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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.
“No disparagement to Jane, mind you,” continued the other. “She’s a real nice girl, and some fellow will fall in love with her right away.”
“The balcony only goes along as far as the boudoir. We were there.”
“Do you always carry it—him—with you?” inquired Tommy with burning curiosity.
“You had better go down and see him, Ivan. Find out what he wants.”
At one o’clock Annette reappeared with another tray, but this time Conrad accompanied her.
“Some men don’t carry a pocket-book or notecase of any kind.”
“A sensational discovery was made yesterday at the Mill House, Marlow. The Mill House, which is the property of Sir Eustace Pedler, M.P., is to be let unfurnished, and an order to view this property was found in the pocket of the man who was at first thought to have committed suicide by throwing himself on the live rail at Hyde Park Corner Tube Station. In an upper room of the Mill House the body of a beautiful young woman was discovered yesterday, strangled. She is thought to be a foreigner, but so far has not been identified. The police are reported to have a clue. Sir Eustace Pedler, the owner of the Mill House, is wintering on the Riviera.”
“There is such a thing as unconscious self-revelation, though.”
“I beg your pardon, miss, I thought you called out.”
“Exactly,” I hastened to reply. “And which was your favourite picture?”
“Do you young people want lights, or do you enjoy the twilight?” she asked. “Will you take Mrs. Inglethorp her coffee, Cynthia? I will pour it out.”
“I daren’t do it, Mr. Poirot. I’d take your word, but there’s others over me who’ll be asking what the devil I mean by it. Can’t you give me a little more to go on?”
“I must confess that I see nothing particularly curious about it.”
“I’ll help you to hang Alfred with pleasure,” she replied gruffly. “Hanging’s too good for him. Ought to be drawn and quartered, like in good old times.”
“What’s the matter?” I asked, sitting up in bed, and trying to collect my scattered thoughts.