In Lunar Park, Brett Easton Ellis spends a good deal of time talking about being a writer and how the nature of writing fucks with you. To wit:
"As a writer you slant all evidence in favor of the conclusions you want to produce and you rarely tilt in favor of the truth..... This is what a writer does: his life is a maelstrom of lying. Embellishment is his focal point. This is what we do to please others. This is what we do in order to flee ourselves. A writer's physical life is bascically one of stasis, and to combat this constraint, an opposite world and another self have to be constructed daily... the half world of a writer's life encourages pain and drama, and defeat is good for art: if it was day we made it night, if it was love we made it hate, serenity becomes chaos, kindness became viciousness. God became the devil, a daugher became a whore... lying often leaked from my writing life."
What do you think? Is he right? Does the act of writing make us liars? Does it "leak" from your writing life? Is he just paranoid? Or is he just joking and fucking with us?