Who do you write like?

Apparently, I write like James Joyce. The fact that my writing is similar to the famous author, suggests that I'm not the only one! Take the test and see who you write like:


I write like
James Joyce

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
David Foster Wallace

Don't know who he is.

Oh great he hung himself!

That was fun. I don't know how it does it so quick....

I used two pieces of writing from Ghost Orchid and a short story; they both came back Dan Brown.

Then I used the blog I have coming up on Dames of Dialogue entitled, "Inspiration to Publication," about the writing of Ghost Orchid. This came back Margaret Atwood.

Can I trade with anyone?

THE BRUNCH THAT WENT CRUNCH
Marygrey was expecting her first litter of baby rabbits “any day now.” When Wooffer went to see her that Sunday morning, he found her outside the rabbits burrow cleaning the dirt from her whiskers and eyelashes. She had been making her room in the burrow bigger for her new babies. She had dug all around the walls to make it larger, and was now ready to make the thick fur bed for the babies to lie on. Wooffer asked Marygrey when the babies would arrive, and Marygrey said, “Any day now.” Everyone on the farm had asked the same question and everyone had gotten the same answer: “Any day now.” Everyone hoped it would be soon, especially Marygrey. Wooffer left Marygrey still cleaning her whiskers. Then he went to Old Agnes to say good morning to her and the rest of the field mice who lived right next door to Marygrey and the other rabbits.
Old Agnes was in a dither, as usual, but this time she was more in even more of a dither. It seemed that today was her turn to entertain the other Mothers of Thousands from the “Mothers of Thousands Club.” She had been getting ready for a week. She had swept out all the halls and chambers of the Castle of a Mouse House and woven a grass rug for the floor and picked a bunch of Swamp Pinks to decorate the table. The table sat in the main hall, which was the only room big enough for such a table that would be long enough to have her whole family sit down to dinner at once. She said to Wooffer, “I need something special to decorate the walls. They are so plain!”
Wooffer thought for a while and then exclaimed, “I know just the thing! I will be right back!” And off he ran. He was back in a very short time with all the pictures of the flood that the Thousands had drawn and put little hearts and their names in the corners.
Old Agnes beamed at Wooffer! “Oh, you sweet little dog! They are just the thing!”
It was not very long until all the pictures were stuck on the walls of the main hall. They even covered the ceiling and the doors. Agnes was very, very pleased with the way the hall looked now.
Soon, the other “Mothers of Thousands” began to arrive. There was Tillith, a pleasant, old, fat mouse; Herminie, a skinny, tight-lipped mouse; and Myrtle, who was all dressed up in furs of other colors and had sprayed herself with a very strong perfume called Eau de Rodente.
Agnes met them all at the door and said, “Please enter my humble home.” (Which is how any civilized mouse greets company at the door).
Tillith, Herminie and Myrtle entered into the main hall and gazed around at the many pictures on the walls, the elegant long table, and the pretty pink flowers.
Tillith said, “Agnes, what a clever mouse you are! What an unusual way to use the children’s pictures! And look at the size of this place! It is a mansion!”
Just after these kind remarks, Herminie held her hand to her heart and exclaimed, “My dear friend, Agnes! I had no idea you lived in such a magnificent place! It is beautiful!”
Myrtle had not said a word.
Agnes asked them all to sit down. Then she brought out her special Blue Teapot, full of tea, and the sweet little cakes she had made especially for the occasion. While she was serving the tea, Tillith said, “Agnes, tell us about all these pictures on the wall. They seem to be of a flood.” So Agnes told about how the great flood had stranded her family on a little island and how Wooffer had saved them all. She also told how he had dug her the Castle of a Mouse House that they were in at that moment.
“This ‘Wooffer’ is a dog?” asked Myrtle. She said “dog” like it was making her mouth taste bad.
Agnes, who was very proud to have Wooffer as a friend, (especially since he had dug the Mouse House) said in a VERY cheerful voice, “Why, YES, he is!”
Tillith and Herminie said what a nice friend he must be, too!
Then Myrtle changed the subject. She said, “You know my family came to this country over two hundred years ago and, where they came from, they lived in a house that would make this house look like a hole in the ground. It was SO big and beautiful. Nothing against your house, dear … but you should have seen the house THEY lived in. They had nothing but the BEST. Cheese whenever they wanted, and GOOD tea, not likes the stuff you can get here! They even had special maids …”
At that moment, the wall of the Castle of a Mouse House fell in with a THUMP! Myrtle was covered up to her neck with dirt. Marygrey poked her head through the hole and said, “Oh my, I am sorry, I was just digging a little more out of the nursery … Oh, I am so sorry! I did not know I was this close to your house!”
Old Agnes began to smile. Then she began to grin. Then she showed her two big front teeth and began to laugh out loud! Herminie and Tillith were kind of snorting into their hands to hide their laughter, but it was no use. Soon, everyone but Myrtle was guffawing and snorting with laughter! Even Marygrey, who had no idea why it was so funny, was laughing.
Myrtle was digging her way out of the dirt and sending it flying in all directions. When she was out, at last, she flapped her furs of other colors around her and stomped out of the door muttering, “Heathens!”
Agnes told Marygrey not to worry, her children would repair the hole. She, Tillith and Herminie gave Marygrey a cup of tea and a special cake, and finished the party. It was the best laugh Old Agnes had had in years!

