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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

Improve your writing style by practicing using this free tool

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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Type these lines in the boxes below to practice and improve your writing style.

'No, my Colonel,' the boy said. 'The current is not stable.'

 

'Nothing. Or maybe that is not true. Mostly it was just a hand.'

 

It was a folded, old U.S.O.D. blanket. Renata was talking to the gondoliere, her hair blowing. The gondoliere wore a heavy blue navy sweater and he was bare-headed too.

 

'You're wrong,' she said. 'Richard. There is very much sensation in that hand.'

 

I better just give her my love. But how the hell do you send it? And how do you keep it fresh? They can't pack it in dry ice.

 

'I say it because it's true/ Alice said. Tm the only one here that ever knew Steve Ketchel and I come from Mance-lona and I knew him there and it's true and you know it's true and God can strike me dead if it isn't true.'

 

'It is a historic tune,' the Mexican said. 'It is the tune of the real revolution.'

 

'Listen,' said Mr. Frazer. 'Why should the people be operated on without an anaesthetic?'

 

'I don't quarrel. I never want to quarrel. Let's not quarrel any more. No matter how nervous we get. Maybe they will be back with another truck to-day. Maybe the plane will come.'

 

A little man sat behind a desk at the far side of the room. Over his head was a bull's head, stuffed by a Madrid ta&i-dernust; on the walls were framed photographs and bullfight posters.

 

They came. But they did not come as the Mako had come. One turned and went out of sight under the skiff and the old man could feel the skiff shake as he jerked and pulled on the fish. The other watched the old man with his slitted yellow eyes and then came in fast with his half circle of jaws wide to hit the fish where he had already been bitten. The line showed clearly on the top of his brown head and back where the brain joined the spinal cord and the old man drove the knife on the oar into the juncture, withdrew it, and drove it in again into the shark's yellow cat-like eyes. The shark let go of the fish and slid down, swallowing what he had taken as he died.

 

"Do you want a drink of any kind?" the proprietor asked.

 

A small bird came toward the skiff from the north. He was a warbler and flying very low over the water. The old man could see that he was very tired.

 

He took all his pain and what was left of his strength and his long gone pride and he put it against the fish's agony and the fish came over onto his side and swam gently on his side, his bill almost touching the planking of the skiff and started to pass the boat, long, deep, wide, silver and barred with purple and interminable in the water.

 

There was yellow weed on the line but the old man knew that only made an added drag and he was pleased. It was the yellow Gulf weed that had made so much phosphorescence in the night.

 

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