Let's just forget all about the rural mythologies for a bit.
What about the personal mythologies?
And I'm not just talking about mine, here.
Let's pretend for a second. Let's pretend for a second that you're James Frey, writing the story of your life. . . wait, I have a better idea. Instead, let's pretend that you've moved across the country to a city you've never been to before, and nobody knows who you are. And instead of writing your stories, you are drinking with strangers, telling your tales and trying to garner respect or attention or sex or maybe even just basic friendship. Or maybe you're just meeting with old friends from high school and the shared histories don't seem to coincide or match for some strange reason.
The only difference between you and me and James Frey, is that Frey had a fact-checker.
But are the the stories merely just mythologies?
After all, the past isn't fact, it isn't even tangible.
You can prescribe dates and numbers and maybe what you ate for dinner to the past, but you can't assign what you felt, or how it affected you. And maybe the memories are altered. But if you remember them that way, does it really matter how they happened, exactly?
When it comes to memory, linearity doesn't matter. Time doesn't matter. And the truth is, some day, what you are living right now will be nothing more than a story.
(So, there's your answer. Or at least, a start. . .)