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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.
“I reckoned it would be no good worrying you with a petty little business like this.”
Tuppence shook her head sadly, as she reviewed her backsliding.
Suddenly, to Tommy’s complete surprise, Tuppence dragged him into the little space by the side of the lift where the shadow was deepest.
“Certainly. I think there is a room here where we shall be quite undisturbed.”
“You hell-hound of a spy,” he screamed. “We will give you short shrift. Kill him! Kill him!”
Halliday rang the bell, and gave a short order to the footman. A few minutes later Jane Mason entered the room, a respectable, hard-featured woman, as emotionless in the face of tragedy as only a good servant can be.
“Yes sir, regular upset—so nervous she didn’t seem to know what she was saying.”
“Well!” Poirot got up briskly. “That is all I can do here—except, monsieur, that I would ask you to tell me everything—but everything!”
“Yes,” remarked Halliday. “Inspector Japp is in hopes that that may help us to fix the spot where the crime took place. Anyone who saw her would remember her.”
Doors banged; a stentorian voice shouted: “Plymouth only. Change for Torquay. Plymouth next stop.” Then a whistle blew, and the train drew slowly out of the station.
Eric was our pseudonym for Race. I chose it because it is a name I dislike exceedingly. There was clearly nothing to be done until I could see Pagett. Suzanne employed herself in sending off a long soothing cable to the far-off Clarence. She became quite sentimental over him. In her way—which of course is quite different from me and Harry—she is really fond of Clarence.
“Oh, not Pagett—the other fellow. Rayburn, he called himself.”
“That’s just what I say, Sir Eustace, we must have somewhere to work——”
“What do you torment me for? Why are you mocking at me? Why do you say that—laughing into your hair?”
I slipped up on deck. The breeze was fresh and cool. The boat was rolling a little in the choppy sea. The decks were dark and deserted. It was after midnight.