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[personal profile] amberdreams
Stolen from indiachick, because this is just too funny.

Try using Google translate on a passage of your own fic or other writing. Translate your words to Basque or Hungarian or similar, then try translating whatever Google gives you back into English.

This is what Google did to a couple of paragraphs from a WIP. I translated into Basque then back again.

Being a superhero rarely hurt, and when you did it, it was the most fugitive. Most superpowers were super-healing. In general So, when Jensen began to feel bad, he did not notice sign signs.
He went on patrols in the city's roofs, asking the Jared case to look at the nights spent on the night of the hospital, said Lightning, because a rave was bad at the industrial quarter. The control was thought to be the work of Chemistry Master, and those who helped them last had the latest psychotherapy-related children. Men, but Jensen hated the biobarrorist. So damn wrong.

My actual words were:

The thing about being a superhero was you rarely get hurt, and when you did, it tended to be fleeting – most superpowers came with super-healing. Generally. So when Jensen started feeling unwell, he didn’t recognise the warning signs.

He’d been idly patrolling the rooftops of the city, wondering what interesting cases Jared was facing on his night shift at the hospital, when Lightning messaged him to say a rave had gone bad down in the industrial quarter. Control thought it sounded like the work of the Chemistry Master, who’d probably tampered with whatever the latest psychotropic drug kids favoured these days. Man, but Jensen hated bio-terrorism. So fucking messy

And just for shits and giggles, one more, this time Hungarian (which seems to have problems with gender recognition!)

Sam throws the bloody wipes in the garbage and rinses his hands, feels all moving in the slow motion. She looks over the room where Dean is still lying, sleeping so peaceful, that Sam finds it hard to remember that the power of her knife is like a tired brother. Still far, Sam sees Dean's thighs crossed by red lines, which Sam cautiously caught with love after slapping. Sam is not blind for irony or the fact that only in the bloodshed and pain could Dean's subconscious forget the hell.
Sam's opinion is equally indignant and compassionate, as he takes it for a moment to cover Dean's dull form with one hand, even though the other in his pocket touches his cell phone and his fingers find the shortcut # 2.

This was from The Tender Cut, and the actual words were:

Sam throws the bloodied wipes into the trash and rinses his hands, feeling like everything is moving in slow motion.  He glances across the room to where Dean is lying still, sleeping so peacefully that Sam is having a hard time remembering that it was the power of his knife that has provided this release for his weary brother.  Even from a distance, Sam can clearly see backs of Dean’s thighs are crisscrossed with red lines that Sam so carefully, lovingly, sewed back together after the cutting was done.  Sam is not blind to the irony in that, or the fact that it was only in bloodshed and pain that Dean’s subconscious could forget Hell.
Sam’s expression is scorn and compassion in equal measures as he takes a moment to pull the coverlet over Dean’s slumbering form with one hand, even as his other is groping in his pocket for his cell phone, and his fingers are finding speed-dial #2.
Mind you, I did make me realise what over-complex sentences I use sometimes! LOL
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