Practice and improve writing style. Write like Agatha Christie
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.
I waited to hear no more, but tore up the village to find Poirot.
“Ah!” murmured Poirot to himself. “But it is an idea, that!”
“I am of the most serious. For the most serious of all things hangs in the balance.”
“Here comes Miss Howard,” said Poirot suddenly. “She is the very person. But I am in her black books, since I cleared Mr. Inglethorp. Still, we can but try.”
“Yes, that is so.” I felt an inexpressible lightening of the heart. Mary Cavendish could certainly not rest under suspicion.
“Certainly we did,” said the doctor dryly. “Every conceivable thing that could be done was tried.”
“Eh, eh! but that is very charming of you. My grey cells are at your disposal. You have made no search yourself?”
I blanched. All around me I seemed to feel an atmosphere of evil, subtle and menacing. A horrible thought flashed across me. Supposing I were the next?
She paused for breath. Poirot beamed encouragement.
About half an hour later, a young woman emerged in brilliant and varied clothing. With a sigh of satisfaction, Poirot tiptoed back into the flat.
It was too late to hand in my roll to-day. I had to hurry home to Kensington so as not to be late for dinner. It occurred to me that there was an easy way of verifying whether some of my conclusions were correct. I asked Mr. Flemming whether there had been a camera amongst the dead man’s belongings. I knew that he had taken an interest in the case and was conversant with all the details.
“But, Suzanne, nothing happened here at one o’clock on the 22nd?”
“I’ve no doubt you will too,” he said indifferently.
I jumped at the chance. London! The place for things to happen.
All this because Guy Pagett came into my bedroom this morning with a telegram in his hand and a face as long as a mute at a funeral.