Duck: Lies, Star? You read books about characters who lie?
Star: I mean, I don’t mean to read books about characters who lie. It just, you know, happens. There I am reading a romance novel, and suddenly—poof!—a character tells a whopper. But Duck, I’m thinking maybe ducks don’t do a whole lot of lying. You seem rather transparent.
Duck: Well, my beak-holes are transparent, Star, except when I’m eating salmon. That aside, yes, lying is a duck of a lot harder for ducks. But tell me, Star, when it comes to the novels you read, do these characters just quack out these lies without thinking? Or is there some stiff-beaked consideration beforehand?
Star: I find it less problematic when there’s consideration, especially when the lie is meant to protect someone. It’s even more interesting when a lie’s a boundary. We’re such vulnerable creatures, we ducks and humans, and lying, though usually misguided, can be an attempt to stay safe. But no, it’s the silly lies that are tricky for me. They seem so empty and they can be so harmful.
Duck: Lying’s ducking silly. But that’s just a duck’s perspective.
Star: You know, someone once challenged me, saying, “If romance characters don’t do silly things, where does the conflict come from?” But I don’t agree. I hanker for mature characters who make well-intentioned mistakes because they’re denying their hearts or trying to make life less painful. Of course, the denial never works! That’s where the conflict comes from.
Duck: Lies can teach us a duck of a lot. I once told my posh friend Sir Mallard Jones that I absolutely knew how to eat fondue at a fancy dinner party. Imagine! There I was, rubbing wing-shaped elbows with Lady Hammy Duckbill and Sir Drake Paddles while plunging my whole beak right into the fondue bowl. Which is apparently a HUGE duck no. Of course, because these were posh birds, no one wanted to touch the fondue once my beak had been in it, so I had the whole bowl to myself. The thing is, you feel a bit odd just burying your head in the fondue bowl while everyone watches, beaks hanging open. On the plus side, Mallard’s never invited me to a fancy dinner again.
Star: So you told a duck-shaped lie that was totally understandable. Pressure like that isn’t easy, my pal.
Duck: The thing is, if I’d just made myself vulnerable by admitting the truth, Lady Hammy Duckbill would have been thrilled to teach me how to eat fondue. Some posh folks love being in control. That’s why their books are so often hardbacks.
Star: I don’t follow….
Duck: Well, a duck with wet pages is out of control. But a duck with dry pages has springy flippers. See?
Star: Got it. So, I won’t name the novel I’m reading at the moment because of spoilers, but let’s just say it’s a fake dating romance in which one of the protagonists tells a sudden lie. If they didn’t tell that lie, it would have brought them closer to the guy they were falling for. Vulnerability creates intimacy after all. But nope. Our character dropped bravery right in the pond-slop, choosing instead to wave the flag of ‘No feelings here’ and telling a blatant lie—the kind that withers your tailfeathers. What’s more—and this is a biggie—plotwise, that lie was pivotal.
Duck: You mean the lie was just paddling along when suddenly it got caught in a whirlpool and started, you know, pivoting?
Star: No, I mean the story’s whole direction relied on this lie.
Duck: Ugh. That makes me want to lose my salmon!
Star: Exactly! It’s a personal peeve of mine actually. But perhaps it’s rather unreasonable of me to expect characters to not tell lies. I mean, I’m happy to see characters who are afraid of sharing their truths—I understand this kind of shyness and fear. But the sudden blurting of lies? For some reason, it’s gets my flippers in a twist.
Duck: Have you ever told any pivotal lies, Star?
Star: *deep sigh* Duck, you ask a fair question. Yes, early on in my life, I told lies. I’d been raised to believe that it was uncaring to not tell convenient lies. I was actually raised in a cult, and that really affected everything. I was taught that you should always tell people you liked them no matter what; that ‘as a lady’ (which I was told I had to be) you should always agree with others; and that sharing your own truth was feckless. And all that was just the tip of the duck-shaped iceburg. Also, deep in my own heart, I knew I was living a lie. My parents would have been so shocked if they knew I was queer—both sexually and in terms of my gender. They shamed queerness, so I couldn’t bear to tell them I was queer. Actually, it was worse than I even knew because for decades my ashamed family hid the fact that I was intersex. Even when they eventually told me who I was, I shoved that truth down because of the way it was delivered. It was all very hard. I didn’t really show anyone my true self for a long time.
Duck: My dear Star. ‘Duck Freud’ (that’s me) has a soft-but-necessary truth for you. I think you don’t like characters who tell convenient lies because it triggers you. What do you think?
Star: I think you’re beak-to-flippers right.
Duck: But you know, each of us has different needs. For some, those convenient lies might be as liberating as a kipper sandwich … perhaps because they know the character will eventually own those lies.
Star: Wise and true, my duck friend. I accept that.
Duck: Does the romance novel you’re writing at the moment contain any convenient lies?
Star: In a way. There isn’t a blatant lie, but there is an untruth. One of my main characters finds it hard to be vulnerable, which is why they leave certain things unsaid. They lie by omission. Why? Because when we’ve been hurt in the past—and who hasn’t?—romantic love can be so terrifying. We feel so vulnerable, so at risk.
Duck: Like the soft transparent shrimp who wears their very heart just beneath the surface of their transparent skin.
Star: Pure shrimp poetry.
Duck: I should win a Pushcarp Prize!
Star: Seems like a good time to thank our readers and eat our goldfish sandwiches.
Duck: You have goldfish sandwiches too?
Star: Nope. Total lie for the sake of comedy.
Duck: Hmm. If that’s not pivotal, Star, I don’t know what is.
Romancey Pants 