Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway
Improve your writing style by practicing using this free tool
Practice makes perfect, sure, we all know that. But practice what?
If you do not have a good writing style, and you keep writing in that same style, then, it does not matter how much you write. At the end, you will still have that not so good writing style.
Here's how you improve
You practice writing in the style of popular authors. Slowly, but surely, your brain will start picking up that same wonderful writing style which readers are loving so much, and your own writing style will improve. Makes sense?
Its all about training your brain to form sentences in a different way than what you are normally used to.
The difference is the same as a trained boxer, verses a regular guy. Who do you think will win a fight if the two go at it?
Practice writing like professionals!
Practice writing what is already there in popular books, and soon, you yourself would be writing in a similar style, in a similar flow.
Train your brain to write like professionals!
Spend at least half an hour with this tool, practicing writing like professionals.
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:
- Abraham Bram Stoker
- Agatha Christie
- Arthur Conan Doyle
- Charles Dickens
- Ernest Hemingway
- Hg Wells
- Jane Austen
- Mark Twain
- Rudyard Kipling
Type these lines in the boxes below to practice and improve your writing style.
'Oh, my God, I don't know. His wife weighs two hundred twenty-five pounds. She don 5 t work. She don't cook. She gives him beans en can.'
They all liked Luz. As he walked back along the halls he thought of Luz in his bed.
'I know where there's black squirrels, Daddy,' Nick said.
'No, probably I won't be. But, oh, if I could only be a saint! I'd be perfectly happy.'
Robert Wilson, whose entire occupation had been with the lion and the problem he presented, and who had not been thinking about Macomber except to note that he was rather windy, suddenly felt as though he had opened the wrong door in an hotel and seen something shameful.
'I love you very truly, too. Whatever that means in American. I also love you in Italian, against all my judgment and all of my wishes.'
They came over too high and never circled. They only looked down and went on towards the open sea.
'Tell the waiters if you like. I'm sure it won't come as a great shock to them.'
'Nothing. Or maybe that is not true. Mostly it was just a hand.'
'I'm not lonely when I'm working. I have to think too hard to ever be lonely.'
"Albacore," he said aloud. "He'll make a beautiful bait. He'll weigh ten pounds."
He took all his pain and what was left of his strength and his long gone pride and he put it against the fish's agony and the fish came over onto his side and swam gently on his side, his bill almost touching the planking of the skiff and started to pass the boat, long, deep, wide, silver and barred with purple and interminable in the water.
The old man would have liked to keep his hand in the salt water longer but he was afraid of another sudden lurch by the fish and he stood up and braced himself and held his hand up against the sun. It was only a line burn that had cut his flesh. But it was in the working part of his hand. He knew he would need his hands before this was over and he did not like to be cut before it started.
The breeze was fresh now and he sailed on well. He watched only the forward part of the fish and some of his hope returned.
"No. I will make it later on. Or I may eat the rice cold."
