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Liar liar, pants on fire

I feel a little disappointed with myself: after all these years I realize I haven’t yet properly understood the art of deception. I’m better with the truth, but even there I find I often round it off a little. I mean sometimes you have to hedge your bets: not everybody wants to hear the truth. And anyway, most things rely on perspective: shift a little, and what was a lie over there, is closer to the truth over here. You’re supposed to learn that as the years go by, though; it’s what universities were designed to facilitate.

Even so, I’m sure most of us would benefit from a proper coach -or at least a reliable app to refer to now and then. Truth evolves, and it’s sometimes hard to stay up to date. And even with a guide who purports to be reliable, how can we tell if they have a hidden agenda? How can we be sure they aren’t working for the other side?

Lying, as I’m sure we all know, is difficult even with the best of intentions; it’s too easy to get tripped up. Even politicians, many of whom have undergone special training, forget the basic rule: never cite particulars which could easily be cross-checked. At any rate, I decided to learn why, after years of suboptimal performance, I have been so unsuccessful in my attempts. Far from the desired opacity, I have only managed to achieve, well, cloudiness…

Lest you misunderstand, I don’t intend to use lying very much; I simply want to have it in the toolbox -just in case, eh? And anyway, I usually like to refer to it as deception; it has a softer feel to it; fibbing is even better -it’s like talking through a pillow.

But I’m getting distracted. It would seem (according to others, of course) that a well-formed lie, far from merely falling from the tongue, requires a fair amount of preparation. In fact, it often requires a significant proportion of one’s mental bandwidth: a lot of work. Successful deception (okay, lying) is not for the faint-of-brain; a significant cognitive cost must needs be paid. You have to have a good working memory to sort out the consequences and ramifications of every twist and turn of a lie; you have to think several steps ahead to anticipate any requests for clarification; you often have to smile a lot as well, depending of course on the web you are attempting to weave. Visible sincerity is important for face-to-face stuff, but nothing can beat the use of confusing words, the clarification of which would embarrass the presumed intelligence of the recipient.

I suppose I knew all this, but to see it in Wikipedia, or something, would be helpful. I had been wondering why my occasional forays into the realm of fabrications were so painfully unsuccessful; why I always felt like I was wearing the emperor’s new clothes. Clearly, I needed practice -or at least a talk with the tailor. My usual go-to, of course, has always been honesty, but I don’t want people to think that’s because I’m not clever enough to be dishonest. I’ve decided that despite my youthful prolixity I would attempt pare things down enough that I wouldn’t be caught in any unforeseen mix-ups; and I felt I’d better attempt it before my cognitive abilities go completely offline.

But, I have other problems, too -not so much with the information in which I am so often immersed, but more with its reportage. Amongst other things, I fancy myself a writer -well, somebody who attracts more than a feuilleteur anyway- and, to fit in with the story I’m telling, I often strive to create situations that have little basis in fact. Unfortunately, that shaves pretty close to the pathological entity of confabulation which attempts to compensate with invented fantasy for something not remembered. I do not want to stray there for fear of a Korsakoff misdiagnosis and possible institutional interment. I want the fabrication to stand or fall on its own merit, although I realize that boundary issues often come into play.

And then, of course, there are also the sins of omission and commission to contend with. I first learned of them years ago while I waited for my date in the lobby of a Catholic nursing student residence. The only reading material at hand was a well-thumbed Catechism book on a table in front of the only chair. The most heavily creased pages dealt with the sins of omission and commission. I had to admit it made sense for the good Sisters to leave the booklet in the lobby as a warning to whoever sat in the chair. Or maybe they warned my date in person, because she never showed up. Still, it gave me an idea: writing a compelling story demands a clever mixture of the two, and I’m only trying to hone up my improv skills, not my sins… Besides, I’m not Catholic, so I assume they weren’t even referring to me.

Still, I wonder if the Catholics are on to something: in real life, a more honest, gentle way to lie, is simply not to mention something. You’re not actually lying, and what’s so sinful about forgetting some of the facts about it? When it comes right down to it, what is Age for anyway? If someone looks at you askance, you can cite the ravages of the many years of differing experiences constantly pressing on you. To quote Lady Macbeth, ‘Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it…’ Or is that a bit harsh?

Actually the more I think about deception, the more second thoughts I have. I mean a lie is a kind of longitudinal thing, whereas a fib, as the length of the word suggests, entails more of a deflection, more of an en passant kind of action. It’s more along the lines of what I’m hoping to perfect. I don’t want to be committed to an opinion long term; whatever it is, I want to be able to slip out of it like a coat I put on by mistake. I don’t think you can be arrested if you take it back then, can you?

I mean they never punished the Emperor… or did they?

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