We look to writers to tell the truth, no matter the genre, and that’s a great burden with the physical reality of our human bodies and brains. We make stuff up and fill in the gaps, and even when we are sure of facts, as the chapter points out, someone sitting next to us, having the same experience can/will profusely disagree. I think the greatest piece of advice that the chapter gives us is to write with respect. I would extend that all of our subjects and especially to the intelligence of our audiences.
Also, is there something to be said about not sharing your work with people that may dissaprove of it? This topic reminded me of Borkowski’s story about his sister—who insisted on reading his memoir and insisted on being offended by it. This chapter made me wonder about the limits of genres and their ephermeral definitions. James Fry’s publisher obviously published his story under “non-fiction” to bolster sales and ruined his credibility as person/writer but with the omission of the outright lies, who knows how much of what he actually experienced lies neatly somewhere between fact and fiction. Lies, truths and intents are very loft human ideals that don’t sometimes even fit into the stories that we want to tell. Experiences linger as feelings, and that’s the ethical code writers should follow
