My name's Marcos Pegini. I would to introduce myself with a short text I wrote while insomniac. There’s nothing I’m thinking about now. I would like to write stories, but I’m not confident enough. First of all I should consider reflecting about ‘’why writing?’’ There is a sort of glamour about writing, I guess. However, I don’t think this is a proper explanation to my aspiration. I’m not sure I can recall the first time I considered writing. I think it happened when I first read the novel Ask The Dust by John Fante. I can’t explain exactly how and why, but it inspired me and it impressed sort of a romanticized life of a writer. Then I read all sorts of stories in my teens. Salinger, Bukowski, Kerouac and Joyce were my first literary heroes and, at that point, they gave me the impression that writing was the ultimate release of individuality. Many years have passed and the most I could do was finishing some poems and a short story, of which I was obviously not satisfied with. All the time I started writing something, I felt I was entering a tunnel I couldn’t help but get stuck in the middle of it and trapped, so it scary it was. Since the day that I read Fante, Salinger and Joyce, I’ve been doomed to become a writer or die trying. I’ll live with it and with the intense, heart-eating, mind-disturbing crave for more, to write more, to write new and better. Now, I’m 27, I haven’t done much, but graduated in Letters and became an English teacher. I still wake up with the feeling that I should write and go to sleep with the frustration of not having written anything that day.