Facts and truth

               A dear friend of mine recently posited that it seems like I tend to – how shall I say this – “expand” upon the facts occasionally in an effort to make the stories I tell more, well, more.

                Now, I wasn’t crushed because I understood she was not accusing me of prevarication. It’s not the truth from which she suggests I occasionally stray. But the facts, mebbe that’s a different story.

There’s a big difference between facts and truth, to my mind. Facts can be verified, whereas truth has to be believed. Facts have attributes that one can see, feel, touch, recall with certitude. Truth is more about what we can get in touch with on a more elemental level.  Facts are what happen in our lives; truth is what we make of what happens in our lives. We each have our own truths.

                So I write these little stories based on what I know but not necessarily what I can prove. While I live in a house with Mary and work in an office and various hotel rooms, I reside in a mind warp constructed partly by the things I’ve seen and partly by how they appeared to me after some thought.

                I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told a story precisely  as I recalled it, only to have Mary (or Pat, or Bill, Marilyn, Sindy or Sherree) say something on the order of “Wait, I thought it happened like this…” And as often as not, after further thought or checking photos I have to admit that maybe I shaded things a bit.

                 I never try to alter reality this way. I’m actually recounting each story as faithfully as I know how. The question is, faithful to what? The bare facts?

                Faithful to the story, that’s what. I’ve been a story teller since I was a little kid making up adventures for the amusement of my older sisters.  I’ve never been a good teller of jokes so when it came my turn around the campfire, I’d entertain the other Scouts with a little flight of fantasy I’d make up on the spot. As I grew up – to the extent that you’ll accept my assertion that I have indeed grown up – I never lost my love for trains of thought that began with “What if…”

                So, where does this leave you, my dear readers? Hm-m-m…

                I suppose you could go through each of my posts with a fine-toothed comb, trying to prize out where I’ve stayed within the lines and where my feet may have strayed a bit.

                Or you can just enjoy the story. It’s entirely up to you.  

The only thing I can tell you for sure is that I’m going to continue to write. And I promise never to let mere facts get in the way of telling a good story.

                See you around the campfire.