Mark McGuire – the greatest living writer of the present day. What a talent, what a man, what a writer! The man who wrote so good that he humbled the entire literature world, and all the Philadelphia residents cherished him more than anything else. Some would say he was more popular around here than Rocky. That’s how vital Mark McGuire has been to his native Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love, the City that gave birth to this great man, this great writer, the genius of the written word, the writer with a capital “W.” This writer wrote better than anybody else in the entire world. Hundreds and thousands of tourists were coming to Philadelphia, first and foremost, to see the City where the great writer lives, to walk the streets where the great writer walks, to get a drink in the bars where the great writer drinks occasionally, and just breathe the air of the City infused with such a quality talent. A ton of inspiring writers would get inspired coming to Philly. Here it is, this is the place, the City that can encourage anybody. Philadelphia, the City that can make you a great somebody. Mark’s name has been part of the local news almost every day. There were reports on the late night’s news coverage covering the day in the life of the most famous writer in the United States of America and the most known and recognized writers and residents of Philadelphia, Mark McGuire. Even though it was hard to spot him wondering the City during the daylight, he was still here; he was around, he was home.

Mark was born in late August of 1973 to his emigrant parents, who came here from Eastern Europe in search of a better life. Mark grew up like a regular American kid in an immigrant family. He was a bright child growing up, a good-looking young man, and everything was alright with him. There was something about him that would make one stop and take a closer look and listen to what he has to say, or just to be around this great man. Mark graduated from a public high school and enrolled in one of the best business schools in Philadelphia City to pursue a degree in Economics. His parents were broke, and he didn’t have enough money to get himself better clothes, a better car, or a better anything. With his outstanding grades and some government help, he enrolled into Drexel, one of the top business schools in Philadelphia. He needed a great school and a great work experience to make sure he’ll get a good-paying job in the future and can help his parents to get old and retire in comfort. His study was tough on him in the beginning. The wealth of knowledge was overwhelming, the pace was too fast, and he often thought that getting into this school was a big mistake. He still had to make his parents proud and pushed himself harder. Eventually, he graduated after four years of torture and was happy to graduate finally.

He has learned some Economics and general business studies, but the most crucial class was English. He took the English class dedicated to the work and life of John Steinbeck. Mark was fascinated with John Steinbeck. While learning about Steinbeck’s life, it seemed to him that a writer’s life was always full of unpredictable, exciting, and exotic events and unusual people who eventually will help shape you as a writer and inspire you to write. Ultimately, life will inspire one to write. In his English class, Mark’s assigned reading was “The Log from the Sea of Cortez,” the novel about Steinbeck’s expedition to the Gulf of California in 1940 to collect and learn about various marine species while writing about his observations and experiences. Mark felt that this is something that he would like to do as well. The life of a writer, Steinbeck’s indeed, must’ve always involved some drama in personal life, drinking, smoking, travels, discoveries, struggles, misery, and desperate writing itself. All these things he will live through eventually. All these things will ultimately influence his writing and will make him as great as Steinbeck has been.

Mark read this book with excitement regardless of plenty of biological terminologies. Mark loved this expedition’s whole idea and thrill, especially Steinbeck’s remarks and thoughts he wrote about in that book. Mark reading “The log from the sea of Cortez,” thought about how fascinating it must’ve been to be John Steinbeck, the most significant American author of his time, living his life full of adventures and excitement while being almost broke financially and while his personal life was falling apart. Nonetheless, he was writing, and he was doing what he wanted to do, creating his art of a written word. He was John Steinbeck. Mark wanted to be like him. For the first time, the idea came to him to become a writer, and it was larger than life.

Mark McGuire has published three successful books and multiple short stories across various publications and journals. His first book, “Immigrant Song,” has put him right up there with all the promising writers. He met his agent around the same time and got a deal for his second book. The second book, “The Houses of the Holy,” has won the Pulitzer prize and put Mark McGuire on the national level. As the sales in the United States went through the roof, the book received international printing and has been translated into more than thirty languages earning him international success as well. “Gods and Monsters,” the third book by mister Mark McGuire received a Nobel prize in literature in 2014. Mark was a proud son of his parents, a happy family man, at that point, and the most respected resident of Philadelphia and the State of Pennsylvania, and the entire country and the entire world. Hollywood bought the rights to all of his books and produced three top-grossing movies. The White House at one time invited Mark to have dinner with a President and his family. Mark has befriended multiple celebrities around the globe who wanted to meet the most incredible author of the present day. His life couldn’t be more exciting and successful. He was the greatest living writer in the world!

