Quain is writing in his scratchpad:
If I make a word, do I make a world?
The canbolatile drealgan yetted farribly, and the yetting was good.
Once that stage is reached, there’s no going back:
The drealgan scampers off and meets a lady drealgan, and they’re at it like treals in a galfenard.
Why is that always the first thing they do? Who would Adam and Eve it?
Oh dear, I’m starting to tume. This writing lark is better than sex, in some ways. More control.