I have to admit, “going public” like this is causing me a wee bit of existential angst. These events I’m writing about really happened. The plot is truly true, but the dialog is, admittedly, fabricated through the fog of my own perceptions. Like Huck Finn tells us:
“YOU don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly — Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is — and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.”
So, buoyed by my belief in the forgiveness of those who read my stuff, I forge ahead. Putting words into other people’s mouths.
As for the whole “Does it matter?” part … well, I think that’s a little more slippery. Many of the people who encourage me to write, tell me it doesn’t matter. All of the writers I speak to have said as much, many with a witty remark or a sly wink.
But I hesitate now, only because there have been times in my life when someone has said, “And then you told me … ,” and I think to myself, I absolutely did not say that! And having that happen is my real fear. (Well, that and boring people.)
It’s the meaning behind the words that always belongs to the reader, right? Right? Right.
My sister and I used to have this mantra with our parents, which I still use almost everyday. When we wanted to make sure they understood us, we’d say, “You get me? You understand me? You see what I mean?”
Today’s challenge: legibility. Tomorrow’s challenge: facing the music.