I know I did that wrong. I will try again.

oK her are my results. I could get a big head. http://iwl.me/b/e51188de

I know that is not true. I would that it were.

Love,
Betty

Dear Alice,
You can trade with me. I know that you have in your mind many journeys, overhill and into the wildlands. You do not have my hairy feet, though. I will need to go as guide.

Love,
Betty

I write like Arthur C. Clarke. I'd much prefer to write like the wind. lol.

7/15/2010

I had to laugh off my you know what, I took
a page from my new murder mystery and it says
get this, I write like Margaret Mitchell....


Cheers..Joe

Maybe it's on a random rotation.....like telling fortunes.

Maybe you were thinking of your mother at the time?

Dear Diane,
Sometimes you are the voice in the wilderness. There was a time that the local people here got it into their heads that I could tell their fortunes by reading the Tarrot cards. I did not know what that came frome. But, some of my neighbors bought the cards, brought them up to my house and said I could do it, they were sure of it. I was embarrassed. I read the book. A mumbo jumbo thing, but I guess that is what reading the future from cards is.

It was not long before I got people coming here to be "read' and I always said that I was not what they thought. They did not believe that and were intent on a reading.

The thing about 'readings' is that everyone has hopes and dreams and wants someone to tell them how.

Their eyes looked into mine and expected the truth.

I suppose there is universal truth. People look for love, mostly for just being accepted in the human race, hoping that some other human can actually love them. Most people do not believe that to be true. Most people feel a little cast out of society.

That is why family is so strong. No matter what, the family is supposed to accept you, shelter and protect you. Sometimes that is not the way it is.

You know and I know that family sometimes has no love, not an ouce of protection.

Ahh, I do not know why I went in that direction.

SO!
Toliken I am.

Love,
Betty

I tried two chapter openings from And Adam was a Gardener. According to the first "Dawilan's Story, Chapter One," I write like Charles Dickens. According to the second, "Maggie's Story, Chapter One," I write like William Gibson.

How different can you get?

Ann

I'll try to answer my own question. Both segments contain dialog. Dawilan's story took place on the planet Volara, and Volaran's used a very formal speech pattern, compared to the Southeast Texans sitting around the tables at Briny's Pub in the opening of Maggie's story.

Ann

Dear Ann,
Dickens is good.
You know how Harry said he was reading Grapes of Wrath. Well, I thought I would read it again after all these years. Steinbeck is a master like Dickens. You are there with the dialect and the human intensity of character.

Our Phil Whitley is that kind of writer.

My dear friend, like them, heart is the core of good writing. You never leave it out.

Love,
Betty

I write like: Chuck Palahniuk

Who is he?

Oooh! Never mind. I looked him up.

Hi JoElle. Nice to see you here.

Betty Fasig wrote:

oK her are my results. I could get a big head. http://iwl.me/b/e51188de

I know that is not true. I would that it were.

Love,
Betty

LOL! Betty. I copied your paragraphs and ran it through the test and it returned Tolkien. Then I reduced the text to two paragraphs and ran it through again and it returned Stephen King!

Oooh! I inserted the first page of my new short story that I'm penning just now.
Apparently, this applet says I write like the late
Douglas Adams
(Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy)

alice wrote:

Can I trade with anyone?

Apparently, Mr. Planemaker's Flying Machine is written in the same style as David Foster Wallace. I don't know how accurate this software is but I can see similarities in the writing style of MPFM and Pills, Peas and Parkinson's.

Btw, he was quite an intellect.

Who is MPFM?

Kurt Vonnegut... in truth, he wrote like me.

Best Known As: The author of Slaughterhouse-Five
A modern-day Mark Twain, right down to the bushy mustache and black humor, Kurt Vonnegut wrote dozens of satirical novels whose central theme is life's cosmic joke on humanity. Vonnegut was often called a science fiction author, but it's well known that he used the cloak of sci-fi simply as a means to deliver his cranky-but-funny deliberations on the human condition. His best-known books include Cat's Cradle (1963), Welcome to the Monkey House (1968), Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), and Slapstick (1976). Many of his books featured a character named Kilgore Trout, a fictional author who is something of an alter-ego for Vonnegut himself.

Hahahaha...I did it again, different page...now I write like Dan Brown. Either their program is a joke, or I write like a dog from every town.

Lane's analysis of my writing: Encouraging--he was editing a book for me.

My mother and grandmother were English teachers. My daughter is an English and writing teacher, I am a bean counter.



----- Original Message -----
From: "Lane Rogers"
To: "a crooker"
Sent: Saturday, July 11, 2009 10:50:33 PM GMT -05:00 US/Canada Eastern
Subject: Writing

Alice,

A quick thought before I turn this gizmo off for the night.

You are not John Dos Pasos or Dorothy Parker or Scott Fitzgerald or Lillian Hellman--each of whom you should read. You are, however, a much better writer than you think you are.

I will not read second rate material. I will not edit second rate material. I will not encourage second rate writers. I am too busy--and much too serious about the written word--to involve myself in writing projects spat out by hopeless wannabes.

You are not one.

I enjoy reading your work. I enjoy editing your work. I take pleasure in helping you polish your work.

Enough said. Go write something.

Best,
Lane