It’s a theme I have used in a number of stories because it fascinates me the propensity some people have for explaining the unexplainable, and actually, believe they have convinced the other person.
It works sometimes, but not everybody is prepared to accept their lies. Especially when their alibi crumbles before their eyes.
Better not to have said anything in the first place.
Or, better still, don’t do anything that you have to cover up later on.
Or perhaps I’m turning a molehill into a mountain.
I’m suffering from indecision, one of those moments in a writer’s life where either you get on with it, take a holiday, start a new story, or finish another one.
I want to get on with it, finish it, sent it to the editor, and then move on, but I can’t.
I’ve written three different endings to this story and I’m not happy with any of them.
Over the last few days, I have taken a break away from it. Every time I load it up and sit on the page where I want the end to start (a rather curious mix of opposites) it draws a blank.
Will I take it out with a ‘bang’?
Will I let a few of the secrets out of the bag?
Will I try to set it up for a sequel?
Wow! So many possibilities.
The crux of the matter is relationships where people keep secrets from each other rarely survive, though sometimes it depends on how big the secret is. In my mind, if I was the one who was thinking about keeping a secret (most likely impossible because I can’t keep a straight face) I would share it.
If it was my partner keeping the secret, I wonder how I would react.
It’s an interesting question and begs the question of how much of ourselves is woven into the fabric of our characters.
We can if we haven’t the experience of keeping secrets only guess at the outcome. Or if we do, how much easier might it be?
Perhaps I’ll sleep on it one more night.