After endless hours of preparation, my mind fell in the trap. Writing has become a fundamental part of my life—somehow, I woke up a monster that feeds on my creativity. I have tried in vain to spend entire days without creating, the only thing I’ve managed is to be haunted by unexpected torments. Even sleeping became impossible, closing my eyes gives strength to this creature that lives within me.
This is how the long journey to create a novel began—the only way to silence the creature. However, it is difficult to stay focused on a single plot, but the hungry being does not rest between chapters. So I had to find an alternative.
In a sea of literary genres, I found the solution—the short story was the food that the creature was craving. I decided to read the works of Edgar Allan Poe, his stories reached a part of me that I hadn’t discovered. I begin to think that I woke up to the same being that lived inside Poe—that creature that forces you to create—the monster that feeds on your works.
After so long, I am still here with my illness—a slave to the literary creation, forced to work until I’m exhausted. It gives me strength to know that you are reading this, to have the certainty that my work not only feeds the monster, to know that you can also take advantage of my efforts.
I hope these words are enough for you to understand my dilemma. I wish I had known this before waking the creature—stopping it before it took up my time. It’s too late for me, I have no choice but to keep creating. I will have to lose touch with the world, get away from all those who were important. Live the existence of a slave; pay my sentence with words.
A writer deeply feels that writing is for him the best thing that has happened or could happen, as writing for him is the best possible way to live.
—Mario Vargas Llosa