(This "golden oldie" NRJW post was originally published on January 30, 2007.)

I've been writing all morning, and just now I decided to break for "elevenses," as my British friends call it. I made a lovely pot of English Breakfast tea, and just at the end of its steeping time, I remembered that my sugar bowl needed a refill.

I had been composing lines of dialogue as I prepared the tea, my laptop computer sitting just a few feet away on the kitchen table. I started to rush over there and enter the exchange I'd just thought up, but then I paused to say it out loud first. Would it sound as clever as I hoped?

It did, so I said it again. Then, chuckling over my amazing wit, I lifted the teapot and...

Poured tea into the nearly-empty sugar bowl.

I didn't merely start to pour it; I actually filled the container more than half full before I realized what I was doing.

But this was not a problem, I quickly assured myself. In fact, this solved a problem, because now I had something to blog about. Heck, I could even post a photo. So I grabbed my camera and then ran over here to whip out this post. As soon as I hit Publish, I'm going back to writing that scintillating dialogue.

There are two kinds of people reading this right now: those who are wondering how I could have done something so moronic, and those who know how I did it because they, too, are fiction writers.

Maybe we could have a little fun with that second group. Fess up, friends: What goofy things have your bodies done while your minds were wandering in storylands of your own making?