One of the nice things about following other blogs is that they magically appear in my inbox and provide me with inspiration. By inspiration, I mean I can take someone else’s idea or research and make up my own little post. What a time saver!
Of course, I always give credit where credit is due because I’m a nice person, if a little bit lazy. This time I am stealing inspiration from Elyse who is forever FiftyFourandaHalf. The other day she shared a site where your writing is analyzed to reveal which writer’s writing your writing is most like. This is done by comparing words and syntax to to the volumes of work by every well known writer who ever lived. Or possibly, it is just a random name pulled out of a metaphorical hat. I was leaning towards the random metaphorical hat trick before I submitted a writing sample.
I decided to submit my poem Shattered for analysis. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this:
I didn’t know he wrote poetry. Then once I started thinking about it, it made sense. I read many Stephen King novels when I was younger, so perhaps his writing style lingered in my subconscious. Then I realized that a few lines of poetry were hardly indicative of my writing style, so I submitted my post The Creator Of The Universe Might Be Living in My Mailbox.
Not only do I write like Stephen King, but I also write like Mary Shelley. Yes, the nineteenth century gothic writer who liked to hang out and party with those romantic poets. And after a night of partying at the lake, you know the one in Geneva, Switzerland, when Lord Byron issued a challenge for everyone to write their own supernatural tale, Mary awoke from an opium induced slumber (if my high school British lit teacher was telling the truth) with the idea for Frankenstein.
I never read Frankenstein, but I enjoyed Mr. Brooks’ take on the young doctor, so I have no idea if Mary and I are stylistic sisters. I do understand her attraction to brooding romantic bad boy poets, so it is quite possible we are stylistic sisters. I guess I’ll have to add Frankenstein to my reading list. I was still thinking about metaphorical hats, so I decided to submit another post. This time I went with Less Than Three.
Apparently, I also write like another nineteenth century master of the macabre, Edgar Allen Poe. He of the quoth the raven, nevermore, tell tale heart, pit and pendulum madness. I have read some of his work, but it was decades ago. I was beginning to detect a trend, but just to be safe, I submitted one more post. I chose one of my early posts, The Plight Of The Zucchini. By this time I shouldn’t have been surprised that my zucchini rambling could have been mistaken for Stephen King’s rambling if Stephen King rambled about zucchini.
So after spending maybe five minutes having my writing analyzed, then another ten seconds jumping to conclusions, I concluded that I am either a horrific writer or I should be writing horror. Then practical, non-gothic, twenty-first century me realized the metaphorical hat trick was just a clever way to while away a few moments of time and more importantly, it is not that I write like anyone else, but that I write like me.