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From Pir8fancier's LJ, which is nice advice for anyone who is feeling lazy or untalented or just confused in their fanfic or original writings. Or if you're, say, annoyed that a character has since stopped acting like a Raskolnikov from Hell and has instead turned into a Knight Templar. How in the hell did that happen? I have no idea. Whatever. He can stay a Templar for now, I am hungry.
http://www.livejournal.com/users/pir8fancier/63816.html#cutid1
http://www.livejournal.com/users/pir8fancier/63816.html#cutid1
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From:
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"I am sorry. I am sorry." As though she felt the same weakness in her legs, the woman was falling softly to her knees, with an easy sort of practice though it must have been painful to land unprotected on the stone. James had only a moment for that thought, and then her quiet-voiced litany reached his ears.
Lifting a hand to his face, he felt the frown there, the unhappy twist to his mouth, and gasped, lowering his hand to her head to draw her eyes back up, trying to make himself smile.
"You have no cause to be," he told her quickly, the muscles in his cheeks stiff and unbending. He knew his scowl deepened, and was grateful at least that her fear had not yet afforded her a glance at his expression. Words caught in his mouth, left him chewing on empty air for a moment, and then he allowed his knees to give at last, bringing him face to face with her loveliness, to the tears trailing from eyes down to her chin, as convinced of her damnation as the child-Rene had been, burning in his fever.
"And no one will make you feel so." He bent his head as he spoke, clasping her hands between them and letting the dim light of the dyed glass fall over them as they prayed.