Meme-sheep
Seen around:
Quote a bit of my writing at me? Find that one story of mine that you really like, and find a sentence or a paragraph that presses your prose-buttons in the right way, and comment here with it? Don't care how long or short.
My fanfiction is at http://www.geocities.com/lady_aethelynde/
The pro-stuff: http://www.angelsparrow.com/
Quote a bit of my writing at me? Find that one story of mine that you really like, and find a sentence or a paragraph that presses your prose-buttons in the right way, and comment here with it? Don't care how long or short.
My fanfiction is at http://www.geocities.com/lady_aethelynde/
The pro-stuff: http://www.angelsparrow.com/
I can't go searching right now
I shall search later, if I can achieve some kind of mental calm, but I wanted to answer this right away.
Re: I can't go searching right now
William looked pained. “Fear. Plain, simple fear. Fear of how beautiful you were as a youth. Fear of myself. Our relationship would have turned most improper very quickly. I read too much of the classics, you see, and not nearly enough of Alabama law or their Bible. You would have been my eromenos, my paidika. Joseph would have killed me for it, and then had me arrested for statutory rape.”
no subject
(Anonymous) 2008-04-16 04:47 pm (UTC)(link)Rafe kissed him again, buying time to think. Love wasn't
something he talked much about. But he felt like he should
say something. "Never stayed so long in any one place," he
whispered. "Never slept with anyone so often." It was the
only way he could think of to say it. "Again?" he whispered.
no subject
The Reviewers didn't like him much, but I'm glad a reader does.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2008-04-17 01:00 am (UTC)(link)no subject
http://community.livejournal.com/little_details/1887608.html?mode=reply
no subject
Of my first view of Paris, I would like to say it was magnificent. I was privileged enough to approach not from the north or south, but from above, as Lord Withycombe is a most accomplished pilot. I wish I could have seen the Cathedral of Notre Dame rising from its island in the middle of the Seine River, and stare raptly at the shockingly scarlet windmill of the Moulin rouge in Montmartre, hypnotized by the spinning of its blades. Even thirty-three years later, the Eiffel Tower remains a marvel of modern architecture. But alas, we arrived by night. The City of Lights was exactly that, a glittering, spun glass confection of lights that drew us down like insects trapped in the glistening walls of a pitcher plant.
--From the journal of Charles Doyle, secretary to Lord Withycombe