#chuck palahniuk
Writer friends, I discovered a fun website today. It’s called “I Write Like” and here’s the description:
Check which famous writer you write like with this statistical analysis tool, which analyzes your word choice and writing style and compares them with those of the famous writers.
Let me know which autor you got!
Writer friends, I discovered a fun website today. It’s called “I Write Like” and here’s the description:
Check which famous writer you write like with this statistical analysis tool, which analyzes your word choice and writing style and compares them with those of the famous writers.
Let me know which autor you got!Arthur Clarke apparently
And Stephen King
She’d read enough to know she was missing a lot.
She’d read enough, in fact, that she’d been able to identify and diagnose a large void in her life that had previously gone unnoticed. It was almost frustrating, then, that she needed to fill it.
Books weren’t enough, unfortunately. They had been before, when she’d craved adventure and managed to lose herself in Nancy Drew as a teenager, or when her anger had bubbled up coming out of college and Chuck Palahniuk. Somehow now, when she needed it the most, literature was finding itself coming up short, a bridge that only reached halfway across the gulf. A medicine that only treated the symptoms, rather than eradicated the cause.
No, this was the kind of hole in her life that would require her to actually live it, as scary as that seemed. This was the kind of hole that demanded that she step out of the door and be Nancy Drew, actually go out and find the adventure for herself, rather than just experience it second hand. She’d have to find the perspective that drove Palahniuk to make the caustic observations that he did.
She’d have to find herself someone to make her kneel, and the thought terrified her.
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