Soymilk and Truth
Today begins the first step of the Great Experiment. Namely, we’ve switched from cow’s milk over to soymilk. We’re going to try that out for a while, then start trying out meat substitutes. I doubt we’ll go completely vegan–for one thing, I will not give up heavy cream in my morning espresso, I’ve given up every other vice but my daily coffee stays–but cutting waaay back on meat and dairy is pretty much going to happen. What little meat and dairy we eat, especially eggs, are going to be free-range and as cruelty-free as I can find. I just can’t stand what the meat industry does to animals.
Now I know humans have been eating meat for a long time, but not until modern times have we been slaughtering them in such a cruel fashion in the name of efficiency and profit. And with all the meat substitutes and the availability of other protein sources available to me even just in the supermarket, I can’t see feeding my kids factory-slaughtered meat full of hatred, anger, and fear–as well as full of E.coli from the fact that the FDA has been gutted by Republicans subservient to meat-industry lobbyists.
But don’t get me started. The point is, we’re cutting back. The biggest thing is convincing the kids it’s a good idea. Fortunately we have a couple of vegan friends, H & D, who the Princess worships. Presenting the change as, “We’re going to start drinking soymilk–JUST LIKE H & D!” made it an Exciting New Thing.
Hee. Motherhood means Being Sneaky.
Snagged from the Smart Bitches: Things I Will Do If I Am Ever The Vampire. Not quite as hilarious as the villains list, but still pretty funny. (Also, the font is kind of small–I took Sarah’s advice and put it in a textfile for ease of reading.)
Also lately, I’ve been reading about the JT Leroy literary scandal. I know it happened a while ago, but it’s interesting to look at the timelines–especially in light of the recent flap over the false memoir Love and Consequences. The Leroy scandal is oddly train-wreck fascinating, if only because of the sheer amount of effort expended by the hoaxer(s) and the folderol spouted about “identity”.
S/he believed that I had an agenda and was lacking in “purity of intent.†I asked JT to meet with me in person, to show me a Social Security card or a passport. “Why?†s/he asked. “This is your issue. I don’t have any burning desire to be proven to be real.†(from the Beachy article.)
Hmm. Why would a writer not have a burning desire to be proven to be “real”? Especially a writer claiming to be a former teen hustler? You’d think a former teen hustler and prostitute would want to prove to the world that s/he’s “real”.
For more on the old scandal, here’s the wiki.
Writers do use fiction to tell the truth. But there is a compact of truth between writers and readers. When you pick up a memoir, you are expecting a certain brand of truth, just like when you pick up a litfic novel or a fantasy novel. The rules are slightly different for each genre–that’s what makes genre genre. Part of it is that art obeys rules in order to be comprehensible communication. And a cardinal rule is you can’t lie to your readers.
You can’t claim something is a memoir if it’s fiction. You can’t punk out and betray the ending of a novel. You can’t take someone else’s work and claim it as your own. These are all forms of the same lie, and that lie is a violation of the compact between writer and reader–and even between artist and Muse. One only shoots oneself in the foot with that, Chatterton notwithstanding.
Eh, enough Deep Thinking for the day. I’m off to finish some revisions.
Just out of curiousity…What do you think, dear Reader, about an author’s truth?
