Writing is heartbreaking, harrowing, agonizing, if not downright traumatic. There are moments of self-loathing, self-pity, among moments of self-aggrandizement that make the whole ride dizzying. The roller-coaster ride of fleeting pride and plummeting ego is much more than a two-ticket ride at the fair. It is the stuff of life and living. One should embrace it not allow himself to be pummeled by it.
“Oh, that’s good! Come on, hit me again! Harder!”
This past week has been for me one of lower still, and more low than one can imagine. Energy flags noticeably not only for writing but for life in general. What is the solution? The elixir? The silver bullet? The magic fairy dust that makes all right once again, if it ever was?
“Life sucks” is a lie. The truth is probably that we suck. Life is grand, sweeping, and possessed of incredible energy writ large upon the pages of the infinite. The smaller I am, the more I diminish me, the more I suck – not life. And lying comes so easy; it’s a Biblical no-no, but that magical fairy dust of rationalization pardons our sins so completely. May I say effortlessly?
Two weeks of listening to party pitch-man from both our major political stripes have raised spin, prevarication, and hypocrisy to a new level of high art. It worries me that we can justify so readily a misrepresentation of an idea, or the blatant disregard for the presented facts of a situation which fly in the face of your preconceived opinion.
There are themes of betrayal and marginalization in my current novel. I have started a new pass on the story, and I find myself thinking more and more about the rationalization of untruth. What is the process by which we slide from a virtuous aura of truth to whatever works is fair? Whatever defeats, belittles, marginalizes or demonizes the opposition is fair. This is a decent that is not all that new, but the fact it happens continually signals a moral flaw or blind spot in our human ethos. We patch up the cracks in our veneer with lie: “No crack here! You gotta be nuts!” There is no attempt to repair only deflect and lie.
Lying is more than an untruth; it’s a betrayal of self, rendering one obstinate, inflexible, in short blinkered! Yet I watched professed men of the church spew blinkered spin without any burden of conscience. Remarkable Barnum perfidy. These fools are born more frequently than rabbits! And as hard to corral, too!
Perhaps this slide into Blinkerdom is something demanding further developed in my story. Lying is easy when attached to a noble cause or position. It’s just what the doctor ordered: “Take two lies and call me in the morning.” We are the eventual victims when we lie, because the lie becomes a truth we can’t really defend. The lie narrows options, straight jackets our response or flexibility.
The past week has been difficult for my writing. There are issues that get in the way, but to blame my failure to write on life is a grand lie. I allowed life to get in the way. I failed, unlike Murray, to work my will when forces were rallying. Murray defeated Djokovic because he, Murray, wanted it more – it’s such a head game.
I am close to achieving something with Devils Gut and must as Ben Hogan was want to say, “You have to dig your game out of the ground.” I have to want it more than I have, and lies not allowed!
So, tell me have you found times in your life when lying was easy?