I Write Like · 10:56am Nov 23rd, 2020
I did this thing. Turns out I write like Tolstoy. I have no idea how reliable this site is, but it's still pretty neat.
Here's what I put in to have analyzed:
There were slight exclamations at the beginning of the party, but now a general sense of ease was settling in. A new batch of wine was brought forth, and the game involving those "nasty anecdotes" was as a whole forgotten and never finished. Why waste a birthday on something like that anyway? Maxim was feeling especially bolder now that tensions had lowered. As for Pyre, he had manifested a desire to get up and grab a drink. He was met with Snappo, who suddenly started firing off at him inquires like some sort of interview, prodding into his life, his relationship with Airglow, his hobbies—but he took so long to ask him, and, frankly, with such vague wording, that Pyre told him to get lost and returned to his couch. Snappo huffed in indignation, this having been the last straw, because in truth everypony was ignoring him. Not soon after and he left Golden Oak, stamping his hooves, swearing that one day he would make it big—or something like that.
Ooh, interesting!
Huh, apparently I'm more like David Foster Wallace.