What follows are reconstructed diary entries from my year of writing in book inc’s Memoir Incubator. By “diaries,” I mean what I recall of my inner monologue. By “memoir,” I mean the 50,000-word manuscript that was due by year’s end. By “writing,” I mean the brief moments when I actually wrote, rather than procrastinating. 

January
Manuscript Word Count: 0 

We kicked off the Memoir Incubator acknowledging how it often feels like we have no time, resources, or energy to write. We also acknowledged how lonely writing can be, and how the plan is to get through it together, which was precisely what I was looking for when I signed up for the incubator: a community. Writing will take a lifetime to master but, for now, all I have to do is finish the manuscript. I just have to write 50,000 words.

February
Manuscript Word Count: 0 

We began outlining our manuscripts this month using screenwriting techniques (Hi, Netflix!). In theory, outlining keeps the writing focused and the plot (and the writer) from unraveling, but I’ve never created an outline before, and I am ambivalent. Outlining is anxiety-inducing and puzzling in a way I did not expect. And, sure, just waiting for inspiration to strike and lead the way has not yielded my desired results in the pas,t but outlining feels akin to doing math. I thought being a writer meant we hated math?

March
Manuscript Word Count: 9,007

Finally, four chapters into my manuscript, I feel like a real writer! My opening sentence is inspired! It’s dramatic, dark, and memorable but with few nouns. I’m beginning to imagine what it will feel like to finish the book and to like it at the sentence level. But, plot twist: The real-life antagonist of my story entered hospice this month. For my own mental health, I have to pause writing about them (and writing altogether) to process the situation. 

April
Manuscript Word Count: 15,726 

I had a trippy dream about immaculate pregnancies during an eclipse and woke up desperate to jot down the idea. Since I hadn’t yet used the poster board I bought to outline my memoir, I used it to outline the dream into a novel concept. I’m nowhere near figuring out the story of my memoir despite being several chapters deep—but I somehow manage to outline a novel? I’m annoyed at how slowly memoir writing is going, but intrigued by what is emerging.

May
Manuscript Word Count: 21,193​​ 

I’ve been meeting a fellow incubator writer at a local café on Fridays. We vent to each other and whine about my three prologues and her lack of an ending, then we cheers and get to writing. Our small-town New Jersey cafe is no Parisian Café de Flore, and we are no Sartre or de Beauvoir, but writing together is nourishing. It would be hard to give up when I know she is counting on crossing the finish line together.

June
Manuscript Word Count: 29,143 

We’re supposed to be in the middle of our stories, but I have not escaped my book’s first act (which, no surprise, covers my childhood). I’m stuck in a loop, obsessively writing and rewriting the first 30 pages because it feels as if I can crack that part, the rest of the book will write itself. My therapist is not surprised. Also, one of the writers in our group quit and it honestly feels like a reasonable thing to do at this point.

July
Manuscript Word Count: 37,911 

I’m almost 40,000 words, and I cracked the title! Reunion: An Immigrant Daughter Memoir.  

Yet, I’m afraid to read my work back. With all my waxing poetic about the Andean sky and avoiding key traumatic scenes, I suspect all I’ve got is a first act and an ending. I’m somehow just now understanding how to outline a memoir, which feels too little too late. How much can I realistically change at this stage?

August
Manuscript Word Count: 33,046 (Yes, the word count decreased.)

I obviously do not write all month because summer is ending and the sea is finally warm enough to swim in. I felt so guilty on one particular outing so I dictated a few ideas for my novel—not the memoir—into my phone’s recorder. That’s the best I’ve got. 

September
Manuscript Word Count: 42,582 

Will reading my friend’s manuscripts inspire or trigger me? That’s what I wondered as I read another incubator writer’s manuscript. I thought I’d feel comparative and intimidated. Instead, it makes me feel more like a real writer than anything else I’ve done.

Reading the first draft of a manuscript was an honor. Her manuscript was haunting, timely, and full of potential. Even if it still needs revision, it strikes me how much grace I can give her writing while giving myself none. 

October
Memoir Word Count: 50,454 (Wahoo!)

My day job is driving me crazy. My bathroom sink is clogged. My dishwasher and washing machine are malfunctioning. And, of course, the manuscript and a fellowship application are due exactly one month from now. I exceeded my desired word count but the story isn’t over. I’ve left the most emotionally challenging chapters for last but now I have little time and energy left for them. I regret every second I spent scrolling Instagram or sleeping. 

November
Final Manuscript Word Count: 43,430 (Yes, the word count decreased, AGAIN)

I finished writing my manuscript at midnight, in my crusty, unwashed pajamas, because the laundry machine is still on the fritz. After typing the last word, I had a cigarette and some champagne that I set out for myself on the dining room table—inspired by the opening scene in Stephen King’s Misery where the writer protagonist does the same upon finishing his manuscript. 

I figured a closing ritual would help me come down from the adrenaline rush of the last month (an ecstatic ruckus with an undercurrent of … worry?), but it amped me up even more. I’m not happy exactly, I’m relieved but also wired. I had the feeling that night that, if I tried, I could do a backflip off the couch straight into the void where my 43,430-word manuscript came from. 

December
New (Novel!) Manuscript Word Count: 10,374  (Yes, I am writing a novel now.)

Writing my memoir was a dream come true, but I can’t help but wonder, what comes after? Besides celebration, I knew there would be some mourning and emptiness at the end of this massive project, but knowing and feeling are two very different things.

A friend compared writing a memoir to removing cancer. The problem may be out of one’s system but at a tremendous cost and with the end of the journey far from over. The more I wrote, the more wounds and questions I unearthed. What I thought I’d heal by writing now lays bare on the page.

So, I’ll take time to replenish–whatever that means–and, for now, turn my attention to fiction.

To get in touch and follow my writing journey, please visit my website and sign up for my annual newsletter out end of year: www.michelecantosgarcia.com/newsletter