I could kill whoever got me hooked onto NaNoWriMo (I could also kiss them, and once the thing is finally done, I probably will, but that is a different story). My day is more tightly back than a can of sardines (though I have never personally encountered a can of sardines so would go by what the others say), at least in this month, and it is near impossible to find time to write. The one time that does work for me is the 40 minute train commute to and from office.
And there I was today, sitting in my favourite window seat, scribbling the scene leading up to the first kiss of one of my four protagonists. All my life I have had the ability to relive imaginary scenes involving the people who inhabit my head. So it was today. I could picture beautiful Revathi sitting in a cab wondering how to react to the very obvious advances of her colleague. I have no idea when or how it happened, but at some stage, my face started mirroring the expressions I knew were flitting across Revathi's face. When I looked up to lock my eyes into those of Revathi's colleague, I noticed the person sitting across staring at me. A quick look around showed half the compartment suddenly showing an inordinate amount of interest in something just behind my head.
Why did nobody warn me that writing could be this dangerous!
Or does this happen only to me?