panik: (Screwed)
On my novel; 1,802 words, drawn from my body in a process not unlike disembowelling; three and three-quarter hours of pain, fear and suffering.

On my current TS fic; 2, 197 fragrant, fluffy, lemon-scented words; painlessly birthed in two hours and  ten minutes of total joy and sitting-on-a-cloud-like loveliness.

So, what's going on there, then?
Anyone would think I didn't want to write this bloody nightmare book  novel (perish the thought!).
location: Bed, lights out. Oughta be asleep. Can't
Music:: Mark's soft breathing.

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