How do I make my writing more beautiful, and less basic?

How do I make my writing more beautiful, and less basic?

stop masturbating

go on a quest to seduce the prettiest female in your fap folder, once successful, take off her panties and sink your tongue in her butthole. a secret will be revealed to you then.

Use a shit ton of adjectives

Sounds promising, will report back.

Read more books. Eventually you will learn to copy your favorite artists style.

>that hidden McDonald's advertisement
I'M NOT BUYING

Fucking hell, that pic of yours, OP Just imagine Starfleet against Planet X, Kirk getting into fistfights with Xiliens and nailing a Miss Namikawa-lookalike. I bet IDW thought about doing this crossover, but Toho never allowed it.

The two universes were made to be together, yes. Hello fellow kaijufag.

This.

Plus try to read a variety of authors so that you kinda blend their styles.

I've been back and and forth between Nabokov style and Hemmmingway style.

Also, try not to read too differing styles while writing

I read back a few passages of my writing and it was like some nebulous concoction of mccarthy mixed with sartre

God I am so worried about that actually. Especially with pieces which I write over a length of time.

Hello back. Sorry, don't think I can add anything constructive to the actual topic.

That's okay, friend.

>Kirk kucking Nick Adams
The fucking balls on him.

Post a sample of your writing so we can give actual advice rather than just take potshots in the dark.

Not OP, but I would also be interested in advice on the subject. Here's something that I last vomited out.

Through rain and snow the pioneer forged his path. Through mountains and forests, jungles and deserts, to the twilight sun that lay west. And under his weathered hood, for the first time in months, he noticed the silhouetted shape of a city on the horizon. He set out for it, the harsh trek down into the valley wearing at his feet, and as he got closer the sweet smell of pork brushed his nose, and he found himself driven by it, thrusting his staff forward with an increasing urgency at the prospect of food and shelter and warmth, that is, until he came to the city’s walls.

He found it difficult to move, his head felt light. For there, under the city’s great arched gate, carrion birds competed for a meal. Once he shooed off the birds, they left him to the sight of a blackened corpse. Fabric clung to it like they were once clothes, his helmet lay beside him, a bowl of red-black mush. And then the pioneer keeled and threw up his lunch over the dust.

He got up and resolved to keep going, to ignore whatever he might see ahead. And holding his cloak about him as to cover as much of his body as possible, he journeyed through a maze of ruined buildings and held his nose at the howling blasts of foul air that bounced through it.

The next site he saw was the body of a mother and child, she seemed to still cradle her baby, as if to protect it. And then he saw more and more bodies, until none seemed to stand out and they all were background to him. But then he noticed a store, and he crept towards it, opening its creaking door only by a crack, so as to not alert the source of the calamity.

He found boxes of rations and the occasional tin. Clothing too, he found aplenty, but he left it alone, taking only what he needed, and nothing else.

After a while of stumbling through the narrow streets he found they all pointed to a great square, and judging by the remnants of what he made to be stores, he thought it a marketplace. And after finding nothing useful in each of the stands, he found a fountain that still held its water. His waterskin was quite empty, and the water smelt suspiciously of rust, but he had no choice, he filled it, taking short sips so as not to overwhelm his parched tongue.

Be more wordy and verbose, even at the price of too much of an excessive and unnecessary redundancy. Please allow me to showcase a demonstration which will exemplify what can be shown:
>How do I render my literary effluvia more exceedingly exhilarating aesthetically, and at the same time simultaneously all the while retaining a certain lithe and slender wee minimalism of form, aspect and external appearance?

He doesn't have to, the best part about their planet is that all the females look like Miss Namikawa.

Kirk and Glenn can still have a friendly charm off of course, no harm in that.

>Hemmingway style
STOP

Here's something I wrote just for the fuck of it:

Jeffrey awoke to the sound of his bedroom door creaking open. His eyes fluttered open, The room was not that dark because the moonlight was spiling in through his window, however, it seemed brighter than normal.
Hisdoor was indeed open. The hallway was a hall of shadows. Jeffrey blinked.
Finally something beyond the door moved; a pale figure stepped into the room. Jeffrey froze, but not from terror, but there was plenty of that.

****!

He awoke again face-down, on a cold, hard surface. His face pressed against that surface as something pressed down on him.
“Mmmph.”
He thought he heard a voice responding to him. Felt it, more like it. It was so soft it may have been in his head. He could not tell what it said. It had the intonation of a question.
“Mmmph.”
The hands (or whatever they were) worked on him, pressed his flesh, poked him, prodded him, and he was filled with terror so that his body shook, but it could only shake, and nothing more. He was immovable.
Then his arm was bent behind his back, and he panicked, “mmm ph!” Painshot through him, his limb pressed in such an unnatural way. He feared it was going to be snapped off, but it was returned to its place by his side. Then the process was repeated with the other arm. He began to calm down now. There was a pattern revealing itself, a methodoligy that was comforting. Perhaps no harm would come to him.
He spoke too soon. Thwap thwap thwap! With a sharp stinging, something struck his naked back. Heflinched, but it was soon over, and the voice returned, this time much clearer:
“Okay, turn overrr.”

>Here's something that I last vomited out.
>Here's something I wrote just for the fuck of it:
Please stop downplaying what you write so you can feel better if people don't like it. Present your work with confidence.

It's evocative but generic. I'd probably try to expand your pallette in terms of readings to draw new inspirations

is this the famous 'Order 66'?

>not order 69

Read more and more carefully, and keep writing in your mind while you do mundane stuff. You probably will never use it, but it will help you to shape an style.

You're right.
Here's something I wrote as an earnest excercise based off a spur-of-the-moment idea I had and I hold it up equally to any of my writing.

Hemmmmingway.

>tfw Shatner and Adams will never co-star in anything