METAFICTION

Knife sat down at the typewriter, put in a dusty piece of what was once white paper, poised the fingers he had over the keys.

He wrote:

I sit here at the typewriter, put in a dusty piece of what was once white paper, my fingers poised over the keys.

He typed all night and into the next day. It took him a long time, being only about 60% as fast and flexible as he used to be. But eventually he had a story.

He stopped, read what he'd written and tore up the pages.