lies
There’s no other way to say this, so here goes: I have issues with the truth.
Actually, there is another way to say it: I’m a liar. A big fat liar, and I love telling lies.
It’s not that the truth is too painful, or, indeed that the lies are little white ones designed to spare the feelings of others. It’s simply that life, the world, the truth, goddamit, is just too prosaic. And I’m Irish. And we love poetry and stories. And what could be more poetic, more the art of story-telling in everyday life than to tell a lie when one isn’t even needed.
Yes, it has, in the past, reached the stage where, when asked a question, my first response is not ‘What’s the answer,’ but ‘What lie can I tell here’. And that’s just getting silly.
But you know what? Lately, things have been very honest and truthful, and I haven’t written a word of fiction in weeks - nay, months. I wonder if the two facts are connected?
Well, that may all change soon. See, I got a new job. I got it by truthfully telling the new employer how good I am at some of the aspects of the job, how much I’d have to work to come up to speed on other aspects, how I’d tackle some of the challenges and issues they identified in the proposed job, and by pointing out one or two potential issues that they hadn’t considered and, again, suggesting approaches to be taken to prevent or overcome the issues.
And I got the job. Which involves bringing a huge spread of people in different countries and cultures in line so that the organisation - whilst acknowledging the value inherent in the diversity of it’s global tean - can be confident that everyone has at least seen the same hymn sheet, and will be trying to sing the same song.
Which, of course, will require me to communicate, influence, persuade, and, if need be, push the relevant people towards the goal. But never lie, of course. Oh no, one never begins such a transaction by thinking “F*** it, I’ll tell ‘em what they want to hear until they love me so much they’ll do what I ask.” Well, once upon a time. But no more.
No lies. Which doesn’t explain why for the past two days I’ve been batting story ideas around like mosquitos at a haemophiliac society midnight barbecue. Unless the lying to my current employers (”Of course I’m still happy here, I love it”) until the formal contract arrives in the post and I resign my soon-to-be firm and fabulous ass from the joint.