In Fact, We Are Telling the Truth Using Different Tools

So, I’ve left out the name of the poster—both the original poster of this and the person who shared it—because I don’t really wish to cause a ruckus at the moment. (I’m a bit busy for ruckus-causing and other mischief right now.) The emphasis was placed there by the person who shared the post.

I’m going not to dignify this person’s wRiTiNg AdViCe with the kind of well-reasoned response I intend here. I’ll save that for a WrItInG aDvIcE fRoM dUmmIeS type article complete with memes and meme text.

What I want to focus on is this statement: “you are lying to people for fun.”

Frankly, since I actually write fiction, I think I’m at least a little qualified to comment on that insulting dreck cooked up in the fevered, projecting mind of one of society’s lesser beings. Here’s the thing. This might be really, really, really hard for some people to understand, but there is a vast world of difference between lying (telling a lie) and writing fantasy—or any fiction for that matter. While it is subtle in the text of the definitions, it is extremely significant in its meaning. First off…let’s define a lie. Merriam-Webster defines the term, “lie,” as follows:

lie, verb

1: to make an untrue statement with intent to deceive

2: to create a false or misleading impression

lie, noun

1a: an assertion of something known or believed by the speaker or writer to be untrue with intent to deceive

2: something that misleads or deceives

It is the context of a lie which is important here, but we’ll get there in a moment. Let’s delineate this from fiction. Fiction is a means of telling stories. Stories are the means by which we convey meaning to each other, pass on traditions, and so on and so forth. Stories are part and parcel to human life. They always have been. And, there is one very important purpose to good storytelling: to convey timeless truths, teach moral lessons, and pass social conventions and traditions on to the next generation.

Does storytelling always serve those purposes? Absolutely not. Sometimes, good storytelling is also there to relieve stress, blow off steam, and make us laugh—things that are especially nice after a long, hard day at work.

Are these things lies, though? No. They are absolutely not. They are no more a lie than a parable or one of those pesky story problems you had in grade school. After all, was there ever really a Jack? A Jill? Did Jack really have six oranges and Jill four apples? Did it matter how many fruits they had between them? Did the fruit even exist? No, in all counts. It was a story that was used to convey a timeless truth, namely:

• Because oranges and apples are both fruits…
• If A has six oranges and B has four apples, then between them…
• …they have ten fruits.

See how simple that is, by the way? Does the fruit exist? No. Nor does it need to. It is merely a category within which apples and oranges are subsets. The timeless truth is this:

If A and B are both subcategories of C, PERS1 has x quantity of A and PERS2 has y quantity of C, then the total quantity of C is x+y, even though the individual quantities of A and B remain unchanged.

(Not quoting anyone there…just wanted it to stand out. Sorry, not sorry.)

You see? A timeless truth has been conveyed by that simple nonsensical story that irritated you in the first grade.

But, maybe, that isn’t good enough. Let’s take another example, shall we?

Behold, a sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell by the wayside, and the birds came and devoured them. Some fell on stony places, where they did not have much earth; and they immediately sprang up because they had no depth of earth. But when the sun was up they were scorched, and because they had no root they withered away. And some fell among thorns, and the thorns sprang up and choked them. But others fell on good ground and yielded a crop: some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.”

See, this story, drawn from Matthew 13:3-8, is explained later. Obviously, the Bible explains it in the terms of the, “word of the kingdom.” But, consider the following, as the truth is timeless and applies to any message:

• A speaker delivers a message.
• Some people hear the message, but don’t understand; outside influences are able to snatch that message away, perhaps even replace it with something else.
• Some people receive the message with joy, and immediately grow attached to it…but, they lack conviction. When the message, no matter how true, is challenged—especially forcefully—they abandon it.
• Still others have the message perverted in one way or another by one factor or another.
• Finally, there are those who hear the message, understand it, and who actually try to apply it with a degree of conviction.

But…are there thorns? Birds? Seeds? Is there a sower at all? No. These are mere analogies and metaphors for the things in our world. The parable is, of course, a relatively simple story. It’s not meant to be complicated. Other stories may be more complex. But, I digress. This has exactly what to do with lies?

The difference is this simple. The purpose of both examples cited above is to convey the truth. A good story is, thereby, a vessel…a vehicle by which the writer conveys the truth, as they understand it, to the reader. I believe that this process is entirely subconscious, by the way. We will always, inherently tell the truth as we understand it through our writing because it is always connected at the hip to our world-building, characters, plots, and so on. This process is inevitable because all of those things are affected by the way in which we view the world around us: our beliefs about society, our morals, all of it. It will always happen. It will always seep through in some way or another. Indeed, it is why culture is, in part, downstream from literature: because it is downstream of the stories we tell each other. But, again, I digress.

This is the fundamental issue at the heart of it. Fiction, at its heart, is neither truth nor a lie. It is, rather, a vessel for one or the other. This is important to understand.

Yes, a story can convey a lie, if the author of a work is dishonest, subversive, or some other type of ne’er-do-well. In fact, I would argue, this is what makes storytelling in the wrong hands such a dangerous thing. Subverting and deconstructing the heroic character archetype, for example, is extremely destructive because (1) it is a direct assault on the hearts and minds of the young men of a society, and (2) it completely misses the point of why people need, nay crave heroic characters in literature.

In the hands of decent people, however, fiction is a powerful tool to convey ideas from author to reader. It is a window through which the reader is given at least a peek into the mind of the writer. We all know that there was no (literal) sower. There was no Jack or Jill (as from the first example above). There was no young shepherd crying, “wolf! Wolf,” until people began to ignore him. These stories are not, however, lies but vehicles for conveying truth in a manner which transcends time, culture, etc—just as long as the reader takes the time to understand what is being said. Indeed…

• …any message—no matter how true or false, good or bad—will have a varied reception. Even messages from God Himself will be received as such!
• …if A and B are subcategories of C…you get the drill, I’m not going to bore you with it a second time.
• …if someone (or a group) continually calls out that there is a threat, when no such danger is present, then they will erode people’s willingness to trust them. Indeed, they will one day cry out for help because there will be such a danger…and nobody will believe them.

And, that’s what stories really are. They are not lies. They are not the truth. They are a powerful tool to unlock the reader’s (or listener’s) mind, a vehicle to convey the truth as the writer (or speaker) understands it, and a means by which the reader (or listener) is granted a small window into that one, tiny piece of the writer’s (or speaker’s) mind. It conveys truth in some of the most profound ways possible by creating a direct connection, through words, by which a writer shows to a reader what they picture when they think of a thing—or a place, a people, an idea, whatever.

If someone really, truly thinks, deep down, that writers of speculative fiction are just, “lying to people for fun,” then they truly know nothing about stories, storytelling, or storytellers.