Until one day, fed up with everything you had to go through, you decided to ask the publisher to give them the opportunity to write something more than just another novel for teenagers . They said that would be impossible and could endanger your career, no matter how much you insisted. But the internal need that you had to prove yourself as a true novelist was so great that you decided to ignore his warnings. In an act of so much courage as stupidity, you decided to draw a contract with a tiny publisher and distributor for them to publish that book you were talking about so much. When they accepted, you finally felt a little hope for the future of your career. Now, you just needed to write it.

In less than a month and in the midst of a frenzy of inspiration and cocaine , you managed to write about 370 pages of that story. It was about the "noble and inspiring" story of an athlete who learned to survive after losing his legs in a car accident. You decided to put the provocative title of 'force'. Even though you had to write it in the brief spare time you had while writing another hackneyed fantasy novel, you had fun writing it ; something that has not happened for a long time. The pleasure it caused you to write had returned ... even if it was only for a few moments.

He went to the market with the high hope that he would become, even if it was a slight success in his career but that would return your literary recognition. But, against all expectations, it ended up becoming a complete sales success. People bought it as hot bread. In less than a week, began to appear reviews that said the book that showed the true capacity of its author and was his best publication since its debut. A large number of the audience said it was an interesting and well-written novel, which made you feel quite happy. I felt that at last you had managed to be, even a little bit, closer to that pedestal where your heroes were. Although your group of 'fans' (to put it in some way) have not stopped trying to destroy that book, mostly because it was completely out of the scheme you had established juvenile fantasy. They apparently could not understand that you wanted to distance yourself from all that.

In the end after almost three months, the book soon fell into oblivion so that it would finally return to what it had done in the previous fifteen years. You went back to the juvenile, only now writing had become a total suffering for you. You had all the respect you had fought so hard for and you threw everything down the drain. What had happened? Why, when you had an excellent career ahead of you, did you decide to go back and pray for mediocrity? I really think it was because you were afraid to move on . Yes, that was it. You did not want to make an effort, you just wanted a excuse to make easy money . I pity you. You had everything ahead and you ruined everything in a spectacular way ...

And I keep looking at this empty sheet in front of me. Time flies by and I'm still here. Without doing absolutely nothing. Same as ten years ago and counting.

...

I should have a coffee. Yes, a coffee to clear my mind ...