Wordsmith

Tim sat and typed.
He wondered if this would be the story that got him his break.
Probably not, he thought and deleted the last chapter he'd spent two hours typing.
This was the routine - type, delete, type, delete.
He'd been working on his novel for almost a year now and there was little more than 2,000 words that had survived each cull. He wasn't sure he'd keep those either. He estimated that he might actually finish writing his story if he lived to be around 200.
He sat for the rest of the afternoon alternating between staring blankly at his screen and staring blankly out of the window.
Something peculiar hapened at around 4 o'clock. Tim felt sleepy, which wasn't that unusual, but he began to type. As he did this his eyes rolled back in his head and his fingers moved faster and faster over the keys.
He woke up the following morning in his chair. His hands hurt. He looked at the screen of his laptop. Apparently he'd typed over 100,000 words while he was asleep or in a trance or whatever it was.
He started to read what he'd managed to produce.
For once he didn't have an urge to delete any of it.