I occasionally visit cnn.com to get my dose of pre-digested pseudo-news. Yes, I know it’s a horrible habit that’s slowly killing me, but I could stop going anytime I wanted to, so get off my back.

Yesterday, this story about the stripper turned screenwriter Diablo Cody was headlining the entertainment section. The story began by describing a situation in which Diablo (who wrote the Oscar winning screenplay for Juno) had been caught in a lie on her blog about a red carpet shoe endorsement, and the delicious public pasting that ensued in the blogosphere. Her version of the events made her look good, and rebellious, and not willing to lay down for Hollywood ridiculousness. The truth made her look petty, and catty. This story reminded me of smaller-scale version of the debacle surrounding James Frey and his not-so-true autobiography, A Million Little Pieces. Now, as then, I find my self thinking, “are you kidding me? Of course they’re lying. They’re writers!”

Writers are in the business of lying. Or to put it more nicely: story telling. Is it any surprise that when it comes to their actual, real lives, the story telling creeps in? Frey (who, don’t get me wrong, is a total ass) looked at the story of his life and said, “I can tell this better than it actually happened. I can make my life a better read.” And it worked, the book sold like gangbusters; Oprah’s stamp of approval didn’t hurt, of course. And for God’s sake, Diablo’s real name is Brook Busey-Hunt. She’s telegraphing from the very start that she’s created a character for public consumption out of herself. She’s going to tell the story of her life in a way that is entertaining, and holds our attention, and makes us want to hear more about this rebellious, tough tart turned Hollywood success story. Picking apart that story is the critical equivalent of the know-it-all who points out how the magician did his trick. I don’t want to know how the magician did it, you asshole.  I just want to enjoy the magic and let myself be fooled for a while.

Of course, none of this sort of story telling is reserved for writers. Everyone tells the story of their life they way they wanted it to happen. We know from psychologists that people’s memories are notoriously faulty. Here’s just one study talking about how easy it is to plant false memories and the perils of eye witness testimony.  Other studies show that it goes way beyond simple faulty memories, and that many of us re-write our lives almost daily as we recount it to others.  These little lies build upon themselves, until we each believe the daily bullshit we’re handing out.
So why do we get so pissed when creative celebrities do it? Is there some contract for the truth that we co-enter with authors and creators? In Frey’s case, which was half self-help book, and half autobiography, I’m more likely to come down hard on him, but in Diablo’s case, where only an idiot wouldn’t see her life for what it is: a production, I’m more likely to tell the investigators to piss off. Let the woman write her life the way she wants it, and ultimately, the way we want it too: entertaining.