This morning, someone on the train complimented my handwriting and asked me if I was writing a book, since he always saw me writing while I was on the train. I hearkened back to that social bingo game we played at the NaNoWriMo 2010 kick-off party, to one of the squares I filled in for several people: “I’ve written on a Train, Bus, or Airplane.” I thanked him and told him that, yeah, I was writing a book, and he asked me about it.

I gave him a short synopsis, like the kind of thing you’d get on the back of the book, or on the inside cover. After that, it got me thinking about why I like to write on the train, I mean, generally speaking. I’m not what you’d call a friendly person. I mean, I’m a nice guy, but I’m not very outgoing, and I’m emotionally distant. I’m cynical, sarcastic, and morbid. It isn’t that I don’t like people. I just don’t like most people.

You know, it isn’t even that I’m hard to get along with. If I share even a little bit of an interest with someone (the more, the better), I can filter myself to an extent that I can make small talk with just about anyone. I can even blend in with groups that I’m otherwise completely ideologically opposed to, like the guys in my Saturday gaming group, for instance. At least two of them are on board with Tea Party, and they play Dungeons and Dragons (I’m trying to picture that as a Venn Diagram), but as long as no real-world politics come up in discussion, we do fine. I mean, mostly fine. Mostly. :P