[lior]

Hey, I had an idea for a fun game.
Let's take a certain paragraph and write it in the style of our favourite authors. Many writers have a distinctive style, and a reader who is familiar with these writer's work can recognize their trademark in no time, just like his favourite director or band. so, how well can we write like the big shots?
The theme is: Two people walking in the desert, thirsty and dehydrated, when they see an oasis.
Here's my example:
Stephen King:
"The two men walked in the scorching wasteland, it was
(hot...it's so hot...)
like a f*****g furnace, then Thomas, the guy who always thought that fata morganas and sunblocks are bull, so a twinkling in the distance. He pulled at Roger's shirt, and pointed a peeling, sick, trembling finger forward.
It was a goddamm pull in the middle of nowhere... only problem was, it seemed to move on, like this whole f*****g
(It's so hot!)
world.



[This message has been edited by lior (edited October 24, 2001).]

[LeMort]

Good idea! Here's my Terry Pratchett entry:


It was called the Swamp of No Return.

In many ways it was a good name, because it dissuaded people from visiting the place. It made it sound dangerous and mysterious, and somewhere that people disappeared.

A good name then, but for all the wrong reasons. The Swamp of No Return was actually a desert.

"At the risk of sounding disappointed, this isn't exactly what I was looking for." said Horace Ploons, shaking the sand out of one of his waders.

"It's a pretty unusual swamp, I'll give you that." said Widersham.

"It's not a swamp. It's a desert."

"Desert. Swamp. What's the difference really? You said you wanted adventure and excitement..."

"I told you in the travel office that I wanted excitement and adventure in the darkest, dankest, unexplored corner of the Discworld that you could find. I didn't say that I wanted to be stranded in the middle of the desert, wearing six layers of my best winter clothing, slowly cooking under a hot sun."

"That sounds pretty exciting to me!" said Widersham.

Horace replaced his wader and squinted at the horizon. "So... What now? Shouldn't we find an oasis, or something? It's hot, and I don't have any more water."

"We told you to bring plenty of supplies when you booked the holiday..."

"Well, I was expecting plenty of water in the Swamp of No Return."

"Don't worry, we'll be out of here in a jiffy!" said Widersham. He pulled out a small box, "See this? It's the latest mobile positioning system."

He gave the box a gentle tap and a small flap opened. An imp looked out. "Got any water, boss? It's like an oven in 'ere!" It said, wiping the sweat from its brow.

Widersham sighed. "Oh, bugger..."

Horace snatched the box and gave it a shake.
"Look here, we all need water! Now, be a good chap, or imp, or whatever you are, and point us in the direction of the nearest oasis!"

A series of expletives issued from the box. Horace gave it another shake.

"Fine! Let me see... All right, just go north, it's over the sand dune." Squeaked the Imp.

And luckily for them, it was.

Sorry about the duff ending, it was getting a bit long and I thought I ought to cut it off there http://www.sffworld.com/ubb/smile.gif