The dwarf, back from dinner with his folks, sat down at his laptop so as to begin writing his masterpiece, in couplets, three-thousand pages long (it would be). He got up to pour himself a scotch. He took a sip. He returned to his chair and posted his Facebook status: Beginning my masterpiece.
He watched a couple of YouTubes.
He looked up a few things on Wikipedia.
He wrote a review on Yelp for the dinner with his folks.
He tweeted and re-tweeted.
He added to his Amazon Wish List.
He commented himself on his own Facebook status and picked up his phone, at the sound of the ding, meaning that somebody had commented on his status, forgetting, momentarily, that it had been him.
Now, because his phone was in his hand, he spent a while first sexting his mother, quite accidentally, but only because her name was Mary, as in next to Marianne, his childhood friend and want-to-be girlfriend, who had once given him mouth-to-mouth, no kidding. Marianne was a nurse now in Detroit and, as he had recently learned (from her, actually), a lesbian, although he still refused to believe it. He texted her this: 8===> :-O
He heard back from neither his mom nor Marianne.
He started a playlist in iTunes. It took him nearly an hour to decide not only on the correct number and tenor of the songs but on their proper order, for optimal, masterful, writing output.
When thus ready, he opened a Word document and typed the title, tentatively My Masterpiece. He right-aligned and centered it. He played around with font size and style until satisfied and then, finally exhausted, went to bed.