So by now I imagine we’ve all come across that little corner of the internet where you can have your writing analyzed and compared to famous authors throughout the ages, the one that’s aptly named I Write Like. After all, nothing gives your ego a reach around quite like being told you’re like the next Charles Dickens, but only if you like it old and dusty like that. From what I can tell, some sort of algorithm breaks down things like sentence structure and punctuation, which basically means the Robot Apocalypse is going to be even worse than we could imagine because it’s a pretentious asshole who’s working on his Master’s in Comp Lit.
ANYWAYS, my mother keeps telling me to “write the book,” so I decided to throw a recent post on Lana Turner into this thing and see what my book would look like:
HA, that’s rich. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve heard David Foster Wallace is an amazing writer, and I know a lot of people who were really torn up by his untimely passing, and one day I plan on carrying around a hardcover copy of Jacqueline Susann’s Valley of the Dolls with the dust jacket for Infinite Jest on it so people will think I’m sophisticated or hip (as opposed to low-brow and helplessly gay) when they see me on the subway, but I seriously doubt people are like, “Oh, that kid who writes Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner is totes the next David Foster Wallace,” and if I really am, literary agents need to start recognizing IMMEDIATELY. Obviously this thing must be busted, so let’s try another piece, and this time it’ll be about the all new season for the Mad Men avatar generator:
AGAIN?!? Could it be that I’m actually doing something right, and that things that read like the barely lucid caterwauling of a homeless nance are also things that warrant critical accolades and literary awards? If the third time’s the talent charm, let’s just test one final sample before we put the savant back in idiot savant, shall we? Don’t fail me now, post about that fabulous L.A. Times Magazine Christina Hendrick profile: