My wife found an interesting site today. Enter in the first page of your story, and this site will tell you who you write like.
When I first saw this site, I thought how could I pass this up? I dug up reams of past and present writings, cut and pasted a carefully selected page, and submitted the form.
"Kurt Vonnegut," I called out like this was a horse race. "Come on, Kurt Vonnegut!"
I wrote like Ian Fleming, it told me. That wasn't good enough. I found something else and submitted the first few paragraphs.
I now wrote like Stephanie Meyer.
Enough of this, I thought and cracked my fingers. I took the first page of a short story I wrote. I polished it up a bit, then submitted it for analysis, and the computer told me I wrote like Stephen King. I can live with that, I thought, but then realized that it might have been due to some of the content.
I submitted the same piece again, this time without the words "terror-stricken," and I was now Margaret Mitchell.
My wife gave it a try and smiled. "I write like Stephanie Meyer," she said.
"Hey," I exclaimed. "I write like Stephanie Meyer."
"I prefer to think that Stephanie Meyer writes like me."
"I am suspicious of this site," I said. Then, inspiration struck me, and I entered in a poem written by my 9 year old autistic daughter. I whirred and chugged and spit my back my answer.
"Who's Rudyard Kipling?" my wife asked.