Daha Rastgele Keşfedin writing ideas
- Arsa fikirleri
- Kitap isimleri
- Yazma istemleri
- Hikaye başlıkları
- Rastgele ifadeler
- Karakter kişilikleri
Bu aracın oluşturduğu rastgele paragraflar kullanabilir miyim?
Evet yapabilirsin. Hikaye Shack, bu isimlerin hiçbirinde hiçbir telif hakkı iddia etmiyor, ancak elbette bu ad jeneratörünün sağladığı değerlerin bazılarının zaten başkalarına ait olması mümkündür, bu yüzden lütfen her zaman özen gösterdiğinizden emin olun.
Bu Rastgele Paragraf Oluşturucu ile kaç fikir üretebilirim?
Rastgele Paragraf Oluşturucu projeniz için binlerce fikir oluşturabilir, bu nedenle tıklamaya devam etmekten çekinmeyin ve sonunda [Oompaloompas ]'nızı istediğiniz bir metin düzenleyiciye dışa aktarmak için kullanışlı kopya özelliğini kullanın. Zevk almak!
İyi paragraflar nedir?
Bu jeneratörde binlerce rastgele paragraflar var. İşte başlamak için bazı örnekler:
|Fikir #1||All of a sudden, the grass did not feel that soft underneath my feet. The sun did not shine as brightly. My day, so free of worries, had took a turn for the worse. | © Martin Hooijmans|
|Fikir #2||Flick, flick, flick. A small thumb snapped against the thumbwheel of a lighter, the light of the flame alighting the young boy’s face, if only briefly. On, off. On, off. Flick|
|Fikir #3||light. The flame danced in front of him for mere seconds, before he let it die out. He remained like that as his siblings bustled about the hotel room, his parents rambling to one another of some business. Where are your keys? Where’s Lucy’s coat? How many times do I have to tell your sister not to do that? And on and on it went. | © Mil Carney|
|Fikir #4||They rolled down the hill over and over again, making whoa sounds until they halted in thick plush grass still wet from the morning. Mary Ann giggled and kicked her feet in the air like a turned over turtle while Oscar laid on his stomach panting. At the top of the hill was Jerry dancing tribal-like, a silhouette against the rising sun proclaiming the start of his reign as King of the Mountain. | © Keith Beard|
|Fikir #5||The screams were troublesome. The cries of a foreign tongue shook the snowy sky. Indistinguishable, fast-paced, aggravating. Many terms could be written next to the definition of this night. A back-and-forth banter wasn’t uncommon—soon, it would boil out, and peace would return. It always did. Prying eyes would listen with open ears, an outsider looking in. | © Shakyra Dunn|
|Fikir #6||Alfred was in tears. So was Ed. His tears were not tears of grief, however. They were tears of utmost joy. For years, it had been his dream to tear down one of his brother’s masterpieces. Today it was coming true. As a child he had simply used his little toy hammer to destroy Alfred’s wooden block structures. Now, as a grown-up and the city’s most renowned demolisher, he had positioned the best wrecking balls around the structure, polished for the occasion. They would pummel the red brick walls for a while, just for show. The explosives, placed carefully in the building’s foundations, would then tear through each and every piece of support, a literal final blow. To Ed, it was a beautifully orchestrated opera. To Alfred, the pinnacle of senseless waste. | © Martin Hooijmans|
|Fikir #7||Critics. | © Dave Clark|
|Fikir #8||I’m dead. | © Maria Nestorides|
|Fikir #9||On Sunday we wake up and find our bibles, then church lets out and the dogs are dead. The bodies are peppered across the Lowry field like fertilizer for spring prepping. Pastor Clay says something in the name of God, and then he’s shepherding the children back inside the church. The sky is made of gray cotton, and a southerly chill rolls across the field carrying the stench of wet fur and blood. Maybe even the dying echo of a mutt starving for breath as her lungs give out. | © Elliott Scott|
|Fikir #10||Vaccius looked at the blade in his hand, a look of disgust upon his face. “This is what we fight with now?” | © Martin Hooijmans|
|Fikir #11||Gareth spat out a mouthful of blood, courtesy of the gauntleted man in front of him. He grinned, mustering the most defiant smile he could. | © Martin Hooijmans|
Psst! Kaydedilen fikirleri (çevrimdışı da) depolama sandığınızda görüntüleyebilirsiniz!