I love this sign. It definitely gets me way more interested than “We are the lowest priced in the city.” (Photo: Julie Schwietert Collazo)
Lately, I’ve been noticing a trend that’s started to bug me, and so I think it’s time to bring it to the pulpit: too many people are becoming too comfortable with inflating the truth or telling partial truths, with the intent, I suppose, of emphasizing their own importance.
Let me give you an example (or two or three).
Earlier today, I was researching a blogger to determine whether he might be a good fit for an assignment. The blogger is an acquaintance, so I’m familiar with his work; I just wanted to drill down on some stats and read up on some projects he’d done. He doesn’t have any print credentials, which was fine for my purposes, so I was surprised to see him proclaim, right on his home page, that he has been published by a prestigious print publication. In actuality, he has been published by the blog of a subsidiary of the publication, and the subsidiary is considerably different from the primary publication, as is its level of prestige. It’s like saying that you write for The LA Times when you actually have a blog on their community site.^
Now did he tell a lie?
If you’re a concrete thinker, you’ll probably say “Nah, he didn’t lie… not really. In the strictest, most literal interpretation, he did write for said publication. But for me, a Catholic school alumna, I can’t help but think of the old “sin of omission” argument: what you leave out can constitute a lie as much as a bald-faced falsehood.
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Let me give you another example, drawn from a different context.
I have another acquaintance (not a writer) whose professional biography says she is an alumna of an Ivy League university. In truth, she attended a three-day professional workshop on the school’s campus, not taught by faculty, and received a professional development certificate. She is a person who is smart, capable, and quite respected in her field. Does it matter that she didn’t really graduate with a degree?
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These are two anecdotes, sure, but they are by no means outliers. I know of many instances where people are stretching the truth beyond the limits of credibility and veracity, and it’s troubling.
Here’s what I find problematic about these half-truths (or quarter truths… because really, for me, they cross the line into the territory of lies): they mislead others, they diminish the value (perceived and actual) of the accomplishment or accolade by people who have actually earned or achieved it, and they reflect the fundamental insecurity of the person broadcasting the white lies. It seems that we’ve become convinced that we’re only worthy–and, crucially, that others only consider us worthy–if we’ve got a superlative (or two or 10) attached to our bios. And instead of focusing on going after the brass ring–whatever our own brass rings are– we decide to just invent them instead.
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As a writer, I’m particularly disturbed by the tendency to inflate one’s publication history because I feel like it’s a disservice to one’s colleagues.
How can you avoid partial honesty? It’s pretty simple:
Tell the truth.
Be honest and exact about your bylines; if you’re a good writer, your work will speak for itself… the lily doesn’t need to be gilded. If you’re not sure how to do this, I humbly suggest checking out my publications list, where I distinguish print and online work parenthetically. It’s one way, though certainly not the only one, for presenting one’s work honestly.
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What are your thoughts about partial honesty? Do you see this tendency increasing? Preach it in the comments.
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^And I’ve actually met someone who told that little white lie, too (though it was a different newspaper).
I see it increasing, but it’s also encouraged. I’ve been to more than one conference – specifically writing conferences – where people are told that you have to be the first person to say something in order for others to believe it. So even if you haven’t published anything, you should say, “I am a writer.” If you don’t believe you are a writer, no one else will. But what defines a writer? Someone who keeps a journal? Someone who have published in five print publications? Some would argue that it’s a partial lie to say you’re a writer if you’re actually just an aspiring writer.
JoAnna-
Thanks for your comment.
I think what you’re talking about–and I’ve heard that advice, too (and have probably given it as well!)– is different than what I mean here. Saying you’re a writer is true even if you’re not published– as long as you’re writing and (from a professional standpoint, at least) if you’re trying to make a living from your work. I’d say the same is true for an actor, musician, dancer, or visual artist. Our products aren’t always generating us income because, to a large extent, the acceptance of our products and the income they generate is dependent upon someone vetting our work and deeming it worthy for inclusion in some larger product: a magazine, a play, a concert, etc. But even if we’re not drawing a paycheck at the moment, that doesn’t change the acts of creation we’re engaged in. We’re still artists.
But to say, for example, that you’ve been published by National Geographic if you’ve actually been published by Nat Geo Traveler’s Intelligent Traveler blog is a different order of truth, or lack thereof. To say you’ve danced for Alvin Ailey when you’ve taken a class at the Ailey studio– those are two different things entirely.
I saw an example of this earlier this week, and it’s been bugging me since! On her site, a writer (who I only know of, do not know personally) claimed she’d written for an extremely prestigious national print magazine that takes very little freelance work. I knew she hadn’t, and when I hovered the link, I saw that it was for an article for one of the magazine’s websites instead, not even the proper publicationtitle.com domain. I really wondered 1) if she somehow believed the way she’d written the publication name was acceptable or 2) if people are stupid and won’t check. Truly! It made me feel like she was trying to hoodwink editors and fellow writers — which, as a good writer with great clips, she doesn’t even need to do!
Now that said, I’ve had this dilemma a few times when it comes to two old NYT clips I have. Both were pieces I wrote for my university newspaper that were syndicated by The Times back when it ran student work that had already been picked up by college-specific wire service UWire. Neither has my byline attached; both pieces were editorials. But I know I wrote them, as does my former boss and colleagues, and both pieces did run in the NYT in the now-defunct college edition. Getting both clips at just 21 was obviously validating, and I do think it’s worth pointing out that I began my career with a bang. But I *never* phrase it as, “I have written for NYT.” I instead write, “My work has been published/syndicated in/by the NYT” or I leave it off completely and focus on other excellent publications for which I’ve since written. I have friends who have written for NYT blogs and also go back and forth about how to list the publication or clip. I get why — it’s the goddamn Times — but I understand how tricky these things can be. I also don’t think there’s anything wrong with nytimes.com. But you know, that’s me
Brittany-
Thanks, as always, for your thoughtful comment.
I once had a professor who talked about elegant solutions vs. inelegant solutions… and it seems that writers with integrity struggle to find the elegant solution for this issue. I think you’ve solved it as well as it can be solved. In a limited amount of space and in a clean, uncluttered way, you’ve articulated exactly were you’ve been published and in what format.
On our own websites/blogs/bios, I don’t really think any of this *should* be a problem. There could be a section, for example, that says: “Published in print: XYZ publication; ABC publication; etc.” And another section: “Published online: xyz.com”; “Syndicated by: efg.com” The only time I could anticipate transparency being a challenge is in the short writer bios that get published in print, which many editors shorten for length. As you said, I also think this becomes less of an important issue as a writer’s career evolves… but I’m preaching to the choir here.
I’m all for truth – as soon as you start to lie you are saying to yourself that you’re not good enough, and acting as though you wished you were someone else. I think that only when we are happy enough to be who we are, and stand up for whatever it is we have achieved, that we will get to where we want.
Agreed! Thanks for your comment.