Mark owned multiple properties in Pennsylvania, New York, Los Angeles, and the beach house in Jersey but spent most of his time in Philly. Philadelphia, his hometown, had everything his little heart desired. Mark loved the architecture of Philadelphia, the parks, busy during the day streets, and peaceful calming nights of the City of Brotherly Love. The City inspired him and made him want to be an artist and to create his craft. He loved to walk around the City a lot before he became famous, and it was still possible to walk outside and not be bothered by the people. He loved to take long walks down Broad street and onto the Spruce and down to Columbus Boulevard, then take Walnut back to the Market and his bellowed Old City. Mark’s favorite residence was right there in the heart of the Old City, 3rd and Market. He owned the top floor with a nice view of the City, which always inspired him and made him feel at home. This residence was his creative shelter. This place gave birth to his latest third book, five years ago, and since he hasn’t published or wrote anything new.

He was a writer that didn’t write. He had it all and at some point, but everything has left him alone, high and dry. His situation was dire. He thought a lot about his life and death and all the reasons and meaning of everything, but nothing helped. He still wasn’t writing anything new. He drank more too. Mark would wake up early in the morning and look through the window over the dark and still sleepy City. He found this view very comforting and inspiring in the way. Mark loved to get up early in the morning and watch the sun rising and observe how the color of the sky changed, often with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had his typewriter ready to go, but still, nothing came to him. Mark would stare at the blank sheet of paper for a long time. His face would freeze in the sad and thoughtful grimace, thinking about what he should be writing next.

“I am Mark McGuire, the greatest writer in the world! Isn’t it? I used to write well. I used to write days and nights, tired and starved, with a shitty laptop and a word processor, and there were so many great stories and ideas to write about! Where are they now? Why did they all leave me here all alone and desperate? I need to get back to business; I need to write something. It’s been five damned years since my last book. I need to show people some new work, and it got to be good. It better be good! Not good, but great! Yes, it better be great, another great book by Philly’s famous one and only, Mark McGuire! And I feel like I also need some coffee.” He went to the kitchen to brew some fresh, strong black coffee. Pure black was his favorite. Sipping at his coffee from the large white ceramic mug, Mark was staring at another sunrise, looking into the infinite skies thinking. “Maybe I should go for a run while the City is waking up and there aren’t too many people outside? I think I need to get back in shape, both physically and in writing. I need to be strong and active.”

He dressed in his running clothes and running Nike sneakers and went outside. It was September out, and the air was still warm but somehow very clean and fresh this early morning. Mark stretched his legs and started jogging down the street. He ran for about 40 minutes one way and then returned home. Running in the morning in the City was great. As he ran, he listened to a classical station on his phone. The classical music in the morning did the trick. He felt so elevated and fulfilled while listening to it. The running seemed to come easy, and he felt like he could run even more than his usual distance. There were not too many people and cars out yet, and he found a bit of personal comfort and privacy in that. Mark loved his fame and his fans, but more than anything else, he loved his privacy. He could be the nicest guy out there socializing with other people; however, people tired him fast. He felt exhausted and frustrated and had to meditate to find his peace of mind and get back into a stable mental condition. After about an hour and a half of his morning jogging, Mark returned home. He returned yet again to an empty page.

“I need some breakfast,” he thought and went to the fridge for some eggs and veggies. That was his “breakfast of the champion” – two fried eggs and fresh vegetables with a cup of coffee. He ate and drank his coffee. He felt a little better. After Mark finished his breakfast, he looked at an abandoned typewriter and still felt nothing but sadness. It was time for his morning meditation. Mark loved to sit in his favorite rocking chair and drink or listen to music or meditate. Mark meditated for at least thirty minutes every day. Meditation was his remedy for going insane. Writing could’ve been the most liberating and fulfilling thing, or it could turn out to be the most depressing, uneventful, and devastating experience for a writer. Mark has had it all. He’s been around for long enough; he knew things, he knew what it meant to be a writer, especially a good writer.

“I need to write something now. I know I can. Maybe not today, maybe tomorrow? Who knows, I just hope it will come back to me. I wish this meditation helped more, or whiskey, or even running. Fuck, anything would be helpful to get me started at the typer. Once I am there, I am truly there. I can kill, I can destroy, I can write like no one around! Maybe, I just need to relax a little bit more and watch some TV or something?”

