After looking at the share your first three sentences of your novel or story thread. I had an idea. I think I expressed before in the critique threads I always like looking at different writers' styles. We all have a voice and a different way of writing things. I thought it be interesting to share a sentence, have someone rewrite that sentence in their style, and then share a sentence from their piece of work. We'll see how this goes. I feel like there is something about experiencing other styles that shares ideas and gives inspiration to our own works. Requirements: -A Sentence -No Paragraphs I'll put this up; Surrounded by silken curtains and velvet heraldries, they each were looking at each other for an answer.
Ah, so like "draw someone's character in your style" but with writing? I like it, here's my shot: While they were surrounded by the silken curtains and crisp velvet heraldries, they couldn't help but look into each other's eyes in search of an answer. My sentence: Flying low over the ocean like some form of metallic bird, the plane leveled itself out in preparation for its inevitable meeting with the docking strip located just beyond the coast.
Yes sir. You got it. Here my rewrite: The plane leveled itself out in preparation for its inevitable meeting with the docking strip. Flying low over the ocean like some form of metallic bird it came to show man wanted to not only concur land, but the skies. My sentence: Normally he wouldn’t have taken a job like this, mysterious money transfer in his private account, a vague email sending him off to the middle of nowhere, but he was hurting for money.
I'll play: He was broke, dead broke, so when the wire to his bank account hit, he didn't worry much about the shadiness of the email or the lack of a clear destination, he just went. My sentence ( a long one, but this is how it reads in the final draft): At first, Johnny understood her need to just fly in the clear skies, and he was right by her side every time she stepped out of a plane to simply soar over the fields, those precious few minutes of gliding before becoming gravity's slave once again, dangling from her harness, getting down to the drop zone, getting back into the plane, but she knew he wasn't truly happy.
I can do this, I think When they first took off, Johnny could nearly believe that she needed to fly, a shadow in the clear skies. He was always present when she would step out from her seat in the plane and soar over the fields, the simplest thing in this life. But it only lasted for a few seconds, soon he would be chained to the ground again, a slave of gravity, just dangling from her harness. They would soon be getting down to the drop zone an they would be heading back to the plane, but she knew Johnny wasn't happy. My sentence: A squalid attempt on my life would not stop me, not even a barrier made from the material of the universe could keep me from my goal, I know this because no one can stop a person who is determined, not even the person themself.
The bullet had missed him, a flesh wound still burning his shoulder. At least the bleeding had stopped, as he took the pressure off the makeshift bandage. "Focus", Dave reminded himself. He tried concentrating on what had brought him here. If there was one truth he knew well, it was, no on could stop a determined person, not even themselves. These curved balls from the universe would not keep him from his goal. ------------------------------------ My sentence: It was a gorgeous sunset, laying down the hues of gold, pink, and green across the bay, as sailboats played in the wind, gently bobbing in the waves, like a painting in the Louvre of surreal summer days.
The sea had become a surreal mirror image of water colors, as the hues of gold, pink, and green reflected off the waves while sailboats played in the wind, gently bobbing. It was sunsets like these that brought me back to those paintings hanging in the Louvre. My sentence : Like bits of glass that have scattered in the air, frozen in time, they reflect a memory, maybe a dream, or maybe something someone imagined.
They would always be there, drifting in your conscious, untouched by the ugliness of time. They were like a memory. A dream. Or maybe something you might imagine. My sentence: His flesh was cold, his body stiff, sallow. A doll in a pool of red. But his eyes were still beautiful.
Frigid in skin, rigid by limb, a bloodless complexion with charcoal sockets that offset what was inset—his eyes. Yes, they remain jewels, emeralds, backlit by the remnants of his life-force. Mine: What left to the west reappears east; a sunrise through the buildings behind slants a ray that warms the space between collar and hair.
Our sun awakens in the east, from its slumber to the west, smiling down to warm up a new day, on these city streets. My sentence: A simple query in a song bird's tempo, as if to say, who would be the next to love; 'twas cupid's arrow a heart did find, with a touch as sweet as honey.
The bird in the tight dress looked around the bar and whistled like, hey, I'm in the mood, y'know, who's up for a quick fumble? Sorry about that So there I was, bombing down the highway on my Harley, beard being whipped back by the wind when it happened, a truck suddenly swerved in front of me, forcing me to lay the bike down, my body skidding and rolling til my head suddenly went full stop against one of the I-beams supporting the guardrail.
Head first into the guardrail I-beams, my body skidded and rolled , as a truck from nowhere, finished my ride on the Harley; a wind whipping the beard back and, bombing down the highway ride it was too. There must be a button around here somewhere to express the love of humor and wit when brilliantly displayed; or was it the emergency ejection seat button we just pushed?
She searched the guts of the vehicle for some sign of chemical/organic love, or human levity, or emotion- even hate- anything besides just hardware, but there were only a few worn switches. ---- The trooper was an adult, unlike the teenagers in the local Army, and totally unremarkable: average height, gray uniform with black armor plates, dull skin, short hair, fake eyes, flat mask, the jagged form of an armored car nestled in the synthetic dirt beside her, the turret lens slaved to every subtle turn of her head.
Charred sands of war blasted thru her short hair hitting the sides of the armored vehicle, as the cooling unit of her own armor kicked in; the trooper much older than the recruits, scanned the neighborhood for rebels, her flat mask and fake eyes emotionless like her faithful turret slaved to the monocle. "It's going be another long day" she thought to herself, as the sun began illuminating the distant morning streets of Jandil. "move'em out" her command was clear. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- A sweet red spicy like a devil's kiss, into this soup of life, her lips pressed against his for the first time, a day she had dreamed of in her journals, coming true under a midnight summer moon.
As the morning sun rose over Jandil, she couldn't help but sigh with weariness. Her voice rang with authority, "move 'em out." My sentence: Just as I was about to open the bathroom door I heard my bedroom door swing open, I opened the bathroom door and came out with my gun leveled into a man's face.
I clicked the hammer of the gun, swallowed, eyes squeezed shut. A cramp twisted my stomach. I took in a deep breath, let it out, put my hand on the doorknob. I stopped. The door slammed from my bedroom. I swung the door open, finger ready on the trigger. There he was. I held the muzzle right between his eyes with a trembling, sweating hand. My sentence: Blood doesn't look like this in the movies. He lay before my feet like the wilted petal of a rose. If God didn't want me to do it, then He wouldn't have given me lustful hands. And He wouldn't have made this man so beautiful.
It must be a rage of passion, with hands dipped in blood making god happy, "aren't you the pretty one" This is definitely not Hollywood anymore. "look at you, just laying there, all wilted, like some bloody rose". My sentence: I smiled as he begged for his son's life, "20 years ago you raped and killed my daughter" a psychotic pleasure washed over me; I watched him looking at his son, hanging by his balls slipping in and out of ecstasy and pain, "decide, death or pain" there is no mercy in vengeance.
reboot?? --------------------------------------------------------------- My Sentence: Who knows what happens to the jumpers, from my experience a person's soul clings to a rock where their planet used to be, with a choice between jumping or waiting for the soul searcher ships to come around; I chose to wait.
