Experiments in style: adjectives and adverbs version

Maybe Mark Twain was right

Greetings!

Welcome to my ongoing (and potentially never-ending!) project, experiments in style. The Introduction below explains what it’s all about, but if you already know then just go straight to the latest version, below.

Incidentally, I am working my way through a huge list of styles to try. To read the ones I’ve done so far, go to the index.

Now, because a lot of people seem to like these experiments, I recently wrote an article about how I’m managing the project (because that’s what it is). Initially, it was open only to paying subscribers, but as a special treat, and also to show y’all what you’ve been missing, I’ve made it available to everyone. Here it is:

How I manage my experiments in style project.

Enjoy!

Introduction

One of the things I’ve been trying out is reworking a piece of text into a completely different style. A full exposition and explanation are given here:

Experimenting with styles

Here is the original text on which these experiments or transformations are based:

The original (template) text

In the middle of the night, I woke up (if you can call being semi-conscious being awake), walked purposefully towards the door to go to the bathroom — and almost knocked myself out.

The reason was that in the twin states of entire darkness and semi-somnambulance I was facing in a different direction from the one I thought I was facing. As a result, instead of walking through the door, I tried to walk through the wall.

The next few days brought nausea and headaches. After much prevarication I went to Accident and Emergency, where I waited petrified among people for whom “social distancing” means not quite touching you, and who wore their masks as a chin-warmer.

An hour and a half later I emerged into the twilight, secure in the knowledge that I had nothing more serious than mild concussion. I failed to do much writing, but I was pleased to have read a further 17% of my book.

Adjectives and adverbs version

If you see an adverb, kill it. — Mark Twain.

In the approximate middle of the tempestuous night, I woke up groggily (if you can seriously call being dozily semi-conscious being completely awake), walked purposely towards the solid cream-coloured wooden door with a shiny brass handle to go to the newly-decorated bathroom — and almost knocked myself out cold.

The obvious reason was that in the twin states of entire darkness and semi-somnambulance I was rather daftly facing in a different direction from the preferred one I thought I was facing. As a logical and inevitable result, instead of walking uneventfully through the previously-mentioned and described door, I tried to walk blithely through the white, solid, unrelenting wall.

The next few grey and drizzly days brought unaccustomed and unwanted nausea and debilitating headaches. After much unfortunate prevarication I went to the local and newly-reorganised (in the light of Covid) Accident and Emergency department, where I waited unaccustomedly petrified among assorted people for whom “social distancing” means not quite touching you, and who wore their variously effective and sometimes colourful masks as a handy, if rather small, chin-warmer.

A seemingly long hour and a half later I emerged joyfully into the thickening twilight, very secure in the welcome knowledge that I had nothing more serious than mild concussion. I sadly failed to do much effective writing, but I was extremely pleased to have fervently read a further 17% of my exciting and unusual book.