This Is My Truth

Is there any place for the truth in writing?

What do we mean when we say 'the truth'? The Oxford English Dictionary defines 'truth' as being "a fact or belief which is accepted as true" - a simple enough concept to grasp, but who is it that needs to accept something before it becomes a truth? Is it just me who needs to accept it? You? An arbitrary panel of judges? What I mean to say is that 'truth' seems to be somewhat of a subjective construct. Take, for example, someone's opinion on a piece of art: they think it's beautiful, it holds profound meaning to them. But to another person, the piece lacks depth or emotion. Which is true? Which is the fact? Each of them has accepted their believe - so it must be true, mustn't it? Perhaps each of us hold our own truths.

Truth within writing is a tricky subject when we think of 'truth' in this way. The quote "write what you know" (often attributed to Mark Twain, although apparently first stated by Howard Nemerov) seems to embody the idea that truth is an integral part of our writing - or at least that it should be - although this doesn't necessarily mean that we should only write about things that we have experienced first hand. I have never been oppressed for the colour of my skin, for example, but I know that oppression exists and I see it in the world which allows me to tell the truth in my writing: that, more often than not, minority groups are oppressed for prejudices held by the majority.

To me, truth within my writing is natural. It's something that I see as being present in every genre; even when writing about entirely fictional worlds, species, races, etc., it is possible to find the truth in writing. Werewolves are commonly known to be as an analogy for racism in fantasy books (unless we're talking about Harry Potter, in which case they are representative of the prejudices held against sufferers of AIDs) - werewolves do not exist, they are not a truth, but racism and prejudice exists and is a true reflection of the world we know.

This post is titled for a quote from Aneurin Bevan, which is also the title of a Manic Street Preachers album: This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours, so here's some of their truths for you to enjoy.

The Stone and the Waterlilies

I thought I loved the water -
That the current pushed me on
Until an anchor was upon me
And it weighed me down.
So now I am sinking
In the water's murky depths -
A stone among the lilies
Who shimmer in the air.

Where did you come from?

How did I become a writer?

Possibly one of life's biggest questions (well, my life at least), not to mention one of the hardest to answer.

Like so many others, I spent much of my childhood scrawling stories in messy, crayon handwriting over folded sheets of paper which I deemed 'my books'. More often than not, they were left unfinished; with the attention span that I had (and still have, to some degree) this was completely understandable. I could barely focus on one activity for more than a half hour without needing to move on to something new, except for one aspect of my life: reading. I would read for hours when other children my age would refuse vehemently to sit down with a book for even ten minutes.

I was proud that I could stick at my reading. I loved books. I love them still. And I can vaguely remember, somewhere in the back of my mind, that question that sparked everything: could I make the stories that people read before they go to sleep?

So, I wrote. And I write. For who? For me, for books I loved, for books I will love, for anyone who cares to look at the words I put on the page.

It's hard to say without coming across as pretentious, but I think that writing has always been within me - it's not something I became, it's more like something I always have been.

And on that note, please enjoy this arrangement of notes that I love very much.