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Practice and improve writing style.
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.
“But not at all. I am always at your service. These young detectives of the school of Giraud, they are all alike—rude, sneering fellows. They do not realize that an examining magistrate of my—er—experience is bound to have a certain discernment, a certain—flair. Enfin! the politeness of the old school is infinitely more to my taste. Therefore, my dear friend, command me in any way you will. We know a thing or two, you and I—eh?”
Then, to my surprise, Poirot uttered almost the same words as he had uttered to Bex the previous evening:
“My only Aunt!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Listen. We are agreed that Mrs. Renauld’s story is a fabrication. Is it not possible, then, that Mr. Renauld left the house to keep an appointment—possibly with the murderer—leaving the front door open for his return. But he did not return, and the next morning he is found, stabbed in the back.”
“Why did you take the dagger?” I asked presently.
Suddenly a diminutive boy spoke at Tommy’s elbow:
“I had a touch of toothache, ma’am,” said Tuppence glibly. “So thought it better to come home and have a quiet evening.”
But the girl interrupted. Springing to her feet, she cried out angrily:
Her meditations were interrupted by Julius, who adjured her to “get right in.”
“Well, shopping is almost as good,” said Tuppence dreamily. “Think of buying old furniture, and bright carpets, and futurist silk curtains, and a polished dining-table, and a divan with lots of cushions.”
Sir Ernest Heavywether, the famous K.C., had been engaged to defend him.
“Oh, I see what you mean. No, I don’t know. I said bolted, meaning that it was fastened, and I could not open it, but I believe all the doors were found bolted on the inside.”
“Yes, it is queer. One thing is certain, she overheard a good deal more of that ‘private conversation’ than she was willing to admit.”
“Perhaps, though, you have a warrant for his arrest in your pocket now,” suggested Poirot.
Poirot came to the point at once, with a business-like briskness.