I just posted a quote on my other blog.

It's really only a piece of a quote.

Here's the other piece, which also does a pretty good job pretending to be a full quote:

I am not especially satisfied with my own imaginative works, my fiction. I am simply impressed by the unexpected insights which shower down on me when my job is to imagine, as contrasted with the woodenly familiar ideas which clutter my desk when my job is to tell the truth.

I guess it's time to start writing fiction.

There's a Borges story, I think, involving an unintentionally poetic murder and the observation that history repeats literature.

Makes sense. Literature, if it's good, is true.

Apparently some birds don't lie either.

Thank you PSFK.

I'm reading Philip Pullman, loving it, thinking about it in relation to (comparison with) the JRR Tolkien Middle Earth Project, and wondering about value.

I think Tolkien's work is immensely impressive in its imaginative scale and as a demonstration of accessible but ambitious storytelling, and I think it's educationally valuable in that it turns people into readers, writers, and explorers of the originally weird thoughts we all have.  In my opinion, however, Tolkien's orcs are a very big worry.  I think it's fundamentally unethical to tell war stories in which the bad guys don't have families.

So.

How do we teach Tolkien?  (If we teach Tolkien.  Which I'm pretty sure we do and I'm pretty sure we should.  Because of the imagination, the fact that his work can be a gateway to literature and learning and love of stories, words, and communication.)

Maybe we teach the man with the work? Explain his personal weirdness and how it contributed to his (in my opinion problematically simplified) vision of good and evil and the virtue in violence? 

Worth some thought I think.

And then there's Pullman.  I'm halfway through the second book of the His Dark Materials trilogy, and, so far, I love it.  So far, it feels questioning and complicated and real. 

So.

So far, I say teach it.  For imagination.  For storytelling.  And for truth.

Yikes.  Bold statement from someone that still has 500 pages to read.

I'm reading East of Eden, and I was about to make a post about Steinbeck's incredible talent for introducing characters and how excited I am that I have 500 more pages in this beast and have only just met Samuel Hamilton, who is, already, after nothing but one of those amazing introductions, well on his way toward becoming one of my favorite characters of all time.

But then I read this, smack in the middle of another Steinbeck character introduction, and I had to change course:

I think the difference between a lie and a story is that a story utilizes the trappings and appearance of truth for the interest of the listener as well as of the teller.  A story has in it neither gain or loss.  But a lie is a device for profit or escape.  I suppose if that definition is strictly held to, then a writer of stories is a liar - if he is financially fortunate.

Think of the implications for journalism.  Think of the big newspapers, the big news organizations, and why they publish what they publish and with what extra emphases or embellishments. 

Think of selling out, of playing for the love, of the difference between an amazing debut album from a totally unknown band and the second, big label sponsored album that follows it up.

Think of Dreams from My Father and The Audacity of Hope.  Dreams is real and heartfelt and shows that Barack Obama is an exceptionally thoughtful and compassionate person.  Audacity, on the other hand, feels political and written, in part at least, in search of support: votes, money, big name stumping, etc.

And think of Steinbeck.  He wrote East of Eden in 1952.  He had already published quite a bit before that.  Of Mice and Men came out in 1937, The Grapes of Wrath in 1939.  He was already critically acclaimed, and I wonder how financially fortunate that had made him.

Maybe it doesn't matter, but, regardless, I think it's important to explore stories, lies, exaggeration, and the motivations for them all.  Accurately cataloged details don't always communicate truth as well as re-crafted narrative, but put those re-crafting tools in the wrong hands, and beware.

Casey Wilson might be my favorite blogger ever. 

For one simple reason.

She is not afraid to lay it all out there. 

Thoughts about quitting.  A story about tropical heat, girly pushups, and the accidental perpetuation of some microfinance industry infighting.  And, just hours ago, the fact that all her colleagues are way cooler than her.

Radical transparency.  Pure, innocent, radical transparency.

Far better than anything I've ever done. 

Raw.  Unproduced.  Honest.

And I love it.  And admire it.  And wish I wasn't afraid to do more of it myself.  Conventional wisdom holding me back.  Pain in the ass.

Not sure if I actually believe Ween folklore, but there's plenty of truth in plenty of fiction, and I don't think there's anything wrong with a little embellishment, so I feel perfectly comfortable spreading this around...

Apparently a journalist once asked Ween what they were trying to accomplish with an album they'd just released. Gene and Dean took a moment to think, and then Gene took a stab. Our goal when putting this thing together, he said, was to create a certain sensation for people that walked in on the music. We imagined a room full of friends listening, maybe with focus on the music, maybe with it playing in the background. And we imagined a friend (one that has never before listened to Ween) coming into the room. If this album achieves its desired effect, no matter which moment of which song on the album is playing, the entering friend will feel compelled to say, immediately upon noticing the sounds from the speakers:

What the fuck are we listening to?

Friday night's show definitely had an element of that, and, as a long time fan, I continue to appreciate Ween's uncompromised committment to silliness.

I feel like sometimes (quite often, in fact) it's hard to resist changing a story. A little embellishment here. To accentuate the very real intensity of something that happened. A little order switching there. A character role change maybe. Putting thoughts in another character's head.

I do it ALL the time.

And I'm a fanatical truth addict.

I can't imagine what pathological liars do.

Unless I'm secretly (secretly from myself) a pathological liar. Yikes.

Anyway, if I change the history of my life every day by telling embellished stories, don't you think it's likely that storytelling historians change things all the time?

Not manipulatively. But for effect. For a better story.

I would if I were an historian.