Gabriel Garcia Marquez learned in 1999 that he had lymphatic cancer. He promptly cloistered himself with a single-minded pursuit not seen perhaps since he wrote the 1967 masterpiece, "One Hundred Years of Solitude," in a little more than a year, his only vice a steady supply of cigarettes provided by his wife, Mercedes. Interesting article, and I hope that were I to receive similar news, my reaction would be to buckle down and get to work. I fear that instead I would eat a lot of tacos and play too much PS2.
My only consolation is that in the depths of the night I know Marquez sits in his house, lit only by the blue television screen and playing Grand Theft Auto after a long day of writing.