"Every day a reason is born to feed inspiration." That was the phrase Mike repeated every morning before getting up. He was a cheerful and hardworking man who was dedicated to the two great pillars of his life: his love for his girlfriend and his passion for writing. That was what really made this enterprising young man who dreamed of one day being able to write a book and become famous in the world of literature feel alive.
Mike had a friend named James, who was already an established and well-known writer, and he was constantly visiting Mike to help him with his book writing project. Many times James would tell his friend that to write you need passion, a love for the art of writing, and it seemed to him that Mike had not yet found that source that would allow him to bring out his full potential.
And for Mike, the main theme was poetry, verses in love that were inspired by the great affection he felt for his beloved girlfriend. Every evening he would recite some of his work to her and confess his love for her more and more. Occasionally, Mike would go out to public places, fields and areas that would provide him with good scenery in order to find more content for his longed-for book.
Why was Mike so interested in writing this book? The reason was not selfish at all, because the main character was precisely his girlfriend, something he was saving to give her a big surprise along with the day he would ask her to be his wife. Therefore, this young writer spent a lot of time writing, and in the few hours he could sleep he kept dreaming about the book. All this became a real obsession that would gradually take hold of Mike.
After a few months, the book was finally finished. Mike had done a great job paying a high price by neglecting his other duties, his family and his girlfriend with whom everything seemed to be going well. For several weeks Mike had been promoting his book, talking to other well-known writers who, including his friend James, kept saying that the book lacked literary weight and was far from being a great book. Only one publisher's editor was willing to give Mike a chance, as long as he adjusted certain aspects of his work, which he accepted without pretext.
"I have finally achieved my dream!" Mike expressed with total happiness, and with all that great emotion he made the preparations to finally be able to surprise his girlfriend and with this, ask for her hand in marriage. So, with no more time to lose, Mike went home to prepare everything that was going to be a wonderful proposal to that great woman who was his muse, the main character of his great story.
In the midst of rejoicing, a mailman knocked on Mike's door to deliver a document. "Could it be an offer from some other publisher?" thought Mike as he opened that strange envelope, and while the emissary waited for the payment for the delivery, our friend's facial expression began to fade as he read: it was a note in which his girlfriend said goodbye, telling him that she didn't want to see him anymore, that she didn't love him anymore and that since he started writing the book, he forgot that she existed and loved him. He told her that he was going to another country, and not to try to look for her since she had found her solace in the arms of another man, a writer named James.
Disappointment, betrayal and heartbreak were the triggers for a man who just a short time ago was jumping for joy and now exploded with a deep anger he could not control. He threw the door in the mailman's face, and out of such indignation began pacing back and forth with the note still clutched in his right hand. Mike looked like a volcano that had once been dormant but was now erupting with too much intensity.
He began to tear down everything in his path and there was no object he did not want to destroy. He went into his work studio and began to tear up the books, the writings that had once been his pride and joy, sweeping everything that was on his desk until he came across the draft of his book, the one he had already finished and had lined as a gift for his girlfriend.
Mike took a pencil, and sheet by sheet began to tear them one by one as if to make many strips, and then began to write over those letters that were once his admiration and fruit of his creation. It was so strong that the pencils broke in his hands. There was nothing that could control what our young writer was now feeling.
After a few days, Mike continued to isolate himself in his great discomfort and would not let anyone near him because he was sure that he could hurt them, even his own family. Even that letter carrier had the audacity to return for his pay and the truth was that he had to run away so as not to be caught by Mike who blamed him for having given him that tragic news.
It was mostly at night when Mike could be heard screaming, crying with rage and sadness, banging on the wall and on the doors and the neighbors feared for a fatal outcome. A week later, his father took courage and, ready for anything, decided to enter the house by forcing the door. When he did so, Mike's father could not believe what he was seeing: all the walls, the floor and even part of the ceiling were full of writings, some even with drops of blood mixed with the letters. Mike had vented everything he felt by doing what he knew how to do, but in a rather painful and disturbing way.
Already seeing this, Mike's father was still expecting the worst, when suddenly he heard the moans of someone crouching behind a door: It was Mike, who, trembling with anger, was still holding the farewell note in his right hand and in the other, a pencil with no more points to write with. He could no longer stand up, he was broken inside and out, Mike could no longer stand up for himself.
His parents were finally able to help him, but it was too late for Mike, who was in such bad shape that he had to be hospitalized for several years to recover mentally and emotionally from what had happened. After so long, one of the first visits Mike received was from the director of the publishing house he had spoken to. The man was there to tell him that during the time he had been hospitalized, his parents had approved for his book to be published and it had achieved the long-awaited success. Quite puzzled, Mike said to the director, "How could they do that when I practically destroyed it in the middle of my crisis?"
Then the director said, "I'm not talking about that book. I'm talking about everything you wrote during that period of anger, where you unknowingly managed to express what was so lacking in your first book. You even gave your work a title and left it engraved on the ceiling of your house: 'Wild Inspiration'".
And so it was that Mike learned that he had written the best book of his life, but at a high price that nearly took his life. Now he is a successful man who lies in the hospital waiting for his full recovery, and although he no longer recites the same phrase with which he used to wake up every day, still in his heart he wishes for a good and beautiful inspiration that will give meaning back to his dreams and his life.