I’m not sure how Patricia knew this, but I’m a liar. Yesterday she publicly announced it on her blog and today I must try to redeem myself with my fellow readers. You see, I exaggerate and embelish whenever I write. If I didn’t, my stories would be b-o-r-i-n-g. So would my blog posts.
As a recipient of the “Creative Writer” Award, I am called upon to follow some rules. As many of you know, I’m a rule-breaker. But, I’ll do my best.
1. Thank the person who gave me the award and link to her. Thanks Patricia. For some reason this accusation hurts less coming from you than it did from my parents.
2. Add the award to my blog. See, my nose did indeed grow.
3. Tell six outrageous lies about myself and one truth. (Another variant: Tell six truths and one outrageous lie. YOU, dear readers, get to guess which variant I chose – and which statements are true, as well as which are lies.)
4. Nominate six creative liars–I mean writers–and post links to them.
5. Let my nominees know they have been nominated.
Since I write for kids and we all know that kids are great liars, I’m going to present seven dubious facts about my childhood. They’re a bit long, but I promise there are no tricks. Either the whole thing is a lie or the truth.
- I once fell wildly in love with a boy named Tad. He had gorgeous black hair and didn’t know I existed–even when I fell off the plank bridge of his treehouse from 15 feet in the air and broke my toe. Sadly, his big brown eyes were for my sister only.
- As a kid, I moved a ton–9 different schools before the ninth grade. Because of this, I also had the pleasure of being a minority and fell wildly in love with Juan and Trevon and Chang. It wasn’t until a move in the fourth grade that I realized God made “white” kids too–every last one in a school of roughly 300 students. I thought He ran out of color by the time He hit the Midwest.
- I wet my pants in the second grade. In front of the entire class. I tried telling the teacher a gazillion times that I really had to go, but she ignored me until it was too late. When my mom picked me up, I told her I fell in a mud puddle on the playground. It probably hadn’t rained in months.
- I put myself up for sale once. During a shopping spree, my sister and I both stood on the same side of the shopping cart. The cart tipped and we spilled out. Sis got a gash on her arm from those display hooks. I hung from one by my forehead, right next to the toys we so wanted to see. Needless to say, the only money that exchanged hands was for the butterfly stitches.
- My favorite playground activity was swinging across the rings. I’d do it so often my hands were calloused and never got blisters. While trying to impress geeky-looking Daniel, the love of my life, I fell and broke both my arms. I don’t think I scored many points that day–which is a good thing, because it freed me up to marry my DH.
- Like all good kids, I threatened to run away more often than not. My mom would offer to pack my bags. However, the one time I followed through, I did so without my suitcase. We were hanging out at a huge city park in California when I got angry. I hid under the tire swing long enough that they called in the cops–helicopters and all. The very idea scares me silly now that I have kids of my own.
- When I was about nine, a bunch of us cousins spent the summer at our uncle’s farm. The Lord of the Flies freedom we had wasn’t unusual, but getting stranded in the bull pen was. One of my cousins and I chickened out and climbed into the wire rabbit cage in case the very angry and rather large bull broke through the meager railing. We was dumb.
So now you get to decide if I’m spinning a yarn 6 out of seven times or if I’m lying only once. Let us know which story does/n’t ring true and why.
I’ll provide the answer tomorrow, along with my nomination of liars just like me.