" A painter,” he said, as though the word were an insult. “I’m a writer.”
“You’re a writer? I’m a writer.”
“What do you write?”
“Stories. Books. A book. Fiction.”
“Fiction. Pfft. That’s not writing.”
“What do you write?”
“I write the truth.”
“Fiction is true. It doesn’t have to be factual to be true.”
“Says you. Have you been published?”
“As a matter of fact I have. My novel sold over 65,000 copies.”
“All to your mom.”
“My mom didn’t even know about it. "

― Ben Monopoli , The Painting of Porcupine City (Mateo, #1)