TV bored him fast; there was nothing on it that would fascinate him. “I’d rather read a book.” Mark grabbed “Ask the Dust” by John Fante and started reading. Oh, John Fante! The lost and long-forgotten one of the Great American writers! What a man! What a writer! Reading Fante was like breathing the fresh air. His writing always seemed so easy and smooth and funny and nicely composed. Mark admired John Fante a lot. He was another significant influence on Mark’s writing. Reading anything Fante did would make any idiot start writing himself. He read for about two hours and stopped, then went to his home bar and grabbed himself a glass of whiskey. Whiskey felt good. He sat back in his chair and read some more. After a while, he thought he could go back to his writing again. He was standing before his typewriter, looking at this machine with slight curiosity. “Ok, my dear friend. I want you back. I want to be friends with you again. Help me put a few pages, and I will never forget your generosity, and I shall always cherish our friendship.” He came closer and started to type:

“It has been a cold and dark morning, and the City was still asleep. John woke up after he heard the harsh noise which came from the street. He wondered what the hell that was. He woke up and took a shower. The shower felt sobering and refreshing, and John felt better and calm. Even yesterday’s hangover was gone within minutes. His wife called him a day before, and he refused to talk to her. They were divorced for the last two years but still had to talk to each other from time to time, especially to discuss the alimony payments and when the child can stay over. John had enough of that. He wanted to move on. He wanted to leave town, but he couldn’t. He missed his son and loved him dearly. Why was he ever involved with this woman in the first place? Why was he so stupid?”

Mark stopped for a moment, re-filled his whiskey, and tried to continue but didn’t know how to. He stared some more at the half-full page. He needed some more time to focus. He stepped back, turned to the window with the city view, and watched people move on the streets and cars drive back and forth. The City was alive and busy again. There is so much life in there. Mark felt nostalgic for a moment. He reminisced about the days when he was a poor student, with no car, no money, no books published. How simple was life back then? How great and terrifying it felt not to know what the next day will bring and not to be sure if the very few dollars in your pocket will last long enough. He was young and starved, and there was something about that state of mind. When your back is against the wall, and you have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, you act fast, you think quickly, have no time to discuss anything, no time for bullshit, only actions, clear, precise, concrete steps. Those actions made him write in the first place. He wrote his first book in about three months. He remembered the feeling of finishing his last page and then just stare at the pile of paper. “This is my book! My very first book!” He said, smiling proudly. That moment was worth reliving a hundred times.

Moments like that usually don’t happen too often. Unfortunately, things were not so easy as they seemed. He was not starving; he wasn’t hungry; he wasn’t in the state of his back-against-the-wall. Once the most celebrated people in Philadelphia, he was wealthy, well-respected, and an established writer. He did not wish for anything anymore and for many-many more years to come. His wife divorced him two years ago, and now he had a lot more time to spend on his writing. And he did, but he didn’t write. It just didn’t come to him. Whatever came out of him went straight into a trash bin. The writing was never easy. The writing was never easy for anybody, not even for Fante.
The phone rang.

“Hello, this is David Fitzwater, from The Philadelphia Inquirer. I would like to speak to Mark McGuire if possible?”
“Mark McGuire’s listening.”
“Hello, Mr. McGuire, I am the main editor of Philadelphia Inquirer, and we would like to do an interview with you and let our people, Philadelphia residents to know what you have been working on and how your life is going these days. Would you be willing to sit down with me for an interview?”
“Um, sure, let’s do this.”
“How about tomorrow, if possible? Afternoon works?”
“Yeh, tomorrow afternoon works; around 1 pm is good for me.”
“Sounds good, Mark. Thank you very much. I am looking forward to talking to you tomorrow. You have a great day yourself.”
“Thank you, David, you as well. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He hung up. One more interview to talk about nothing. Because nothing mostly was happening in his life. People asked him to do an interview almost every day, either for journals, newspapers or TV shows. He had his “great life story” ready to go. However, not everything was so great and smooth in his life anymore. After the third book, when the big success hit him, everything changed. One might think that he had finally achieved what all writers in the world would like to achieve, the Nobel prize in literature, worldwide success, and endless fame, limitless possibilities, and opportunities in movies, books, and TV. Everything changed entirely for Mark to the worst.