In the last years it is germinating as rabbits the "writers' news hide and mysterious", those that refuse to pictures and interviews to arrive to the point of to doubt of his existence. Usually some consider them inhabitants of the static dawn, nocturnal beings of the silent night. Maybe because in the arms of the divine night, when in lathe everything is immobile, their hands move agitated fingers. Thoughts and imagination dance without music in the quietness of the evening, and silence is only broken by the rhythm of the beat of a keyboard. In spite of distant, for the window they observe the emptiness of the streets, as who wants the ideas to walk in the place where passed steps, formerly they occupied their sidewalks. Afflicted, they are always awaiting some revelation, of an epiphany