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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.
“And how are you, monsieur? No bad feeling between us, though we have got our different ways of looking at things. How are the ‘little gray cells,’ eh? Going strong?”
Poirot hailed the first taxi we met, and directed the driver to Park Lane.
Japp’s jaw fell. “How on earth did you know? Don’t tell me it was those almighty ‘little gray cells’ of yours!”
“Perhaps you are right, my friend. Ah, here is Japp! I recognize his knock.”
“I don’t know—except that he was a short man.”
By driving to the station at once, we were just able to catch a train to London, though not the principal express. Poirot was sad and dissatisfied. For my part, I was tired and dozed in a corner. Suddenly, as we were just moving out of Taunton, Poirot uttered a piercing squeal.
Poirot had trotted briskly into the scullery and was hauling at the rope of the coal-lift.
“An elderly gentleman, wearing glasses. A great invalid, hardly moved out of his cabin.”
Lord Yardly sprang up with an oath. I accompanied him, my heart beating wildly. The Chinaman again! The side door in question was a small one in the angle of the wall, not more than a dozen yards from the scene of the tragedy. As we reached it, I gave a cry. There, just short of the threshold, lay the glittering necklace, evidently dropped by the thief in the panic of his flight. I swooped joyously down on it. Then I uttered another cry which Lord Yardly echoed. For in the middle of the necklace was a great gap. The Star of the East was missing!
“Extraordinary,” cried Ames. “Looks like a seizure—or—what did you say about something he drank?” He picked up the empty cup.
“No, but I saw. Do you know, my friend, I remembered that earlier in the morning, when we had been there together, I had straightened all the objects on the mantelpiece. And, if they were already straightened, there would be no need to straighten them again, unless, in the meantime, someone else had touched them.”
“Then I will begin by asking you about the events of yesterday afternoon. Your mistress had a quarrel?”
“Did you notice any candle grease on the floor when you did the room yesterday?”
A kind of wooden shutter of officialdom came down from Japp’s expressive countenance.
“When I went to draw the curtains, as a rule, sir.”