You don’t become a novelist to become a spinner of entertaining lies: you become a novelist so you can tell the truth.
– Hilary Mantel
Tag: lies
Quotable 286
Stories may well be lies, but they are good lies that say true things, and which can sometimes pay the rent.
– Neil Gaiman
Quotable 249
Writing fiction is the act of weaving a series of lies to arrive at a greater truth.
– Khalid Hosseini
Fiction: Hansel and His Visit to the Enchanted Part of the Forest
Once upon a time, in a little town in a beautiful valley, there lived a boy named Hansel. No, not that Hansel; it was just a common name. He lived with his father, a cobbler; his mother, a life coach, or busybody as they called them then; and his older sister, Hilde (see, not that Hansel), whom Hansel was convinced was the apple of their parents’ eyes as she was never compelled to do a lick of work around the house but helped out anyway.
The valley was surrounded by a deep forest, part of which was enchanted. There were signs clearly marking where the enchanted part was, and everyone entering the forest kept well to either side of the signs just to be safe. All the adults of the town and the nearby farms warned their children, and sometimes each other for good measure, to stay out of the enchanted part of the forest.
One day, Hansel’s father sent him out to chop wood for the fire. Hansel grudgingly shouldered the heavy axe and trudged toward the door.
“Remember not to enter the enchanted part of the forest,” his father said, and Hansel said it along with him in the insolent manner of children everywhere. His father threw a boot sole at Hansel’s butt, which made Hansel yip in an undignified manner and spoiled his insubordinate mood.
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Fiction: Pants on Fire
A quick, gentle tattoo sounded on Don’s hotel door. He left off icing the champagne and all but danced across the room. He pulled on the handle.
“You’re early, my dear Mel— Erin!” A flash of surprise crossed his face, but he kept his smile in place. “Erin! Why, I’m so glad to see you, honey!”
“The hell you are,” she spat. “You’re expecting Melanie, here, even though you told me you were flying to Calgary for a meeting this weekend.”
“Well, it was canceled, but my colleague at work, Melanie, and I decided that we could go ahead and prepare…”
“Shut up! I’ve had enough of your lies. You’ve lied to me from day one. We’re finished.” She started to walk away.
“But, Erin, I love you!”
Erin stopped to glare at him. “How appropriate: your first and last lies are the same.” She turned and walked quickly to the stairway, which offered a more immediate exit than waiting for the elevator.
Don closed the door and went back to icing the champagne. “It’s all right,” he told himself. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t miss her.” He picked up two champagne glasses and swirled some crushed ice in them. He watched it spin. “It’s all right. Really it is.”
Moments later, another knock came at the door. Don opened it cautiously.
There was Melanie, all smiles, and Don smiled too.
“Hello, my dear Melanie!”
“Hello.” She hugged him. “Anything wrong?”
“Nothing at all. What could possibly be wrong? We’re here together and … I love you.”
Fiction: Road Hazard
Stan and Peggy hadn’t taken any food on their trip, so they were hungry from the first day of being snowbound in the blizzard. On the second day, their carefully shepherded supply of cold coffee ran out; they couldn’t gather snow because the electric motors for the windows were frozen. On the third day they ran out of gasoline and could no longer even risk carbon monoxide poisoning to keep warm.
A few hours later, he confessed.
“Peggy,” he stammered in the cold, “I can’t die with this on my conscience. I’ve been having an affair with Lora. It’s been going on for almost five years. I even took her on the Acapulco trip, the one I told you the company wouldn’t let us take spouses on. And your mother’s diamond necklace? The one I said was stolen? I gave it to Lora. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
Peggy just stared at him, too bitterly cold to fully grasp the enormity of his words.
She awoke in the hospital a day later. Turning her head to her left she could see Stan in the next bed. She didn’t remember being rescued, but she did recall Stan’s confession.
She sat up in her bed and gingerly placed her heels on the floor. That didn’t hurt too badly and she hobbled the few steps to Stan’s bed.
“Stan?” she said softly. “Stan? Are you awake?”
“Hmmm?”
He came to consciousness quickly enough when Peggy yanked out his catheter.
Once the screaming had faded to a dull whimper, she told him, “And I’m just getting warmed up.”