How to lie better

I've come to a point in my life where I think almost exclusively in narrative, and as my own fiction-writing students this semester can attest, about the only reliable advice I have to give is on how to make stories more plausible, more moving, more true — in other words, how to lie better. On life, I'm not so reliable.

Richard Russo, The Destiny Thief

Richard Russo

Richard Russo's comment above from a commencement speech he made to Colby College graduates in 2004 may be worth some comment.

First, I concur with his implication that we all tend to think the way we were trained to think. We may be trained partly by our parents, our teachers, our peers or our employers. Sometimes we may train ourselves as a result of our reading, our interests, our religious beliefs, whatever. As a longtime novelist, Richard Russo thinks like a novelist — in narrative, in stories, in characters and plots. And so his mind works a bit differently than someone who thinks like a mechanic, a full-time housewife, a pastor, an accountant or whatever.

He suggests that learning to write well means learning to lie better. Novelists do tell stories, and "telling stories" is another phrase we use for "telling lies." Yet as Russo himself implies, these "lies" are a writer's way of getting at the truth. A manufactured truth, such as in the parables told by Jesus, can reveal a real truth.

As a novelist, Russo thinks his best advice is about writing, not about living. "On life, I'm not so reliable," he says. Yet I suspect most college graduates would love to hear a speech like Russo's at their commencements. I know I would have. Not only is it humorous — and any speech, sermon or political address can be tolerable if it's humorous — but he actually had some good advice for these Colby grads. He concludes, for example, with these words:  "Go to it. Be bold. Be true. Be kind. Rotate your tires. Don't drink so much. There aren't going to be enough liver transplants to go around." Where are the lies there?