Here’s what: history turns into legend and myth; the daring and darstardly deeds of well-hard men become the feats of The Hero. This has to be, history’s obviously too long-winded (also we’d much rather just listen to a good story, right?), and on the personal level, there’s no time to review a whole lifetime, a whole year or a whole day even. So much is going on every moment we can’t review anything. We’re too busy wading through it.
So then, when telling what happened, no one tells the truth. Not only—as I’ve demonstrated—is there not time, but nobody else is that interested. We tell a truth; a version of events forming a story. We might, in order to make a point, or for amusement or malice or in a dream, embellish the story, or we might really, really, really try to tell it just as it was, but either way, we don’t ever tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.