Once I Metablog on Metafiction

This blog is non-fiction. Non-fiction means “not fiction.” Fiction, as you have learned, is a story that is not true. In other words non-fiction, if we analyze the word, is “not not-true,” which means, logically, when you cancel out the negatives, that the non-fiction information and analysis I am giving here is, in the best tradition of academic writing, I am very pleased to say, true.

Unfortunately, we do not have a word in English that directly describes writing that is true. The fact that we don’t have a direct word for non-fiction does not imply that we do not believe in not not-true stories. Historically, we have believed in not not-true stories, and history, as we understand it, is true. Here is the true story of my short and simple morning so far, which will be easy to tell because it has only been half an hour since I woke up. (Well, more like forty four minutes. I said “thirty minutes” to emphasize the simplicity of my task, but I want to be accurate, so now I have to add that at the time of this revision fifty five have passed, and now during the third revision, two hours and twenty minutes have passed. These facts are provable since I am using Google Docs and that records the time of each revision. I haven’t even started telling the story of my morning and yet it is difficult to be truthful, but I will do my best.)

The not-not true story of my morning so far: I woke up from a dream and thought, “Carolina is coming. I need to straighten up the house.” I don’t know why we have to clean for the house keeper, I thought, but I got out of bed, made some coffee, and put away some dishes. As I started straightening up the little table in the living room where I stash my papers and books, I realized I didn’t have any music on, so I turned on my computer and hit the “Rainy Morning” playlist. Since my computer was open and on my lap, I checked Facebook, then started writing some notes here, but now I need to get back to getting the house ready for Carolina, so please excuse me for a while.

That story, though true, is obviously a simplification. I have already told you in a previous blog that I will simplify myself as a character and exaggerate my good qualities, as writers usually do. To fully understand the significance of this little story, you would have to understand me and to understand me you would have to know my whole history. But let’s accept the fact the character of myself is an oversimplification. I also had to greatly simplify the story. I did not mention the other person in my bed or his history or the history of the bed or of any other things in the room that I have not–

(Excuse me, Carolina just arrived. I have to answer the door. Crap, I haven’t taken out the garbage yet and I have to put away the things in the hall.)

To give the truest story, I would include every detail of every item in my house and its background and personal significance. If I included every detail that could possible have any relevance to my story, I would have to write volumes, but since these details are not essential to the simple story I want to tell, I will leave them out. Without context, however, you can not really grasp the significance of my little story. It would take pages and pages to describe the background you would need to understand where the bed came from and why that person was lying in it with me. So let me be clear that I am choosing what to describe based on what I want to say, the point I want to make. I have an agenda, which is to make the story as simple and true as possible. At least I am honest about that. Unfortunately, the more truthful I try to be the less simple the story gets.

Also, some of the details may not be 100% accurate. Let me confess that I don’t whether or not I was actually dreaming when I woke up or even what woke me up. Strike that out of the story. I also know that I have changed the wording of my thoughts. It might have been something like, “Oh my god! Carolina! Gotta straighten up. Why do we have to clean for the cleaner anyway? What’s the point? And why doesn’t he get out of bed too and do some straightening up? Oh well, I will wake him up a little later.” Actually, I probably didn’t think in sentences at all: “Carolina! Crap! Grumble grumble — work to do — grumble grumble — not fair. Oh well.” I must admit I probably didn’t think why we have to clean before the cleaner gets here, although I have thought that before. It seemed appropriate though while I was writing the story. Strike it out, however, we want only the non-fiction.

Also I probably turned on my computer and put on my “Rainy Morning” play list before I made coffee and put some dishes away. Even though it was only (at the time of this revision) two hours and six minutes ago I am not sure of the exact order of events. But this is sure, when I started straightening up my little table, I decided to pick up my computer and begin writing instead. This is unarguably non-fiction. I could prove it in a court of law. I have a record here on Google docs of when I opened this document and so on. Oh, it says that was two hours ago, but doesn’t give me an exact time. I have been counting from eight o’clock, which was not the exact time. (Sorry, I really need to straighten up before Carolina gets here. Let me set down the computer for a moment.)

I need to make one other qualification to the not not-true story of my morning. As I am amending it for accuracy, other events are happening. Omar gets up and walks into the living room naked and says, “Hi.” I smile back but keep writing, trying to stay on top of the events so I can record them as accurately as possible, not to fictionalize any further, he went to the bathroom and blew his nose (this already at least five minutes in the past), then he came over and kissed me, but I was too busy typing trying to keep up with events to acknowlege the kiss. Then he went back into the bedroom and I have to go back to straightening up.

(Oh my God, Carolina could be here any time!)

He was back in bed! I say, “Don’t you think you should straighten up a bit before Carolina gets here?” He answers, “You should straighten up.” I say, “You should straighten up and fly right.” He said, “You’re funny.” And I said– Well, it gets a little cute from here, and that’s not the impression I want to give my imaginary readers. I did not tell him, however, what I was trying to do, that I was going to record the events of the morning and the things he said, because that would make him behave differently. For example, he might not walk around naked. In fact, when he heard what I was doing, he got out of bed and put some clothes on.

In the interest of accuracy, I should point out that I knew all along what I was doing, even if he did not, but that did not matter because I know how to act normally. “Act normally!” Omar laughed. “Normally? You, act normally?” Omar put on his Tiger ears and said, “Okay then we just go about our day normally, just like any other day, as if none of this was being recorded?” Well, that is not exactly what he said, but when I asked him to repeat it, even he could not reproduce it exactly. It is still close enough to the truth to be called non-fiction. I could prove in a court of law that everything, or almost everything, I have written here is non-fiction, a not not-true story. And it is comforting to know that we can tell the truth.