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Charlotte McConaghy was stuck in every sense of the word. She’d written eight books, all in the young-adult science fiction or fantasy genre, then found herself asking,
What next? Not just for her writing but for her life.
In hopes of finding the answers, she flung herself away from her native Australia and embarked on an adventure that began in London.
At first, England seemed the right fit. “I’ve never really felt like your quintessential Aussie,” McConaghy says. “I’m more of an English rose. I don’t like the sun. I like the rain and the cold.”
By Brooke Warner | Jan 08, 2021
It is not uncommon for authors of memoir to wrestle with whether to publish a book as memoir or fiction. “It’s all true,” an author I’m publishing in the spring told me on a phone call intended to sort out this very question, “but I took some liberties.”
“So it’s fiction,” I concluded.
“But it could be memoir,” she countered. “I could easily make those parts true.” She told me that she’d intended for the book to be autofiction, but she was arguing in circles seeming to make a case for memoir, but then bristling when I asserted that we should make it memoir, and landing back at this idea of autofiction.