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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Mark Twain

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 sha’n’t! Why don’t you fall yourself? You’re getting the worst of it.”

 

“Please don’t ever tell I told you,” were Huck’s first words when he got in. “Please don’t—I’d be killed, sure—but the widow’s been good friends to me sometimes, and I want to tell—I will tell if you’ll promise you won’t ever say it was me.”

 

Two men entered. Each boy said to himself: “There’s the old deaf and dumb Spaniard that’s been about town once or twice lately—never saw t’other man before.”

 

There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment later the church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes above his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and then another pair of eyes followed the minister’s, and then almost with one impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of drooping rags, sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in the unused gallery listening to their own funeral sermon!

 

They were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble look, and when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going to prepare theirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well—something they ate at dinner had disagreed with them.

 

“Take no thought of him, my prince:  he is not worthy.  Kiss me once again, and go to thy trifles and amusements; for my malady distresseth me.  I am aweary, and would rest.  Go with thine uncle Hertford and thy people, and come again when my body is refreshed.”

 

A wild burst of laughter followed, partly of derision and partly of delight in the excellence of the joke.  The King was stung.  He said sharply—

 

“Deign to spit upon us, O Sire, that our children’s children may tell of thy princely condescension, and be proud and happy for ever!”

 

Tom’s departure had left his two noble guardians alone.  They mused a while, with much head-shaking and walking the floor, then Lord St. John said—

 

“‘There was a woman in our town, In our town did dwell—’

 

“Why, where ever did you go?” he says. “Your aunt’s been mighty uneasy.”

 

When it was daylight, here was the clear Ohio water inshore, sure enough, and outside was the old regular Muddy! So it was all up with Cairo.

 

The duke says yes. Then there was a fine time. Everybody sings out, “Sold!” and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and them tragedians. But a big, fine looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts:

 

“No, your majesty”—which was the way I always called him when nobody but our gang warn’t around.

 

“Oh, it’s de dad-blame’ witches, sah, en I wisht I was dead, I do. Dey’s awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos’ kill me, dey sk’yers me so. Please to don’t tell nobody ’bout it sah, er ole Mars Silas he’ll scole me; ’kase he say dey ain’t no witches. I jis’ wish to goodness he was heah now—den what would he say! I jis’ bet he couldn’ fine no way to git aroun’ it dis time. But it’s awluz jis’ so; people dat’s sot, stays sot; dey won’t look into noth’n’en fine it out f’r deyselves, en when you fine it out en tell um ’bout it, dey doan’ b’lieve you.”

 

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