2004-08-20
Truth And Fact Are Not To Be Confused

hearing: Nightingale - Saves The Day
reading: Candide and Other Stories by Voltaire
feeling: at peace

An entirely random piece of fiction I produced.

Believe it or not, this all came from the word "awake".

He sat clucking his tongue and shaking his head as his eyes roved sadly down the manuscript before him.

A tiny girl with flaming red hair spun her chair around and craned her neck towards him and, wrinkling her nose, she playfully asked him,� What? Now what�s wrong? Have I neglected to mention an obscure facet of the economic situations of Tunisia again?� she laughed condescendingly and flipped her hair as though she had just made a grand witticism.

He looked up from the manuscript and explained wearily, �No no, for the hundredth time, you left out an important detail in the chain of an economic crisis which was necessary to understand the story. You knew it, because you wrote it, and you naively assumed that all of your readers would read between the lines and understand what you meant.�

Here she interspersed her own comment, �Yes, and that�s because everyone will know it! Everyone is acquainted with the situation and knows that detail! If I include it, I would simply be stating the obvious!�

�No no no, you have this all wrong. When you want to write a decent, lasting piece of fiction, you have to write about events objectively, assuming the readers know nothing. You have to write outside the bounds of time and trends, because when you write within those, you end up with material that will be dated and irrelevant in a matter of years. But you don�t seem to understand this. You�ve been caught up in the problem again with this manuscript. You�ve got to learn to stop making so many popular culture references. Or at least learn how to make them effectively and objectively. If that�s even possible. I felt like I was reading one long advertisement. It�s no good. I don�t like it. Besides that it reads like a silver spoon novel. I detest silver spoon novels, and you know that. This is a pretentious, elitist work of fiction which could never endure in popularity beyond five years, from whence you will sink back into poverty and social obscurity.�

With these last words, he tossed the manuscript on the table before her and shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the door.

All the jovial glitter had faded from her eyes and she darted a harsh look of injured pride at her beloved �novel�, and then an icy look of bitterness at him, and placed her hands on her hips and said,

�Well, just because I don�t write like you and all your dull and dusty famous classic novelists doesn�t mean I�m not any good. You have done nothing but patronize any of us for the poor quality of our work. And I think its just because it isn�t like yours. Somehow, you think yours is better. Well�.well I say that you are the one being elitist. You can�t continue in our writing society if you keep on like this. I shall have to kick you out for not being open minded.�

She flipped her hair again with an air of vainglory, which presupposed the obvious superiority of her declamations.

He just stared at her a moment. Stunned. How could such fools be allowed to exist? But he had seen many people like this in his day. He shrugged his shoulders passively and said, �Alright. Then I guess I will extract myself from this �society�. Not much of a society anyway��

He shuffled out the door and slammed it behind him and turned against the harsh wind blowing, and strode down the street lamenting the loss of appreciation for true art, and the overshadowing mechanical arm of commercialism and greed.

It's...well...interesting to say the least. Characters could probably use some improvement. It's a shoddy piece of work, but I wrote...something...at least...

Today, I am finally feeling calm. I am finally feeling bright. I am finally at peace.

I have been in turmoil and dark confusion about which direction to take from the impulsive choices I have come to rest on, for honesty's sake.

I thought a lot about honesty, and what it really meant I had to do and say.

Honesty doesn't mean relaying every single facet of the facts. I have been equating truth with fact. So I have been prone to say more than I should, because I thought I had to put forth all the facts, to convey honesty, and by concealing a fact, I was being dishonest.

Not so. An essence, a truth of a matter, may be conveyed in a few words, while every single fact of the truth, is not always necessary. In some cases, To summarize, and skip over detail works better. In delicate situations, balanced on the edge of a knife, the truth is the balancing pole, and the facts are sometimes precarious weights perched on it, weighing the situation down.

In conveying truth, be discerning. Be discreet. I have not been. Now I will be.

And so, coming to these conclusions and employing them, I found my path. Perhaps not boldly and confidently, but enough so. And now I feel confirmed.

It's so nice to be able to soar among the stars again. For the time being, I feel no weights pressing upon my shoulders.

Fate has been clever. Fate has been clever indeed. Torments bring lessons. Fate has been trying to teach me wisdom.

Not that that is all she has been at. I am not so conceited to think that everything happened for one purpose for myself only. I am simply stating, that it seems that impressing a bit of wisdom upon me, was one of her manifold goals.

The others? I won't venture to name them yet...

before & & after