
You sit down to write your story. It’s personal. Emotional. True, but also – not exactly. You’ve changed names. Rearranged events. Invented scenes to make the emotional arc land.
And then, someone asks: So, is it a memoir or a novel?
Cue the panic.
If you’ve ever stared at your messy, honest, beautiful manuscript and thought, “What even is this thing I’m writing?” you’re not alone. Many writers have wrestled with this exact question. Sometimes what we’re writing isn’t fully memoir, but it isn’t fully fiction either.
I’ve wrestled with genre labels myself. Sometimes a story feels like literary fiction, but carries the emotional resonance of memoir. Sometimes it leans into magical realism or brushes up against the edges of another genre entirely. These boundaries can feel both helpful and limiting. They give us a framework but they also risk boxing in stories that live in the in-between.
That in-between space? That’s where autofiction lives.
What Is Autofiction, Anyway?
Autofiction is a genre that blends autobiography and fiction. Think: memoir with imagined details or a novel based on real events where the author is clearly (but not explicitly) the protagonist.
It’s not new. Writers like Karl Ove Knausgård, Sheila Heti, and Rachel Cusk have been living in this space for years. But lately, autofiction is getting more attention especially from younger writers who value emotional truth over factual accuracy.
Two great recent examples:
- Be Brief and Tell Them Everything by Brad Listi – A raw, reflective book about creativity, grief, and fatherhood, written in a voice that blurs journal entry and novel. I loved this book.
- On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong – A novel in letters, fictionalized but clearly rooted in Vuong’s life.
Autofiction lets you say, “This is my truth, even if it didn’t happen exactly this way.”
Why Writers Struggle With Labels — Especially in Autofiction
The tension between truth and fact is at the heart of the autofiction conversation. Memoir demands that you stick to what happened. Fiction gives you room to play. Autofiction says: what if I do both?
Here’s where things get messy:
- Legal Fears: Writers worry about defamation or family blowback. “If I call it fiction, am I safer?”
- Marketing Confusion: Agents want to know where your book fits on a shelf. “Is this a novel or memoir?” isn’t just curiosity, it’s a practical concern.
- Internal Doubt: You may wonder, “Am I cheating if I invent things? Or holding back if I don’t?”
We’ve seen this come up in our Mastermind Sessions. One of the writers in our community called her book “a memoir with a safety net.” Another said, “It’s like fiction… but emotionally autobiographical.” That’s autofiction. It’s the genre of “yes, and…”
Reflections from Fellow Writers
This question (“What genre am I writing?”) comes up again and again in conversations with writers navigating personal material. It’s especially common among those who begin with memoir but realize along the way that fiction might offer the flexibility they need.
Some writers say their novels began as memoirs, but after changing so many details, the stories no longer feel autobiographical yet they still carry emotional truth. Others feel stuck trying to be perfectly honest, especially when their memories are unclear. For them, autofiction offers the freedom to let go of strict facts and simply write.
These kinds of reflections are powerful reminders that the writing process isn’t always linear and that genre labels can feel both helpful and limiting. For many, discovering autofiction becomes a way to move forward with a story that’s deeply personal, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into a single box.
Talk About It
Have you struggled to define your book’s genre?
What does emotional truth mean in your writing?
Start the conversation, whether that’s journaling on your own, chatting with a fellow writer, or bringing it to your next writing group. These are the questions that lead to clarity and momentum.