Imitation: The Highest Form of Flattery?

[lesbiaphrodite]

I have always heard that imitation is the highest form of flattery. With that sentiment in mind, I would like to start this little thread for us to imitate the writing style of our favorite authors. I'll give it a go first...

In the style of Hemingway:

The smell of cigarettes hit me hard in the face as I walked into the cafe off of Montparnasse. No one much was there as I edged into a corner table to order a fin de l'eau and begin to write.

In the style of Tennessee Williams:

As I walked into the cafe off of Ellysian Fields, I saw for the first time myself alone and without the possibility of finding anyone to spend the night with me. Why it hit me just then, I cannot say. Perhaps it was my reflection in the glass window. Whatever it was, I had a kind of revelation. I was older, balder and sadder. Ah well, money can buy love if need be.

 

[sr71plt]

In the style of Tom Clancy

I walked into a meeting of filthy terrorists in a M Street bar, sneered, and blew them up--and then I took a taxi back to Langley, where I am director of the CIA, head Middle East analyst, and control for a string of thirty-four in-place spies in Istanbul.

 

[impressive]

In the style of Tom Clancy

I walked into a meeting of filthy terrorists in a M Street bar, sneered, and blew them up--and then I took a taxi back to Langley, where I am director of the CIA, head Middle East analyst, and control for a string of thirty-four in-place spies in Istanbul.

You forgot the detailed nuclear missile specs.

 

[sr71plt]

You forgot the detailed nuclear missile specs.

Ah, you're so right. His taxi stopped at Norad (which was in Colorado) en route to Langley (which is in the Virginia suburbs of D.C.) from the bar on M Street (which is in Georgetown, in D.C.) to pick up the nuclear missile specs in a trashcan at KFC.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

RAYMOND CARVER

"Stop that! Thats so goddamned gross!" she bellowed with that gravelly lounge lizard voice I hate.
"WHAT!!" I removed the milk carton from my mouth to speak.
"Youre a disgusting pig, Wally."
"For drinking some milk?" I screwed the cap back on the carton.
"Yes! Use a glass." Mildred pulled a butt out of the Salem pack on the counter, plugged it in her pie hole, and lit up.
"Wash a few of them nasty glasses and maybe I will!" I nodded at the week's pile of dishes marinating in greasy, cold water.
"Your fingers dont look broke to me, asshole!" She pointed her forefinger at my nose.
"Keep that shit up, bitch, and youre gonna get more than your feelings hurt."I wiped my mouth on my tee shirt and belched. I think I'm lactose intolerant or something.
"Like this you mean!" She jabbed a finger at her black eye thats really green and kinda blue. It was black last week. I think it was last week; who the fuck cares?

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

In the style of the Marquis de Sade:

The wily old priest spotted the young [22 year old] beauty as she made her way to the front of the church to light a candle. As it was dark and no one was there but the two of them, he pushed himself up behind her, raised her dress to expose the pink dimpled flesh of her backside. He slapped it hard and thrust his member into her rearward Venus. She gasped, "Holy Father, I came here to pray." He sprinkled his holy water on her bottom as the flesh of her two round orbs shivered in the flickering candle light.

 

[Xelebes]

In the style of the Marquis de Sade:

The wily old priest spotted the young 22 year old beauty as she made her way to the front of the church to light a candle. As it was dark and no one was there but the two of them, he pushed himself up behind her, raised her dress to expose the pink dimpled flesh of her backside. He slapped it hard and thrust his member into her rearward Venus. She gasped, "Holy Father, I came here to pray." He sprinkled his holy water on her bottom as the flesh of her two round orbs shivered in the flickering candle light.

The age is a giveaway that it is not de Sade. It would either not be mentioned and kept as "young beauty" or explicitly stated an age younger than what would have been allowed on Literotica.

 

[trysail]

James Joyce



The guyful, gleeful children of Cain danced about the fiery, flying fawkesian embers in wild abandon. Singsong worthies of ancient druidical ancestors flash in air.

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

The age is a giveaway that it is not de Sade. It would either not be mentioned and kept as "young beauty" or explicitly stated an age younger than what would have been allowed on Literotica.

I'm aware of that. I included the age so it wouldn't be pulled from the boards. Thank you.

 

[TE999]

In the style of H.P. Lovecraft

The cloying, miasmic, rendolent stench of corruption and decay hung about the crumbling, decrepit brooding house like a old crones' stained and shabby shawl. The putrescent landscape in which the hideous structure crouched seethed in terrifying darkness lit only by the gibbous moon.

Out the front door flowed a pulpy, noisome, hideous thing reeking of evil, it's five yellow eyes sweeping over the dessicated lawn and withered flowers looking in ghastly delight to find the yellowing evening paper.

 

[oggbashan]

Here's one in the style of Jonathan Swift I wrote earlier: Gulliver in Lilliput

and the 1st chapter of my six part Brobdingnag story: Brobdingnag Chap 01

Og

 

[CharleyH]

I have always heard that imitation is the highest form of flattery. With that sentiment in mind, I would like to start this little thread for us to imitate the writing style of our favorite authors. I'll give it a go first...

In the style of Hemingway:

The smell of cigarettes hit me hard in the face as I walked into the cafe off of Montparnasse. No one much was there as I edged into a corner table to order a fin de l'eau and begin to write.

In the style of Tennessee Williams:

As I walked into the cafe off of Ellysian Fields, I saw for the first time myself alone and without the possibility of finding anyone to spend the night with me. Why it hit me just then, I cannot say. Perhaps it was my reflection in the glass window. Whatever it was, I had a kind of revelation. I was older, balder and sadder. Ah well, money can buy love if need be.

