The Problem With Writing


I dug up something I wrote in 2007. It involved a hike I went on where I saw a bear.

Only it was a lie.

The part where I went on the hike was true, but I did not see a bear. I added that detail to make the day seem more memorable, but it was not necessary. Enough  happened to record the day for posterity including accepting a ride from a stranger and spectacular life affirming vistas, that there was no need to include the bear, but I did.

And as I read on about that day seven years into the past, there were other details I could not at first recollect,but hazily made their way back into my memory. Because of my untrustworthiness I must question whether they actually happened or if because I am reading things in my voice I am now accepting fiction as fact.

Or maybe I did see a bear.


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