Is It Real ... Or Is It Fiction?

Please excuse formatting errors below. I've messed with this way too long, and no matter what I've tried, the preview version shows either random extra lines or no lines. So I opted to go with more white space instead of less. Maybe it will be correct when I post.


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I've told you before I'm a news junkie.

Can you imagine what a field day I've had over the past few weeks?

Still keeping up with the mess in the Gulf, of course.

The Russian spy scandal.

The Barefoot Bandit.


Cuba freeing political prisoners.

What is the real deal with the Iranian scientist?

Celebrity gossip.

The World Cup.

I could go on, but I'll spare you my obsession.

The thing is, no matter how much I read, journalists, by the very nature of their profession, can't report the full story. The people story. The emotional story.


They report the facts, but even facts are limited to what the journalist unearths or is given. What he can verify. What questions he asks, what answers he's given. All colored by any slant he knowingly or unknowingly puts on the story.

Behind every person in these stories are many more. Mothers, fathers, spouses, children, siblings, friends, enemies. Think how the actions of people in the news affect the lives of those they know. Of those they love, and who love them. And maybe those they've hurt. That's what makes the real story.

That's why I love novels.

With a novel, I get all the story. The author has created the characters and their stories from nothing. Yet when I read, everything becomes real.


Maybe that's why I read so much news . . . to create the story behind the story.


Even if it's only in my mind.