fourth grade I realized Matthew wasn’t in the same accelerated program as me, but actually needed some extra help for his schoolwork.
That’s when I started hearing terms like “special needs kid” and “autism.” In elementary school those words did great – they described a part of Matthew that he needed help with, and all the kids were okay with it. Nothing changed who he played with at recess at all. But after fifth grade Matthew and I started going to different schools. And by the time he reached high school, kids can start being nasty. True, we didn’t live in a neighborhood filled with gang violence or any rampant discrimination. But a snide remark here, an apprehensive glare there and it really stacks up for any individual. Those kinds of incidents kept happening to my brother after school, but they affected our parents much more. Clearly something had to be done, but brawling with each individual offender would do more harm than good (though it was tempting at times!).
This drive is probably what got me into my commitment to service for developmental disabilities. Rather than debilitate the haters, it was much more satisfying to provide a source of strength for the local kids – hanging out with them on a weekly basis, and give them something to look forward to! A couple of my mentors told me compassion was my strong point, so working with Kids With Dreams (KWD) at Stanford just made sense. However, there still was this problem that needed to be solved – how do we prevent such unwarranted discrimination?
When I first signed up for The Senior Reflection, I had no idea what I was doing. I wouldn’t consider myself an artist as my primary characterization, and viewing the examples from last year’s exhibition only intimidated me that much more. Sculpting, painting, filmography, music: I loved to appreciate, not create! The most I could do was cook for myself after watching ten years of Food Network shows after school, but I still couldn’t fathom how I would integrate my investment in the autism community with some sort of food sculpture. Week 2 of Fall Quarter made me think of a Food Network Challenge headed for a nasty place.
So how did I jump from cooking a display piece to writing a magazine? In retrospect the jumps actually made sense. I wanted to bring together my love of food and my bonds made under Kids With Dreams. Somehow there could be some sort of informative cookbook: I could share recipes from families with a special needs child, while interspersing the food with passages detailing everything about life with disabilities, ranging from what they are to any relevant accommodations, such as education or speech therapy. Sound a little convoluted? You’re not the only one – initial reactions in our first workshops conveyed my passion but not the feasibility of the project. As the weeks went on it became clear I had to pick one of my two passions, thinking about what I wanted to do in TSR in the first place.
So rather than the 50%/50% split initially proposed, you start shifting the balance in either direction see made more sense. With less emphasis on cooking, half the book became a one section among many. Similar to my goal in Kids With Dreams, it became a project about bringing together a diverse group, only this time it was literary sections instead of kids. By offering different sections for multiple kids to enjoy, I could really reach out to a lot of younger kids about the autism issue. With a little inspiration from my Cooking Light and Bon Appétit on my coffee table, it became clear the magazine format was the way to go.
The People
I have to address one of my biggest regrets: mentorship.
When I found my scientific advisor and artistic mentor, I thought I struck gold. From the TSR standpoint, the scientific mentor only had to come in every now and then, while the artistic mentor really should have been meeting with me on a regular basis. When I met both of them fall quarter, they set up those exact expectations without me even mentioning them. Fantastic!
By the time winter quarter came around, not so much. After one week in the ringer it became very clear that writing my ideal self-sustained magazine by yourself in less than two quarters would take a miracle worker without any other commitments. I was not that man, and it became clear that I would need to form a team of my own – like any established magazine really. In my pursuit for designers, writers, photographers, artists, editors, and more on top of my interviews with families in the community, I quickly lost track of my needed connection with my mentors. Surprisingly the commitment roles actually reversed. I was taking a class with my scientific mentor, and she asked me about my project almost every week after class, with little updates here and there. On the other hand, the writing mentor I had initially sought out became more and more irrelevant to my current needs. This reversal was nice, but without any artistic mentorship a TSR project just does not seem feasible.
Luckily my void for an artistic mentor was filled by fellow Stanford students. Whether it be designing a template in Photoshop or writing an interesting piece, my four years at Stanford have helped me make plenty of friends, many of whom I’d consider that “traditional” artist. Literally any question I had about Photoshop had an answer within an hour thanks to my more experienced dorm-mates (thanks Jorge and Peter!). When I needed new ideas for possible sections, I just met with some of my KWD board members or my residents and talked over coffee. Lack of inspiration was never a problem when you can get help from the Stanford student community. As wonderful as it was to have so many pseudo-mentors, the magazine still had its troubles when it came to the team.
You can see this same problem as early as the first workshop. You sell you project with enough passion, you can get anyone to agree it’s a good idea. When I met with potential collaborators they all met me with the same enthusiasm. “Sure, I can definitely write you one piece!” or “Yeah designing a magazine sounds awesome!” The fatal mistake I made was letting everyone work at their own paces. Each individual task did not take much work, but enough time passes by and people forget about them in comparison to their own finals and extracurriculars. The writer I was looking forward to the most stopped replying to my emails after a month later “I’ll get it done when I have more time!” For any project dependent on teamwork, whether that be a two person collaboration for a TSR project or overseeing a team of ten, hard deadlines can guarantee results. I didn’t, and that made me suffer until spring quarter.
To Jorge, Richie, Danielle, Whitney, Belinda, Taylor, and Devika: thanks to all of you for staying to the end. Some of the final team were the first to jump in, with a lightened commitment spring quarter. Others were ready to jump in the fray when I was desperate and the TSR deadline was rapidly approaching. Ultimately the end result did suffer from a lack of photographers, artists, and editors, but everything came together for an inaugural issue I’m proud of.
