What are you doing?
I’m writing, Stanley. I always write in the mornings.
Is that what you call sitting there and staring at the screen?.
My fingers can’t just fly over the keys all the time, Stanley, sometimes I have to think.
So you’re thinking, not writing.
Sometimes I have to look out the window, Stan, and check out the leaves.
So you’re looking out the window, not writing.
You’re missing the point, Stanley. Writing isn’t just writing. Writing is thinking, questioning, getting frustrated, deciding you don’t know what to say, looking everywhere except at the white screen.
All that is writing?
I’m afraid so. When you’re lucky, writing is knowing exactly what you want to say and your fingers dance on the keys. But sometimes, Stanley, writing is thinking that you’ve never been any good and you’ve wasted your entire life.
That’s writing, too?
That’s the hardest part of writing, Stanley, the critical voice that just says “no, no, no, no.”
So when I beg for food and you say “no no no no,” is that writing also?
No, Stanley, it’s not remotely writing. You’re getting all mixed up.
Is getting mixed up part of writing?
So am I writing now?
You can’t write, Stanley, you’re a dog. And this conversation is another distraction from writing.
Once, Stanley, writers constantly sharpened pencils. That was a kind of distraction, only I think pencil sharpeners have disappeared. We now have new distractions, like emails, Trump, and Stanley. Pencil sharpeners were better.
So when do you write?
I write a lot, Stanley. I think about what to write, I try this, get rid of it, I try something else, get rid of that, I look out the window for inspiration.
Yes, but when do you write?
At some point something breaks through and I start writing, Stanley, but many times it looks like nothing’s going on. It’s all part of the creative process.
When you’re talking to me right now, are you writing?
Stanley, whenever I have a conversation with you I’m acting crazy, not writing.
What about when you feed me, is that writing?
Don’t be silly.
Car rides, cuddling, running around in the woods? Those are not writing?
Of course not, Stanley.
So how come everything is writing except me?