Every time, I kind of... don't.
This is the latest. John and Rodney do Roman history, and leave it in shattered pieces in their wake. The Fall of the Roman Empire.
Several readers have asked me over the years why half my stuff makes them sob with abject heartbreak, and the other half makes them fall off their chair laughing. I have no idea. Maybe there's two of me, or something. Though perhaps there's hope for me. For eleven years, I wrote either Extreme Angst or Extreme Silliness. In the last six months, I've written several stories that fall into neither category. I've even managed the warm fuzzies of friendship fic. Maybe I'm growing up, or something.