Slippery Fish

I do not know what to write, as I do not know what is true. Many things have I scrawled down throughout my life, but now I have no wish to sprawl lies about. I want the truth. Certainly, falsehoods are amazingly easy. They roll off of the tongue and down through the fingers like oiled fish. But the oiled fishes are hollow and rotten, however dazzling their colors might be. So the question develops: brilliant stories and vivid tales, or something of substance?