Prompt 229. Lying for Fun

& a prompt on absurdist fictions by Crow Jonah Norlander

Textile art by Diana Weymar, Tiny Pricks Project

Hi friend,

As a kid, I spent a good deal of my time in fantasy worlds. Whereas others escaped into dolls or video games, fabrication was my go-to for play. It was harmless fun most of the time—enlisting my brother and the neighborhood kids in plays I’d written, getting ourselves decked out in garb from my trunk full of oversized blazers and skirts and chechias (traditional Tunisian headwear), selling five-cent tickets to every adult we knew, who watched these wildly chaotic productions in equal parts bewilderment and bemusement.

Other times, it was downright mischievous, so much so that in elementary school, my friend Rachel and I founded a group called “the Bad Kids Club.” When I was about eight, a few of my friends’ parents got divorces, and I completely misunderstood—rather than a serious, sad, even traumatic experience, I thought it was the cool new thing. I became fixated on having two houses, each with its own set of toys, and thought it sounded like an interesting adventure to move back and forth every week. To get my parents on the bandwagon, I started telling each of them lies about the other—absurd fictions that they never believed because I’ve never been good at lying.

(A notable exception: The time I convinced my dad that my artist mother was in desperate need of new figures to practice life drawing, so a pet mouse would be a perfect gift for Mother’s Day. My mom, who saw through it immediately, was absolutely livid that he’d fallen for my scheme, but by then, the little grey rodent, aka Ski Patrol, was there to stay.)

But I’ve always reveled in storytelling, and my first love was the fictional kind. Reading my journals from middle school, I see that facts are often a springboard to fiction, from to-do lists of preposterous things I was never going to do, to tales of sordid adventures inspired by Isabelle Eberhardt. Those detours into fantasy gave me a jolt of energy; fiction was a place where I could both escape and re-tether myself. But as I got older, I stopped allowing myself that kind of fluid movement on the page between reality and make believe.

Recently, my nervous system has been feeling a bit under siege, and when I get to this place, everything feels overwhelming, even the tiniest little things, like going to the bodega to get milk. But as I read this week’s essay and prompt by the fiction writer Crow Jonah Norlander—whom I met in the MFA program at Bennington College, whose writing was fresh and unique in a way that left his fellow workshop members a bit in awe—I found myself literally lol-ing. It’s a sly thought experiment, an exercise in delighting in possibility for the sake of possibility, and it felt so good to indulge the fiction, to be swept up in the absurd. I felt lighter and better for that momentary escape.

Crow’s piece reminded me that this playful act of fabrication can serve as a powerful antidote to the individual and collective tumult and grief that we all face as humans. There’s a kind of magical thinking in the mind of the fiction writer that we’re trained out of as adults, but that has a contagious quality. I hope it casts a little spell and allows you to escape into delightfully imaginative play.

Your favorite neighborhood “bad kid,”

Suleika

Some Items of Note—

• We’ve scheduled our next meeting of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour for paid subscribers. It’ll be next Sunday, February 12, from 1-2pm ET. Add it to your calendar here!

• If you were keeping an eye on your inbox for the conversation on the creative process with my beloved Jon Batiste and me—don’t worry, you didn’t miss it! We had a slight hiccup in our production schedule, but it’ll be out as soon as we can muster it. In the meantime, check out this video replay of our Studio Visit from 2021. It’s so delightful, especially when Jon discovers the chat box!

• Speaking of chatting—in our Isolation Journals Chat, we’re continuing our weekly ritual: our chorus of collective gratitude. You can add yours here!

Getty Images/Barbara Brady-Smith

Prompt 229. Greyhounds by Crow Jonah Norlander

I’m an honest person. Most of the time, at least. The truth is good, but sometimes it’s inconvenient, awkward, or boring. Like when I’m out walking my greyhounds and tourists on their way to the beach stop me to ask, “Are those greyhounds?”

If I could sell a joke, I’d say, “They’re pugs—these are their Halloween costumes.” The tenth person to ask “Are they friendly?” might be surprised to hear about my dogs’ hallucinatory disorder that causes them to perceive petting hands as irresistibly delicious rabbits. “Chomp chomp,” I’d say, shrugging an insincere apology.

“Are they retired racers?” No! After all but two states voted to outlaw racing, I opened up my own black-market, off-track betting operation in the next county over, where I have hired goons ready to break the kneecaps of anyone who asks too many questions.

How could I possibly know that this particular canine admirer is on the board of PETA? That the very next day she will bring to bear the full force of their power barging down my front door?

Finding no illegal dog-racing activity, they nonetheless pass judgment: I take my dogs for granted and undermine their ability to brighten others’ days. Given the state of discretionary authority, oversight, and funding, I’m not sure what to expect. But it turns out that they think I’m worth saving. They want to rehabilitate me! They assign a caseworker to observe.

She arrives looking vaguely Montessori in her muumuu. Is that a stitched bunny emblem on the breast? Could that be a uniform? She’s calm, firm, and authoritative. She finishes sentences with a leading lilt but walks like she’s packing something. PETA doesn’t believe in guns, do they? I’m an animal too, I deserve to be treated ethically.

After gradually getting used to her being around, I revert to my usual ways. She watches me shoo the dogs away after a perfunctory pat. On a walk, she stops me: “Why so soon to tug their sweet snouts away from some luscious scent?” This hypothetical clinician might be overboard with the poetics, but she makes a good point. She has more to say. “Are you genuinely in a hurry? Or do you seek power and control in relationships as a means of overcompensating for an upbringing made precarious by poverty, addiction, and divorce?”

Wow, ok, easy now. But again, she’s not wrong.

“Do you begrudge these beautiful creatures their affection for and dependence upon you? A dynamic of your own design?” She has me imagine my life without dogs, and then a world in which gardeners guard their flowers and trees greedily absorb birdsong.

Point being: Blessings should be a delight to share.

Now they can’t shut me up. Everyone, look at my handsome dogs! Yes, they’re related!

And they’d absolutely love a rub.

Your prompt for the week:

Think of a time you were reluctant to tell the truth. Consider what it would’ve looked like to lie instead. Then indulge the fabrication to its logical—or illogical—end.

If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

Today’s contributor—

Crow Jonah Norlander lives in Maine with his family of humans and hounds. His fiction, poetry, and interviews have appeared in BOMB Magazine, The Los Angeles Review of Books, FENCE, and Hobart. He is also fiction editor for X-R-A-Y and coeditor of HAD.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• Striving for Excellence, an interview about facing our doubts with the award-winning and truly awe-inspiring novelist Imbolo Mbue

• On Secrets, an interview with the bestselling novelist and memoirist, Dani Shapiro, where she talks about why we keep them

• Water as Blessing, notes from our August meeting of the Hatch, where we read a passage from Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead and talked about commonplace books

If you’re new here—hi, I’m Suleika!

I’m the author of the memoir Between Two Kingdoms, a New York Times bestseller, as well as the Emmy Award-winning column “Life, Interrupted,” which I wrote from my hospital bed when I was undergoing cancer treatment in my early 20s. I’m also a lifelong journaler, a practice that got me through my first bout with leukemia and is helping me navigate a second.

I founded the Isolation Journals in April of 2020, and it’s grown into a vibrant community of over 100,000 people from all over the world—all looking to transform life’s interruptions into creative grist. My dear friends Carmen Radley and Holly Huitt help steward this little corner of the internet, which is big-hearted and smart and just plain wonderful.

If you have questions, you can check out our FAQ—or write to us at suleika@theisolationjournals.com.