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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

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The bird looked at him when he spoke. He was too tired even to examine the line and he teetered on it as his delicate feet gripped it fast.

 

"I know how to care for them. In the night I spat something strange and felt something in my chest was broken."

 

He knelt down and found the tuna under the stern with the gaff and drew it toward him keeping it clear of the coiled lines. Holding the line with his left shoulder again, and bracing on his left hand and arm, he took the tuna off the gaff hook and put the gaff back in place. He put one knee on the fish and cut strips of dark red meat longitudinally from the back of the head to the tail. They were wedge-shaped strips and he cut them from next to the back bone down to the edge of the belly. When he had cut six strips he spread them out on the wood of the bow, wiped his knife on his trousers, and lifted the carcass of the bonito by the tail and dropped it overboard.

 

"Qué va," the boy said. "It is what a man must do."

 

"Age is my alarm clock," the old man said. "Why do old men wake so early? Is it to have one longer day?"

 

We had stopped at the floor our rooms were on. She went straight down the hall and into Romero’s room. She did not knock. She simply opened the door, went in, and closed it behind her.

 

“Be a good chap, Jake. Don’t tell her anything more about him. Tell her how they beat their old mothers.”

 

I left the crowd in the café and went over to the hotel to get shaved for dinner. I was shaving in my room when there was a knock on the door.

 

“All right,” I said. We got out from the crowd. Brett went to the dressing-room.

 

“I do. Remember him perfectly. Look, Jake, we’ll come down the night of the 25th. Brett can’t get up in the morning.”

 

'Then I could stop and pray at the tomb of my grandfather on the way to the ranch.'

 

We went out to wherever they were running every day with the car from Maisons and that was the most fun of all. I was glad when the horses came back from Deauville and the summer. Even though it meant no more bumming in the woods, 'cause then we'd ride to Enghien or Tremblay or St. Cloud and watch them from the trainers' and jockeys' stand. I sure learned about racing from going out with that gang and the fun of it was going every day.

 

Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well. Well, he would not have to fail at trying to write them either. Maybe you could never write them, and that was why you put them off and delayed the starting. Well, he would never know, now.

 

slowly, stepping flat-footed forward, his left foot stepping forward, his right dragging up to it.

 

'They're drunk,' she said. 'That's what makes the trouble. Then they go somewhere else and say they got it here. Maybe they don't even remember.' She spoke French, but it was only French occasionally, and there were many English words and some English constructions.

 

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