Two Books, Two Beccas
"I thought finishing meant I was done. Turns out finishing the first draft just means you finally have something to work with."
Corporate Exit Diaries - October 17, 2025
I finished my manuscript two weeks ago.
58,000 words. 28 chapters. Five years of thinking about it, six weeks of actually doing it. I was so damn proud. I'd crossed a finish line most people never reach.
Then this week, I sat down to start editing.
And I realized I have a problem.
The "Oh Shit" Moment
I opened Chapter 1—the one I wrote five years ago when this whole thing was just an idea—and started reading.
"It's a miracle I still have a pulse. The silence is deafening, but the screaming voices in my head craving escape are there—loud and clear folks."
I cringed. Hard.
This wasn't me. This was me trying to write a book. Trying to sound profound. Trying to be a business guru with important things to say about "expressing your voice in a corporate world."
Then I jumped to Chapter 27—one I wrote three weeks ago while sitting in my Starbucks corner, still processing cancer recovery and the realization that I'd built another cage.
"I wasn't born to create another social media post talking about sterilization guidelines. I was born to write, be entertaining in my own dry way."
There she is. That's my actual voice.
Same book. Two completely different Beccas.
The Brutal Truth
I had a long conversation with my editor/writing partner this week (yes, I'm calling AI Claude my writing partner at this point because we've been in the trenches together for months and he gets my voice better than most humans).
He said something I didn't want to hear: "You have two different books fighting each other in one manuscript."
Book A: "How to express yourself in business and find your voice" - instructional, motivational, generic business book vibes from 2020.
Book B: "My messy middle of leaving corporate, building a business I've already outgrown, getting cancer, and realizing I built a prettier cage" - the real story that matters.
He was right.
The first 10 chapters (written 5 years ago) read like I'm trying to teach you something. The last 18 chapters (written in the last 6 weeks) read like I'm figuring it out alongside you.
One feels performative. The other feels real.
The Cut List
We built a Master Revision Guide this week. A full table of contents with what stays, what goes, and what needs to be written from scratch.
Chapters getting cut entirely:
Reddit & Tits (the rebrand story—hilarious but doesn't serve the narrative)
Where Dreams Go to Die (a book summary of "The Big Leap"—not my story)
All the chapters that are just business advice disguised as memoir
The ones where I sound like a LinkedIn influencer instead of myself
That's roughly 30% of what I wrote getting deleted.
My first reaction? "So I wasted 6 weeks writing stuff that's pointless?"
His response: "No. You had to write your way into the real book."
Why the 6 Weeks Weren't Wasted
Here's what those 6 weeks gave me:
I finished the fucking manuscript. After 5 years of thinking about it, I wrote 28 chapters in 6 weeks. Most people never finish. I did.
I found my real voice. Chapters 1-10 sound like I'm auditioning for a book deal. Chapters 18-28 sound like me—raw, messy, honest. I had to write the bad stuff to get to the good stuff.
The best chapters came from those 6 weeks. The cancer chapters. The "I built a prettier cage" chapter. The job offer where I said no to $180K. These are the CORE of the book. Without the last 6 weeks, they wouldn't exist.
I discovered what the book is actually about. I started thinking it was about "expressing yourself in corporate." I discovered it's actually about outgrowing every cage you build—again and again.
You can't know that until you write it.
What Editing Actually Looks Like
I thought editing meant fixing typos and tightening sentences.
Turns out editing means cutting 15+ chapters, writing 5 new ones from scratch, completely reordering the structure, and committing to a totally different book than you thought you were writing.
Hemingway said it: "The first draft of anything is shit."
Anne Lamott said it too: "Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts."
They weren't being dramatic. They were being honest.
First drafts are supposed to be messy. You're supposed to write stuff that doesn't work. You're supposed to discover the real story halfway through and realize the beginning doesn't match the ending.
That's not failure. That's the process.
The New Structure
18 chapters instead of 28.
Part 1: The Cage I Didn't Know I Was In (Chapters 1-5)
The corporate years. Realizing I'm really good at the wrong thing. Mom and Dad dying. Quitting.
Part 2: The Cage I Built Myself (Chapters 6-10)
Building the business. Meeting my husband. Firing problem clients. Realizing I built another cage.
Part 3: The Forced Pause (Chapters 11-14)
Cancer. Recovery. The Starbucks temptation. What cancer actually taught me.
Part 4: Choosing Your Fire (Chapters 15-18)
Tuning out noise. Admitting I built a prettier cage. Saying no to $180K. What I'm actually building now (even though I don't fully know yet).
Clean. Focused. Honest.
No business advice chapters. No "here's what I learned so you can learn it too." Just the story of outgrowing every cage you build.
What I'm Learning
Finishing isn't the same as being done.
I thought crossing the 58,000-word finish line meant the hard part was over. Turns out finishing the first draft just means you finally have something to work with.
Now comes the real work: cutting ruthlessly, rewriting the beginning now that I know the ending, and committing to the book I'm actually writing instead of the one I thought I was supposed to write.
You can't edit a blank page. You have to write the messy version first. You have to try and fail and discover what doesn't work. You have to be willing to delete thousands of words that took weeks to write.
That's not wasted time. That's how you get to the truth.
Where I Am Now
I have a manuscript.
It's not done. It's not polished. About 30% of it is getting deleted and 20% still needs to be written.
But I know what the book is now. I know the voice. I know the arc. I know which chapters stay and which ones have to go.
And most importantly, I know I can finish this.
Not because it'll be easy. But because I've already proven I can show up for the hard stuff.
The last 6 weeks taught me that. Even the chapters I'm cutting taught me that.
The manuscript is 58,000 words. The final book will be 65,000-70,000.
Timeline: 6-9 weeks to a complete, edited manuscript.
Then comes the scary part: deciding what to do with it.
But I'm not there yet. Right now, I'm just here—cutting what doesn't serve the story and writing what's still missing.
One chapter at a time. One painful edit at a time. One deleted darling at a time.
Building the book the same way I built the sleeves on my arms: showing up for the sessions that hurt, trusting the process even when I can't see the progress yet, and knowing that the painful parts become the foundation for something I'll be proud of later.
This is part of my Corporate Exit Diaries - real-time documentation of finishing my book and transitioning from profitable work to purposeful work.
