Telling Lies For A Living

You could say I tell lies — really big, complex ones. I fabricate characters and settings and expect readers to care about people who don’t exist. I do my best to convince them that my characters and the world they inhabit are real. In short I have become an expert in deceit. (You can get ten years for that!)

I’m afraid I’m shameless about this. I have no choice in the matter. The art of writing a short story or a novel is to persuade the reader to go along with one on a journey of pretend. In fact, to weave such a feasible web of lies that one lures the reader into that magical state which is “suspension of disbelief”.

When I discovered books at a young age, I ate up books, simply couldn’t get enough of them. But I wasn’t consciously aware of how a book came into being. I loved getting lost in whatever I was reading. It was only later that I realised there was an architect behind each book. Oh, that’s what the name on the cover was about? That “someone” was an actual person, who had dreamed up whatever I was reading from their imagination. Wow. It was like magic.

It was quite a bit later before I made the shift to thinking: if that someone could make up stories, maybe I could, too. So what if books are all tall stories? The bigger and more dramatic the lies, the more exciting and enjoyable the plot, the better. I chose to believe in the imaginary worlds within books. I had suspended my disbelief. I was hooked.

Now that I make my living from writing, the art of pretence, fabrication and telling lies is part of my stock-in-trade. To begin with, I must strive to believe my own lies. It’s important that my characters become so convincing — so real to me — they take on a life of their own. How else can I expect the reader to care about them? I need to hear my characters speaking to me, each with their own distinctive voice.

The same principles come into play when creating backgrounds and settings. Some writers use actual places they know or have visited, especially for contemporary novels. I do this to some extent, but as there’s often a strong fantasy element in my books I also make a lot of things up. A writer of thrillers doesn’t need to murder anyone or commit a crime. A writer of historical fiction can take as much or as little licence with the facts as they wish.

It was nerve-wracking when I first revealed my characters at writing group meetings. To hear people speaking about them as if they were actual, living persons felt very odd indeed. And it was just as strange to discuss fellow writers’ make-believe characters and worlds, and offer opinions about pretend problems and issues.

My characters have all become part of me. I know their hopes and fears, what motivates them, what secrets they hide. While working, walking, travelling — they’re with me. The worlds I build in my books feel just as real. I can almost smell them. Almost touch them. I believe my own lies. Job done.

But there comes a time when I must let go of my creations. From existing only in my imagination they have sprung to life within the pages of a book. They no longer belong to me and must go out into the world to work their magic on readers, who I hope will fall in love with them too. They might hate them, of course, but that’s fine just as long as they believe in them.

Fellow writers — how about you? What part of telling lies for a living is true for you and your storytelling?