bell notificationshomepageloginedit profileclubsdmBox

Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

Improve your writing style by practicing using this free tool

Practice and improve your writing style below

Below, I have some random texts from popular authors. All you have to do is, spend some time daily, and type these lines in the box below. And, eventually, your brain picks the writing style, and your own writing style improves!

Practice writing like:

Type these lines in the boxes below to practice and improve your writing style.

'I can't stop it happening,' the boy said. e l pray all night and I pray in the daytime. It is a sin, a constant sin against purity.'

 

Zurito sat there, his feet in the box-stirrups, his great legs in the buckskin-covered armour gripping the horse, the reins in his left hand, the long pic held in his right hand, his broad hat well down over his eyes to shade them from the lights, watching the distant door of the toril. His horse's ears quivered. Zurito patted him with his left hand.

 

'You just told me you had no money to pay me,' I said. 'And now you want to give fifty pesos to this punk.'

 

Manuel lifted the muleta at him. The bull did not move. Only his eyes watched.

 

The mess boy had started them already, lifting the bottles out of the canvas cooling bags that sweated wet in the wind that blew through the trees that shaded the tents.

 

'Thank you, sir,' said Jackson. 'I'd like to read him any time I have time. He has a nice practical looking place. What did you say the name was?'

 

'I don't know, my Colonel. I suppose it is a natural process.'

 

'With me, I guess,' the Colonel said. 'I'm sorry, Daughter.'

 

Neither of them said anything and then the girl said, 'That boy, he is a man now, of course, and goes with very many women to hide what he is, painted my portrait once. You can have it if you like.'

 

'You are,' the Colonel said. 'Complete with handles and with the flag on top.'

 

“His name’s on the programme. Don Manuel Orquito, the pirotecnico of esta ciudad.”

 

“Of course you have, my dear,” Brett said. “I was only ragging.”

 

“Oh, well,” I said, “let’s go to Senlis.”

 

Montoya came up to our table. He had a telegram in his hand. “It’s for you.” He handed it to me.

 

“No,” I said, “I guess you don’t pedal it.”

 

 

Back to top