Which author do you write as?

File: harry_harrison.jpg (6KB, 170x200px) Image search: [Google]

6KB, 170x200px

>>8974442
>Harry Harrison
>tfw pleb

I copied straight from Proust and it came up with Charles Dickens so idk man

>>8974442
Joyce. Who I think is just a terrible, terrible meme

Ray Douglas Bradbury (August 22, 1920 – June 5, 2012) was an American fantasy, science fiction, horror and mystery fiction writer. Best known for his dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451 (1953) and for the science fiction and horror stories gathered together as The Martian Chronicles (1950) and The Illustrated Man (1951), Bradbury was one of the most celebrated 20th-century American writers. Many of Bradbury's works have been adapted into comic books, television shows and films.

>>8974442
Depending on the sample I get Agatha Christie or Anne Rice

>Jack London

Never read him, is he any good?

File: feels not too bad man.jpg (25KB, 564x565px) Image search: [Google]

25KB, 564x565px

>Charles Dickens

>Arthur Clarke

Eh. Maybe good

I entered the Macbeth soliloquy and it gave me Charles Dickens.
gay

>>8974811
If you identify as a dog, yes

>>8974442
David Foster Wallace. I found myself writing like him before reading Infinite Jest (which was the first thing I read by him) and when I read it I was pleased that he writes the same way I write.

File: Amur_Tiger_8.9.2012_Hero_and_Circle__HI_257812.jpg (88KB, 640x480px) Image search: [Google]

88KB, 640x480px

>>8974915
Dog is a dirty and disgusting creature. A cat would be more favorable.

>>8974924
cats are also gross.
get a rat. name him Chichikov

I got Wallace fugg

File: Skeet.png (125KB, 281x333px) Image search: [Google]

125KB, 281x333px

>wrote some of my pottery in
>Mary Shelly

I just made some shit up to see what I get:
>I looked across the bar at the woman, this bitch, and saw myself walking over to her grabbing her red hair in my fist, tearing through her shirt those glorious tits were begging to be let out of, lifting her flowing dress up from around her ankles and shoving my throbbing veined 4 inch prick into her cunt from behind, dripping like the eyeliner and tears cutting a creek through the caked on clay covering her face.
>She began to turn her head and i returned my eyes back to contemplating my drink.

>you write like Vladimir Nabokov