I’m not really sure about this whole “blogging” thing. It seems like a very one-sided conversation. I’m looking forward to getting some comments as my readership moves from one to, well, two, over the coming months. That will make it feel less like me talking to an empty room. Hopefully I will be able to drag more unsuspecting readers into the fold without having to stoop to the promise of a “contest” or something along those lines. Still these unfortunates will want to know what to expect and over the next few weeks I’d like to lay down some of the “guidelines” I’m placing myself under just so you, my current and future reader(s?), will have an idea what to expect.

I can hear the sotto voce rumblings of “not much, apparently.” But I will not let your misinformed lack of appreciation beguile me into inaction. There is work to do and today the subject is “Truth”.

Now, there are over 145 million blogs out there with the number growing daily. These blogs exist because their writers want to offer their opinions on current affairs, the writer’s daily comings and goings, advice and direction, entertainment. Anything you can think of is being blogged somewhere. The stated purpose of my blog is to tell you about my adventure of starting off in a new direction and to follow my foray in to the exiting world of writing. Fiction. Humorous fiction.

Is there really any room for the truth here?

Frankly, no but maybe yes – in tiny manageable doses. I mean, what you read here is supposed to be entertaining. To be entertaining requires a story. A good story. And the number one rule for writers (other than the one about not beginning sentences with a conjunction) is:

Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

OK, it’s supposed to be “the facts” but facts are just a subset of truth so I’m going with it. Where does the truth fit into all of this? Simply put I am going to use the “truth” to make the unbelievable nonsense that I will spread across your screen somehow more plausible. I will use it to bewitch you into the state of “a willing suspension of disbelief” that is so important for a story. An example may be in order. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I wrote a blog about my trip to The Copy Shop to get some business cards printed. Well, hell yes, that’s believable! Believable – but dull as dry toast. Let’s flip to the other extreme and say I wrote the blog about my encounter with an extraterrestrial being today. I lost you right there. It’s just not a plausible start to the story. You know you’re being lied to right off the bat.  If, however, I start with my trip to the printers and segue into an unexpected encounter with a very unusual stranger then you have the makings of a story. The truth provided the hook and the fiction provided the entertainment. See how it worked? You already want to know more. 

That’s a good thing. That, in fact, is my goal – to make you want more. You wanting more is your path into not what I’m writing but what I’m thinking when I write. That is how I can pique your curiosity and bring you into the story. Take a minute and consider why you liked the last book you read. It was the characters. Sure, the settings and action might be richly and colorfully described.  The story might progress with well-told narrative and clever twists. The characters are what will grab you and hold you. Heroic heroes and heroines, dastardly villians, comic sidekicks. The people make a story work and the characters are coming directly out of the mind of the author. They showcase the author’s thoughts and beliefs and let you into the author’s mind. 

In this blogging thing however there are some hindrances. First, there’s really only one character – me – and there’s only one story – mine. Which is great if you’re me, but you’re not. So I have to present me and my story to you in a way to make it entertaining. I have to turn boring old me into a compelling character with a tale worth telling. Then, looking up the page a bit, you will have a way to see – not what I did, but what I was thinking. That is something you might care about. Not everyone will but you might. Then, if you care what I’m thinking then you will care about the story. If you care about the story then you will care about me. If you care about me I will be thankful and gratified. And, at the end of the day, me being gratified is what it’s all about.

What you can expect in these blog writings is a version of what actually happened. I might start with what happened to me and then take that story in an unexpected direction to let you see what I think about that. I might take an idea I have and run with it to some kind of bizarrely logical conclusion. I could play “what-if” and try some outlandish “Don’t Try This at Home Kids” kind of stunt just to see what happens. By and large though, you will never get the unvarnished truth out of me. There’s a good reason for that as the following will illustrate:

This morning I woke early as my boat rocked peacefully in the waves of Dutch Harbor, Rhode Island. I started the engine and cast off the mooring but the boat was approached by a giant jellyfish lurking nearby. The gelatinous brute extended a tendrilaceous pseudopod through an opening in the hull and shut down the engine. Engineless, I managed to drift back to my mooring and hooked the line just before it passed beyond reach. The next hour and a half I spent in the bowels of the boat battling with my unremitting foe. More and more of its body I sliced to bits and more and more it came oozing into the boat. Finally, with me nearing exhaustion and bleeding from five separate wounds I had the beast subdued in a tub and cast its parts back into the sea.

That, my reader(s?), is the God’s honest truth and as completely improbable as it comes. The aforementioned alien encounter story was more plausible. The truth, it seems, is vastly overrated from a believability standpoint. Ain’t that the truth. 

So I’d like to sum up what to expect from me, truthwise, and the following can serve as both a warning to the reader and something of a motto for my blog:

The Truth – diluted, stretched, muddied and glossed over with a veneer of believability.

That’s something I should be able to deliver. After all I’ve had a lot of practice.