I LOVE your idea, Lesbia, but one or two sentences is hardly enough room to emulate and pay homage to our favourites. I have oft loved the way Hemingway spun some of his descriptions, even if I have thought him a cad, and a misogynist. He'd have at least made that cigarette, or the smell of it, mean something more than you wrote.

My entry: David Foster Wallace: (and excuse me, I know he uses much bigger words)

It was fabulous. The way Babe's pointed stiletto jumped and jammed Jimmy up and under his balls (84). It wasn't so grand that I was thinking I wanted to be in the path of her post-disco rage, but man, that stiletto-toed-umpf-turn-on had me thinking: Is this the girl for me?

Jimmy's chick crossed paths with mine, and this is when I knew Izzy was the perfect woman I had been searching for all this time. Alpha-babe-singin-out-shaka-all-night-on-my-cock kind of ho. I wanted. Wanted her badly as she beat that nasty bitch back into the top pop forty.

footnotes
84: His balls were hairy like a Sasquach and needed to be shaved. When he was young, studying particle physics and playing tennis for the Junior American League, Pete Sampras grand-slammed a serve into his balls. His tennis career was over. When Jimmy couldn't play tennis he made a movie. It sucked worse than Monika Lewinsky. If Monica sucked (85) well, she'd have never saved her dress as proof that Bill actually came, for once. She would have been the first female President by now.

85. to hoover, give head, skull-fuck, blow, fellatio.

 

[jomar]

In the style of the average Lit author:

My secretary was smoking hot. She was 5'6", weighed 117 pounds, wore tight dresses and looked just like like Jamie Lee Curtis, but less horsey. I could tell she wanted to gorge on my thick 10" MILF pleaser by the way she bent over the desk to talk to me giving me a birds eye view of her 38DD funbags. And when I told her I wanted her to go on the trip to with the trade show with me she smiled and I swear she might have winked at me before walking out of my office showing me her ass that was even better than J Lo's. I knew right then she wanted to do the nasty with me and and that I was going to fill her steamy quim full of my creamy curdy jism.

 

[lesbiaphrodite]

In the style of Charles Bukowski:

I walked into the bar and sat down for a beer. This big blonde was sitting next to me, and she had an ugly face but a fine ass on her. I knew I wasn't a prize fighter anymore, and with a kisser like mine, most women got scared off before I even touched their tits.

I was flush that night, so I offered to buy the big blonde a beer. One led to another and another. I lost count after the 20th or so. We waddled out the side door and I pushed her over a garbage can and fucked her right there in the alley. She stank of onions and beer. After we were done, I couldn't catch my breath for a minute. I puked and stumbled back in for another beer. I don't know what happened to her. But, I liked her big ass and I'd fuck her again if I had a chance.

 

[jomar]

Raymond Chandlerishish:

I was still crazy for her. You know, my high school girlfriend, though actually she was my grade school girlfriend too, but she was stacked like a middle schooler even back then.

I hadn't seen her in years, the last time being in our twenties when she threw a glass of whiskey at me and cut my skin, leaving a winsome little scar on my forehead which hurt less than the waste of the 12 year old Laphroaig that splashed across my face.

So when she sashayed into my office I couldn't believe it, but had the presence of mind to log off classmates.com and look her over properly, and what a looker she was. Small feet wedged into high heels attached to those luscious long legs that went from the floor to the sky, taking a detour via heaven toward their way to paradise before ending at those divine hips that curved upward to her perfect breasts, unfettered by a bra, and not needing one anyway...

 

[Xelebes]

In the style of the Marquis de Sade:

The wily old priest spotted the young [22 year old] beauty as she made her way to the front of the church to light a candle. As it was dark and no one was there but the two of them, he pushed himself up behind her, raised her dress to expose the pink dimpled flesh of her backside. He slapped it hard and thrust his member into her rearward Venus. She gasped, "Holy Father, I came here to pray." He sprinkled his holy water on her bottom as the flesh of her two round orbs shivered in the flickering candle light.

Here's my take:

The wily old priest, with his cross as crooked as his nose, spotted the beauty, who at 22 beheld all the trophies of a madame, as she made her way to the desecrated altar to light a candle. As it was dark and not one was there but two, he pushed himself up behind her and raised her dress to expose the pink dimpled flesh of her backside. He lectured the ass and thrust his prick into her rearward Venus. She gasped, "Holy Father, I came here to pray!" He sprinkled his holy water on her bottom as the flesh of her two round orbs shivered in the flickering candle light.

Just couldn't stand to leave it just mentioning 22. De Sade would have remarked it as being an age of triumph amongst his whores. Threw in some other cryptic metaphors that could be lost in the translation.

 

[TE999]

In the style of Zane Grey

The blazing sun sank lower into the west, turning the sagebrush a buttery yellow, the purple sage a deep indigo, outlining the twisted joshua trees in gnarled silhouettes and glistening from the snow capped mountain peaks. A few buzzards circled high above, riding the waves of heat rising from the sunbaked prairie, a bleached cow skull stark against the grey rocks.

Loping along the trail, Preston Wright checked his twin .44's once again before reaching the Double L ranch. Mary Ann had said she was in trouble with the Loomis Boys again. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his red neckerchief and took a pull from his nearly empty canteen.

 

[Elianna]

In the style of Dan Brown

As I walked into the classroom at Harvard University, I overheard my students discussing the proper procedure for using chemicals underneath the to make a potent bomb. Little did I know that in fifteen more chapters I would need to use that exact information to blow up the Vatican.