Dec 04, 2010 by Scotty :) (Dougie Poynter <3) | Posted in Books & Authors
I've always wondered, its very hard for you to know what your own style is without someone telling you, you mix up what you want it to be with what it is. So, here's a few random excerpts from various stories, what do you see recurring? What do you think my writing style is? Thanks :)
He stood on the side of a curb, holding his dirty hands in front of him. Wearing only a ragged pair of pants, a ripped wool jacket he found in a dump and some gloves with their fingers missing, the winter wind chilled him. He looked down at the two little girls standing next to him, their big brown eyes full of innocence and helplessness. They too were holding out their hands in case someone dropped a bronze or even silver coin into them. Every once in a while, a brave person would walk close to the kids, bringing some hope into the boys heart; but usually, the person ignored them and kept walking. He watched as one little boy, no older than six, walked over to the group of three. He stared at the two little girls, and then looked up at the boy. He dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a little doll. It must’ve been new, the red hair and the pink wrinkles dress it bore clasped the doll tightly, showing no signs of it being played with. He stared at it, and then handed it to the boy. “Here, Mithter,” he said, baring a noticeable lisp.
The girls eyed the doll as their friend took it from the little boy, and bent down to them. “Alice, Nikki, I think he wants you guys to have this.” The girls stared at the kid who had given them the doll.
One of the girls grabbed the doll and buried her face into it. “Thanks Walter,” she said. The older boy smiled, and turned to the little kid still staring at him. He knelt down onto the cold ground.
“Thank you, the girls are really going to appreciate it,” he said.
The little boy smiled. “It was a Christmath gift for my thithter, but I can get her thomething elthe,” he replied.
Walter tweaked his nose, “Well, then I wish you and your sister a very Merry Christmas.” The little boy opened his mouth to reply when he was jerked back by a lady who looked quite a bit like him.
“Don’t make eye contact with them Charles! They’re nothing but filthy rats who live on the streets.” Her voice was high pitched, loud, and commanding, and it downright scared the girls to death. They let out a little screech in surprise, and she turned to face them, her green eyes staring into their brown ones. “Charles, why is Elizabeth’s doll in their disgusting hands?” she asked.
“Yes," he smirked. "I am a 16 years old Reaper, and proudly fought in the war against elves.
Nadia hands suddenly turned to fist and anger flooded her veins. Lorelei turned to her, looking worried, before turning back to Aero.
“My father is a great champion from the war - he killed many elves; we had them for dinner.”
Nadia jumped up, “You tell lies, Aero, you act as you won, but you didn’t, we did!” she shouted, gesturing to herself.
Aero shrugged, “We just let you off easy, didn’t feel like fighting you anymore, we already destroyed your way of life for years, so we simply backed out.”
“NO! We beat you, once you king was killed, you retreated, we won. We deserved it too, after you raided our villages and killed many of our people!”
Aero chuckled, “Hey, do you know that little wimp, oh, what’s his name? Oh yes,” he smiled cruelly, “Sebastian?”
Nadia froze, “What about him?”
“He ran away from me, little coward, scared to face a real man I guess.”
Nadia ran over to the Reaper, who was now standing, and stared him in the eyes. “Sebastian is not a coward. I know why he ran away, something you heartless Reapers would never understand,” she spit out.
Being two heads taller, he looked down on her, her blue eyes piercing holes into his black ones. “I killed his sister,” he said, satisfied. Nadia screamed, and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into the wall. She reached back for an arrow when she realized, the demon burnt them.
“I’m going to kill you!” She screamed, running over to Aero, and leaned down for a punch. He grabbed her wrist, and threw her to the floor. Straddling her, he placed his hand on her neck, choking her.
“Not if I kill you first,” he whispered. Nadia was struggling against his hands, she was gasping for breath, but Aero, with a smile, squeezed his hand tighter.
Gwindel started worrying, “Uh, Aero? Can you, uh, please get off of her?”
“Of course, sir. Friewach will know it was me who killed him. I think he’ll get the message not to send anyone out again.” She watched as Stuart pulled out a file and laid it on his desk.
She raised her eyebrows, almost showing a hint of confusion, and then steadied herself to her stone expression. “Yes, you’re getting your next mission personally.
BQ: What's your style?
Yours is a simple descriptive style. It tells you what you need to know and conveys the story very accurately with little or no confusion. That's what I would say yours is.
However, there is no set "style" that a writer would fall into. Style is more of a mix of strengths and weaknesses, voice, and tone and the story that comes out of those. There are no stereotypes for writing styles, or anything like that. Everyone writes differently.
It's hard to tell what someone's writing style is unless it's a constant flow. It's a pattern that the reader will notice when they get sucked into the story. It's the reason why they like it, and why the author is so great.
So from this passage, I can tell you are a lot like Rowling's style. It's a fantasy that is very simple to understand. But I can't really give much more to that. There is something else to it, though, that I can't quite grasp. It's a good something, but I don't have a name for it yet. Sorry if this isn't helping.
BQ: I really don't know. It's very difficult to figure that out in your own writing, isn't it?
♀Ʀɘȡ♀ ΑζЯӕᶅϨ∂ƙƱᶉᶐ | Dec 04, 2010