In my thesaurus, BS is the first “word” listed under the verb, lie.
I grew up in the Bible Belt where, at any and all gatherings, men cluster in remote areas of the yard trying to outdo each other with their “stories.” However, telling the truth was an expected way of life for children. Telling a lie was the quickest route to a switchin’. So, for the most part, I was a good girl until, one Sunday at church, I discovered parables.
Whoa! I couldn’t believe how much easier it was to understand a concept when there was a story attached.
Now I’m not saying I began to lie at that very moment. In fact, to this day, my cheeks and ears redden if I so much as consider bearing false witness for selfish reasons. Thus, I am possibly the worst poker player you will ever chance to meet. But . . . when I began to write my first novel, “The Courier,” I let the BS fly.
In the beginning, I had to force myself. After all, my reflexes had been trained to expect punishment.
So, I made myself a promise. That in order to get a point across, I could exaggerate, misstate, and/or fabricate–but I would never malign.
I am careful with my characters. I am about change. Not destruction. And if anybody tells you otherwise, they are flat out prevaricating.