Still failing to get on with the next book, in spite of knowing perfectly well what the plot is and having done a large chunk of research for it *last* *year*. It involves lots of May-December nookie. And angst. And comfort nookie for the angst. I would enjoy writing this so much. Unfortunately, what my life contains at the moment is Day Job and Unpacking After The Move.
A more cheerful reason for failing to get on with my hot gay romance novel is that later this week I shall have hot gay romance tv series. Or at least radio series, as this week it's the radio plays for Torchwood's new season, followed by the five-parter tv mini-series all next week. Pretty boys kissing on primetime tv. Nom nom nom. Shallow, me?
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