You won’t find the word autofiction on the list of genres on Amazon. The book you’re looking for is either under memoir or fiction.
What is a memoir?
In a memoir, the author recounts his or her life with a casual storyteller’s voice, picking and choosing what and how to present it. It’s the compilation of the author’s memories written in their perspective; their values and experiences, their lessons learned about life. Anyone can write a memoir.
What is an autobiography?
Like a memoir, an author shares the story of their life in an autobiography. However, he or she is famous or somehow noteworthy in the public eye and writes with a more formal voice. Though the author sets the tone and feel for the story, what makes it unique is that nothing is left out of the story. The author shares the good, the bad, and the ugly.
What is fiction?
Novels, however, are works of fiction or story. Not factual. With genres galore to categorize all the different styles of storylines and tastes. For example, fantasy for the dreamers, romance for the romantics, and mystery for those who problem solve. Let’s not forget those among us who enjoy being terrified-or at least biting our nails. For this robust crowd, we have crime fiction along with suspense, thriller, and horror genre.
What is autofiction?
Although you’ve probably never heard of autofiction, it’s a real thing. A very small, niche thing. Yet a thing, nonetheless. Serge Doubrovsky, French author of Fils, created the term in 1977 because he wanted people to know the novel he wrote was his story, albeit with extras added in. It seems that the French have taken this term seriously as it is now in the French dictionary. (Brooke Warner, Publisher’s Weekly, Jan 8, 2021)
Autofiction is an autobiography, but it’s also fiction. It’s the blending of lines between fact and fiction-fantasy and reality. For me, it was a way of connecting the dots.
How my memoir became a work of autofiction.
I tried creating a memoir, but after writing all my memories down, I realized I didn’t have the complete picture. I was missing integral parts of the story. Mainly the antagonists’ motivations. After reading my manuscript, my daughter handed it back to me and said all the characters acted like crazy people. She went on to list the following questions:
- What did the cult leaders want from you?
- What were their motives?
- Why didn’t your parents tell them to take a hike?
These are all terrific questions, of which I didn’t have the answers to. I could only guess. This halted my writing for a time as I struggled to create a compelling story from my memories.
After much frustration, I decided to do some sleuthing. I was like a detective hunting down clues among my memories and those of my little brother’s to find something to qualify our childhood experiences. Come to find out, we both had some very different memories and ideas of what happened during our time in the cult. One piece of information didn’t come to light until after I had already published Eve’s Covering. If I’d known about it, I’d have worked it into the storyline. Oh well, it’ll keep for another time-perhaps the sequel. The Blackwells had the ridiculous notion that people were using witchcraft at the high school and my little brother would be harmed by it somehow. Crazy, I know, but they synchronized this delusion-or outright lie with their push to get my parents to move to Florida. Thus, the Blackwells were successful in removing my family to the sunshine state, while keeping a close watch on me, since I was traveling with them at the time.
Even with all the added information I had gathered, my story was still incomplete. It still had motivational gaps and plot holes.
Connecting the dots.
True, I had the workings of a terrific story, but still needed to identify the wants and desires of some of the major characters. After examining my memoir, it became a skeletal framework, giving me a sense of the entire picture. I grasped the answers to the questions and filled in the blanks.
I realized the Cult leaders, Simon and Marigold Blackwell in my novel, wanted control. My parents were too trusting, therefore easily exploitable people. They proclaimed whatever the Blackwells said as truth in our house. Thus, the Blackwells controlled my life; from how I dressed and what I ate to what I believed. They even had the power to decide who had the privilege of being my friend.
I wrestled with that answer. There had to be more to it than just control. I would have said that the Blackwells were out for money, but if that was the case, it didn’t make sense that they would have spent so much time in pursuit of my family. We were not wealthy people. My father was a carpenter, and my mother was a housewife. There wasn’t a lot of spare change to spread around.
I’m sure money played into the picture, though. The Blackwells talked about it constantly. That meant that they had to have other sources of income besides my family’s. They preyed on everyone they met. They enticed people by promising to make them wealthy. They claimed the Lord would prosper those who gave to their ministry. Even by writing bad checks. You just had to have enough faith that the money would appear. As you can imagine, this didn’t turn out to be a good idea.
I suspected there was sex trafficking going on, which would explain a lot of things. Especially how the Blackwells made their living without regular employment. From what I could deduce from my memory, the victims were not necessarily all females. A young man I knew joined their travels a few years before me and I never saw him again. The next time the Blackwells showed up at our house and we inquired about him, they acted like nothing unusual happened. Simon claimed the young man got upset over something trivial and ran away somewhere among the everglades in Florida.
Another time, I went to find a girl I had met during the Blackwell’s crusades. She had been nice to me and had invited me over to her house. We enjoyed lunch and each other’s company. She invited me to come back whenever I wanted, so imagine my surprise when I returned to her house to find it empty. I had just escaped the Blackwells and was looking for help-or at least a place to crash that didn’t include sidewalks or garbage bins. But she had disappeared, and no one seemed to know or care what had happened to her. To this day, I’ve never heard from her.
Completing the picture.
My novel begins with the disappearance of an acquaintance. Eve, the protagonist who plays me in my story, knows something is wrong. She can feel it, but she can’t put her finger on it, so to say. But she keeps her eyes wide open as far as the Blackwells are concerned. The story unfolds as Eve sets out to prove there’s something sinister about the self-proclaimed prophet/healer and his seer wife.
How autofiction benefited me.
Taking the pieces of my memories and stringing them together with my deductions was an act of discovery-and an act of healing. It has allowed me to share my story in a compelling and exciting way, along with a message of hope in the face of adversity.
Autofiction was a cathartic process for me. It allowed me to change the ending of my story. Instead of freezing in fear when the Blackwells demanded obedience, I gathered my courage and stood my ground. And when threatened with a knife, I didn’t flee. I rescued the girls who had been kidnapped.
The world needs more works of autofiction. This niche genre allows the writer to fill in the missing pieces or change the outcome of their story. It protects the author and allows them to share without risk of shame or guilt. It’s the author’s story-but better.
Through the power of autofiction I battled evil and won.
Everyone has a purpose to fulfill, a story to share as an encouragement to others. How about you? What battle could you win with the power of autofiction? The possibilities are endless.
“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world” -Anne Frank
