Rowyn (rowyn) wrote,

Writing exercise: Writing Badly

The latest batch of exercises are all to write badly. I haven't been putting the last couple of short exercises behind a cut tag because they're all so, you know, short. But intentionally bad writing deserves a cut-tag, whether it's short or long.

Tim took time trying to tape Tough Talk to Tarnished Tin. The two tall tomes, together, topped the table, 'til, trembling, their tower toppled.


Tina didn't like cats, even though her best friend did and her mother did and both her grandparents did, because Tina liked dogs, and since dogs did not like cats Tina thought it would be disloyal to her doggy friends if she did like cats, though in fact, she didn't even like to chase cats which was pretty un-dog-like of her, too, and, come to think of it, she didn't like chasing cars, either, or chasing much of anything, as chasing was a lot more work than Tina generally wanted to put into anything, and if she was going to be putting effort into things at all, then it might make sense to put effort into cleaning the litterbox for that cat, even if she didn't like it.

Wargling a murky past Flipshad, Uogola curdled and swimped. Flipshad smarked wers murky, and gwargled with meagero.

"Nyuck to swimp torgon!" Flipshad gwargled. "Ni cored a murky!"

Uogola curdled creano, and bleiged.

Paul looked down, and felt a surge of vertigo.

After surging past Paul, vertigo continued on to hit Susan and Terry.

"Ow!" Susan said, holding her cheek. "Whaddya have to hit me for?"

"Yeah!" Terry glared at vertigo. "You bully!"

"Sorry." Vertigo looked apologetic. "It's just what I do."

Lame analogies
He fell from the sky like an unaerodynamic rocket with no engine or other source of propulsion.

The monster parted its foot-long jaws, revealing row uppn row of venom-dripping teeth. The girl was terrified, as if she'd just found out that there really was a Santa Claus and boy was he mad about what she'd said about her little brother last Thanksgiving.

He circled the house, like a yo-yo on an extra-long string, with a really dizzy person holding it who'd never gotten the hang of the up-down part.

The bullet shot out of the revolver, like a small lump of metal propelled by a controlled explosion.
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