I was recently reminded that I’m a terrible liar. Since I write fiction, and fiction is, by definition, stuff I made up… you see where I’m going with this? Therefore, contrary to the popular stance that honesty is the best policy, I’ve decided to try and become a better liar.
Purely for professional reasons, you understand. Any professional worth his/her salt should always strive to hone his/her craft, don’t you agree?
I’m going to start small. Let’s play a game I call “Spot the Lie”. Three of the following four are true. One is complete, made-up hogwash. You can man/woman up and post your guess in the comment box. Or just keep it in your head and check back later when I reveal the proverbial serpent in the garden. Here goes:
1) A priest bought me my first dog and we ate it in a curry sauce. During our meal we discussed the Western tradition of announcing upcoming nuptials with a diamond engagement ring, and the local tradition of presenting a Portuguese hand cannon. On one hand, the diamond ring is easier to show off at the engagement party and significantly easier to find than the hand cannon. On the other hand, just look at the divorce rates in Western countries. Maybe that which we obtain too easily, we do value too cheaply.
2) I have an ongoing unrequited love affair with music. While I love it to distraction, it does not appear to love me. I’m completely tone deaf and can’t carry a tune to save my life. Not even if it comes in a bucket. When he was a baby, my son would break into uncontrollable howls if I so much as hummed a few bars. Therefore, I’ve resigned myself to loving music from afar, as a humble listener.
3) My name isn’t my actual real first name. When my parents told the priest (older, stickler for rules) the name they wanted me baptized with, he balked. He said the name my parents chose was not a proper name because that particular saint was de-canonized. They must come up with another name right then and there. Otherwise, they’d have to wait another 6 months to re-schedule the whole thing. So, pulling a name out of thin air, I was christened “Margareta”. Nobody calls me by that name. At least, not anyone who seriously expect me to respond.
4) My mother has asthma and is severely allergic to fur. Growing up, I’ve only have ever had fish and the odd terrapin for pets. That said, after I left for college, my family somehow managed to acquire a vegetarian dog and a rooster.
Let the guessing begin 🙂