What’s the story?

As a young musician, I was taught, “Early is on time. On time is late.” Often there is a specified “call time,” 15-30 minutes before the “downbeat,” or “start time” of the gig – excuse me, the engagement. Like the military, “if you’re on time, you’re late,” and “late is unacceptable.”

A band I played with in the 1980’s was contracted to play at the local Elks Lodge. A few minutes before we were supposed to start, one of the players had not yet arrived. He had a history of sliding into his seat at the last minute – late by community standards. The leader had been making derogatory comments about him and his tardiness. At one point he said, “he better have a good excuse.” At 8:00 we began to play. Five minutes later, the guy showed up – on crutches, with a cast on his foot. The leader felt bad about the snide comments he’d been making, but the player was still late. At least he had a story. In fact, everybody has a story.

I’ve learned three things from writing stories. First, it’s hard to write a good one. Second, my ability to predict the dialog and plots of movies and TV dramas has improved. And I’ve noticed that if a story is repeated often enough, many people will believe it’s true, whether it is or not. This is the narrative fallacy: when a story “hangs together,” and seems to explain what people want to know, it’s often accepted as the truth. My friend’s cast could have been fake, but we believed his story, because a good story “rings true.” It has what Stephen Colbert called, “truthiness.” Yet sometimes an ineptly told story is true, while a story with expertly chosen phrases, references to fears, and statistics is false, or a misinterpretation of the facts. Propaganda campaigns and conspiracy theories might seem to “connect the dots,” but what if the dots are not well understood or most of the dots are missing? Partial truth has a way of hanging together better than the whole truth because it’s simple and direct. When people say, “the truth is complicated,” they’re often right.

The process of writing fiction involves fantasy, using one’s imagination to create a situation in which characters might interact in certain ways. When I write fiction, I also try to make an overarching point or teach a lesson. Even though the situation is not literally true, the point or lesson can still be valid. Many fictional works by well-known authors contain important truths. It seems to me no fiction is totally without truth, and no true story is without some fiction.

It strikes me that politicians, as contemporary storytellers, create useful fiction. Their stories might sound true yet might be as false as any fantasy ever written. Even so, their supporters tend to believe every word. However, just saying something is true doesn’t make it so. If I can invent a fantasy based on little or no evidence, so can a politician. The difference is that lives don’t depend on what I write. When lives are at stake, it seems to me evidence is important. So is a fair-minded interpretation of the facts. Any of us can easily mislead others if we don’t know what we are talking about.

Tom Clancy once wrote, “Fiction has to make sense.” With deep respect, I want to add that it would be wonderful if the stories told by politicians had to make sense. They create too much fiction with too little sense. There are too many tales told by an idiot, “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Nevertheless, some people believe them because their narrative validates their opinion or seems to explain their perception. Political stories incriminate enemies and extol the virtues of the party. But these stories are highly selective. The storytellers leave out important details to make sure their narrative sounds true.

When we believe a story is true, naturally we want to retell it, to share it with as many people as we can. Here’s the problem. If a story turns out to be false, and we repeat it often, it is no better than gossip; Especially if we have no greater intention than making some people look good while others look bad.

The longer I think about it, the more I think everything in life is a story. What we call reality might be an improbable intersection or combination of myriad fictions. According to C.S. Lewis, “All reality is iconoclastic.” It breaks our image of it. It defies the ability of any storyteller to describe it. Maybe the truth lies “between the lines” of our interconnected stories. No wonder it is stranger than fiction.