Behind the Scenes
The most important question: how did I decide on the title? It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure. Jorge and I spent three hours randomly shouting words and putting them together, but nothing felt right for as the iconic brand name. Eventually, I just called the magazine the autism project, or “Project A” for short (plus it sounds like a super-secret research project!) until I could think of something better suited for my needs. I came to a winter quarter workshop with a mockup of the cover with the mock title where I wanted it to be. Surprisingly, people were super receptive of “Project A”, even when I said it wasn’t the real title. That joke title I made to sound catchy – it did exactly that for my classmates and for some kids who test read my potential titles. After that, “Project A” became Project A.
It was around this time I become not just Editor-In-Chief but the main designer. My initial partner in this area backed off to feeling overworked, something I still don’t understand to this day after only 4 pages in a quarter. All my other design contacts started living in the black hole wherever my Project A emails went. My bountiful help suddenly was reduced to scraps. After failing several group projects in my Stanford career due to lack of participation, I knew this magazine was not going to get done unless I took a more active role.
Great job David, now what? All I had was a 6-year-old copy of Photoshop Elements and a cursory training from CS2C. With only first seven weeks of spring quarter to go, I could not create the next Highlights while still staffing in Kimball, serving as President of Kids With Dreams, and figuring out my life as a graduate student next year. I had to compromise, not just with the quality of the design but with myself.
The deeper I got into drafting Project A, the higher my expectations became with the little progress I had. The more interviews I took, the more I realized the potential this magazine could have in the years to come. I was maniacally excited that this could bring the change I had always wanted for kids like Matthew. It took one computer crash with ten hours of unsaved Photoshop editing for me to realize I was stuck in the future. Yes I know, the immediate lesson was always save and always carry a backup. But even with those ten hours back, that would not be enough. I was not even close to my perfected vision of Highlights + autism. For TSR, you have to make something meaningful, not masterful.
I thought back to the books and magazines I’ve been reading lately, all of which happened to be on my iPad. I held my month’s copy of Cooking Light to my iPad version, and only then did I realize there were significant differences in design. The Kindle version was simpler - bigger and more legible texts, fewer complicated shapes, and more white space between text and figures. The simplicity of the digital version made the issue easier to read on a backlit screen without looking unprofessional. I took this contrast to heart, and it definitely made designing easier even as a Photoshop novice.
As the team finally came together and work was steadily produced, the last major decision I needed to make was the medium, beyond just “magazine.” Choices like length and content can be made easily, but the biggest decision I had to make was print or digital. Even with my simplified designs, I still worked steadily towards my overall ambition beyond TSR. I wanted and still want to make an impact on both the autism community and everyone around it. I wanted to start an initiative that could last years, reaching out to schools across the country in a lighthearted yet meaningful way. Most importantly, I wanted this initiative to be free of charge for two reasons: 1) Project A should be readily available for anyone who wants to learn more about autism, and 2) I personally did not feel comfortable charging any subscribers when I could not guarantee a consistent level quality with a permanent magazine team. After talking to a couple staff members from the Palo Alto Unified School District, the e-magazine seemed like the best idea. This way, I can send the magazine to any school officials via e-mail, and potentially release my future issues on a tablet form via Kindle or Amazon.
However, an e-magazine is very inconvenient for the spring quarter showcase. Personally, I feel like the oomph seen in many of my classmates’ projects would far surpass my single PDF. It did not seem feasible or practical to leave my iPad or laptop on a table for four hours and hope no one would steal my technology. With the TSR budget, printing copies of my inaugural issue provided the solution. Copy Factory was very helpful in providing proofs and giving me design advice for future issues. The joy from seeing the stack of printed issues was only surpassed by watching attendees of the spring showcase take those same issues home.
Would I keep printing with issue 2? Probably not. The physical printed copies were nice but made it much easier to see typos and offset images in the designs. Luckily I can fix these errors and improve before submitting Issue 1 to the Palo Alto Unified School District in the fall. But physical copies were very motivating at hinting a potential future. With a stable team and a secure source funding, perhaps from a grant, printing Project A may more than just a side project. I would still guess we have years to go before we can justify printing on a regular basis.
Now What?
The TSR showcase was fantastic. Fifteen issues were taken, and I’m bringing the rest to my hometown’s Scottsdale Unified School District while touching up the PDF version at home. Some of the attendees were genuinely intrigued by the project and I’m glad I was able to talk to several of them. And now I’m here writing my Senior Reflection.
But my efforts will continue after these last words. TSR helped me explore my activists efforts in a medium I’ve never been comfortable with – ever. I hated writing as a kid and art was always a class I put off to the last minute. Now I take back everything I thought before – writing and designing becomes much easier when you’re working towards your personal passion. Heck, Matthew asked me for a signed copy as a joke! This is definitely something I’ll be working on next year.
Project A was born as a capstone to my senior year. But what I need to do is light the torch and pass it on. One activist or one reader of the magazine is great, but the fight against the ignorance around autism will take much more time after I’ve graduated. With luck, I can integrate Project A as part of Kids With Dreams. Stanford continues to bring in some of the brightest and most compassionate people I’ve ever met. Surely some of them would be interested in fighting for this cause – I would know as half my team consists of freshmen! The more new students that can continue this project, the more future readers can learn about autism in the future. The longer this kind of initiative can last, the bigger the impact we can make against the ignorance surrounding autism. It would be even cooler if this inspired a professional children’s magazine on disabilities.
Baby steps first though. Project A, Issue 1 was important to demonstrate to Stanford the feasibility and potential of this project. To think I joined TSR on a whim, too! Whatever the case, I’m glad I was able to see a side of me I had no idea existed. Now back to work, but I hope you hear from me soon!