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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Mark Twain

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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!

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The trouble vanished out of Tom’s face. He opened his jacket. His shirt collar was securely sewed.

 

“Say, Tom, let’s give this place up, and try somewheres else.”

 

“Now less fetch the guns and things,” said Huck.

 

“Oh, that ain’t any use. Pap would come back to thish-yer town some day and get his claws on it if I didn’t hurry up, and I tell you he’d clean it out pretty quick. What you going to do with yourn, Tom?”

 

“I reckon so,” said Huckleberry; “anyways, I’m suited. I don’t want nothing better’n this. I don’t ever get enough to eat, gen’ally—and here they can’t come and pick at a feller and bullyrag him so.”

 

“Wait jest a minute, duke—answer me this one question, honest and fair; if you didn’t put the money there, say it, and I’ll b’lieve you, and take back everything I said.”

 

The nigger kind of smiled around gradually over his face, like when you heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says:

 

“Well, then, what possessed you to go down there this time of night?”

 

When I got to camp I warn’t feeling very brash, there warn’t much sand in my craw; but I says, this ain’t no time to be fooling around. So I got all my traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of sight, and I put out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like an old last year’s camp, and then clumb a tree.

 

By jings, I most slumped through the floor! But there warn’t no time to swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on shaking; and all the time how the woman did dance around and laugh and cry; and then how they both did fire off questions about Sid, and Mary, and the rest of the tribe.

 

“Then, God be praised, my joy is whole again!  Speed thee, brother—let her come to me!  An’ she say I am not myself—but she will not; no, no, she will know me, I were a fool to doubt it. Bring her—bring the old servants; they, too, will know me.”

 

All night long the glories of his royal estate shone upon him; he moved among great lords and ladies, in a blaze of light, breathing perfumes, drinking in delicious music, and answering the reverent obeisances of the glittering throng as it parted to make way for him, with here a smile, and there a nod of his princely head.

 

The prince’s face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to his hip, but there was nothing there.  There was a storm of laughter, and one boy said—

 

When we saw him last, royalty was just beginning to have a bright side for him.  This bright side went on brightening more and more every day: in a very little while it was become almost all sunshine and delightfulness.  He lost his fears; his misgivings faded out and died; his embarrassments departed, and gave place to an easy and confident bearing.  He worked the whipping-boy mine to ever-increasing profit.

 

“What then?—out with it!” thundered the impatient Hendon, interrupting.

 

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