I'll admit that this is more about the experience of writing whilst your partner is in the same room, but I was toying with the idea of trying Discworld fic at the time and this happened.

Title: A Study in, well it's a kind of scorched brown colour with black crispy bits now...
Author: clarrie
Disclaimer: The concept of the Discworld and the characters of Lady Sybil and Sir Samuel Vimes belong to Terry Pratchett and first appeared in the book 'Guards! Guards!'

It was another damp night in the twin cities of Ankh Morpork, dark with the black of an estate agent's soul, with fog that threatened to choke the life from your throat where you stood.
I took the cigarette from between my lips, half chewed through with tension, a soggy, spit soaked, witness to the strain this case was placing us all under.
'Sir?' Young Parrot tugged on my sleeve and stared up at me with hope in his too wide eyes. 'It'll be ok, won't it Sir?' I stared down at the ragged little street arab, his faith and spirit unextinguished by the things he witnessed every day. 'Sir?' The moonlight shone on his pale young face as -

'No moon, dear.'
'What?' Vimes looked up from his writing and stared across the room. 'Moon?'
'You just said it was as black as an estate agent's soul. No moonlight.' Lady Sybil licked her finger and turned another page of 'In search of Draconis', 'And I thought that you'd decided to write a memoir of the Wickman and Stronginthearm case? I seem to remember that taking place entirely during the daytime. Yes, because I remember you saying...'
'Fine,' Vimes grumbled to himself, 'No moon.' He scratched through what he had written so far and began again.

I woke, coughing, and realised that someone had opened the door. The journey from horizontal was to vertical was a painful one, I hear pain is good for the soul and if so I've got the strongest soul this side of Pseudopolis. I opened my eyes and saw that the door had let in something more poisonous than just the Ankh Morpork air.
'I was told you were the man to see, if you had a problem?' This dame was class, she sweated money like a cold beer on a hot day. A redhead, my daddy always warned me about redheaded broads, nothing but trouble, only I was being blinded by the dollar signs dancing in front of me. This gal was the bill fairy and I wasn't about to pass up my chance to ride the easy train. I played it cool. 'Depends who's asking.'
She stared at me like an iced volcano. 'They call me Lady S-

'Please don't dear, it's not nice, or clever,' Lady Sybil rubbed Antirrhinum Majus the third (currently known as Sparky) gently behind the ears, 'and it amuses no-one.'
Vimes opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a burning sensation at his ankles. 'F...BO...Damn.' He gritted his teeth and raised his foot. 'Oh damn and blast.'
'Don't kick Giggles, dear. ' Said Sybil, not looking up from her work. 'It won't make you feel any better and he's already a little unstable.' Lady Sybil picked up her book and rose to leave the room. 'Try not to be up too late.'
'Hmph.' Grunted Vimes scribbling across what he'd written with a pattern of lines that, although obviously random, bore a remarkable resemblance to a sketch of a swamp dragon being kicked arse upwards. He began again.

Down these mean streets a man must go, only not if it's raining and there's a doorway handy, and preferably not at chucking out time, or at all during the dwarfish new year if he knows what's good for him, or when -

Vimes sighed and ran a line through what he had written. He bit down hard on the end of his pencil and began again.

'I never did it!' Jimmy the Secateurs whined as I backed him silently against the wall, 'You can't prove anything copper I di-'

'Bing biddly bing bong beep.'
'WHAT!' Vimes glared darkly at the cringing Dis-organiser.
'Eleven thirty pee em. Remember to take a bath before the hot water runs cold.' The imp peered over Vimes' shoulder at his writing. 'Did you mean secretors there?'
'No, secateurs.' Grunted Vimes.
'Oh, are you sure? You wouldn't like to replace it with secretors?'
'No. I meant secateurs.'
'Oh.' The imp paused thoughtfully. 'That's a very long sentence isn't it? Are you sure you didn't mean jimmies the secateurs?'
Vimes ground his teeth and began again.

'I was proceeding in a westerly direction along Long Ducks Waters when the.... '