“So now I’m really-really-really a writer.”
“You’re Mack.”
“No. I’m Macknificent!”
“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“I couldn’t help thinking this after reading this letter.”
“That you’re really-really-really a writer?”
“Yes. I repeat the word to myself as a kind of training in order to learn it.”
“Wait. How can something in that letter on the table make you think you’re a writer?”
“I can only say that from now on it will be important for myself to take myself seriously as a professional in literature. See!”
“You’ve been admitted to a writing school?”
“It’s my talent that has been discovered.”
“Where?”
“In the 25 pages I submitted, you lousy bungler.”
“And now you work with yourself and the author identity?”
“Correct. The recognition of my ego.”
“Listen to me. That is dangerous. You sound like a would-be philosopher.”
“I’m standing on a wonderful road that you just can’t see.”
“Is it paved?”
“It’s blue and golden.”
»Golden and blue? Nonsense!”
“I’m fortified! Ready. I’m brilliant! ”
“You’re brilliant!”
“I’m brilliant!”
