I suffered a bit of an eye opener today when I read Jonathon’s response to my weblog posting and follow up from yesterday regarding self-justification. He wrote:
Yet, even though I don’t regard Oblivio as a weblog, others might. I suppose it could be mistaken for a weblog, just as Michael Barrish could be mistaken for a real person. He probably is a real person since he also uses the website to solicit web development work (though he maintains separate sites for each purpose, for reasons he explains in the story Motherfucker ). But Barrish is also a character who appears in his own stories. As does Rachel, his girlfriend. Whether she really exists and whether she’s his girlfriend is impossible to determine, without knowing Michael Barrish. Even then, the real-life Rachel may bear only a fleeting resemblance to the Rachel in the stories. (Just like the women in some of my stories.)
Of all possible outcomes of yesterday’s writing, what I didn’t expect is that the story that originated my passion might be allegorical rather than experience. I am left wondering whether I am a sophisticated patron of the arts or an incredibly gullible fool. And that’s the inherent danger of mixing the art of creation within the context of experiential recounting.
Jonathon continues with:
So, you might be asking, what’s the point of all this? The point is this: there seems to be an implicit agreement amongst webloggers to speak with an authentic voice, to tell the truth as they see it, to give witness, according to the dictates of journalism.
…
Storytelling depends on a belief that an artfully constructed fiction is frequently more truthful than a carefully described fact.
Must all webloggers speak of true experiences? Not at all, as witness the excellent satire of Wealth Bondage or the historical recountings of Bloggus Caesari.
However, in my opinion, if webloggers establish a truthful context for their words, then they do have a pact with their readers that says, “React honestly to my story because what I tell you is true”.
Something to think about. And write more about later because now I am off to spend the rest of the day in the hallowed halls of Hippocrates.