I am Kris.
This page used to say:
Pretty All True is my life . . . as seen through the interpretive filter that is me.
I tell my stories.
I am not a video-camera, and I do not strive to provide you with an exact replication of the events I describe. I want to entertain you. I want to make you laugh. I want to make you think. I want to evoke a reaction.
My stories are true, but I arrange and play with them for maximum readability.
I am a writer, not a transcriber.
But yes . . . my daughters really do talk like that.
I make notes as I go about my life, and then I work from those notes to recreate moments for you. I cannot give you the actual moments. You were not there. I can only give you my recreation of those moments. My version. My memory. My gathering of words and images.
That will have to do.
I am a storyteller.
I tell the stories of my present and the stories of my past. I am aware that there is no one version of the past. No complete and total accounting. I am more than fine with others seeing things differently. Remembering differently.
That said, there are certain basic truths to my history. Others may remember things differently, but their truths do not diminish my truth. I know what has happened to me. I know the life that I have lived.
And so Pretty All True is my witnessing.
Of my life.
And it is pretty all fucking true.
A word about the logo . . .
The logo for this blog is a figure that appears all over the place up here in Oregon, and it simply means Caution – Uneven Walkway. Yes, they could fix the path. But instead they just make a sign telling you that they have no plans whatsoever to fix it.
Or, as I like to read it, “Nobody’s coming through to smooth your way or make the path easier, so watch your fucking step.”
It just speaks to me.
With gratitude to Ian Falconer’s Olivia the Pig.
P.S. I do sometimes write fiction, but my fictional stories are either wildly obviously fiction or labeled as such. Just want to be clear, because I can’t have people going around thinking I roofie-darted Dr. Drew and made him my sex slave. Ahem.
But now it says . . .
I don’t care what you think is true.
These are my stories.