u/Forsaken_Napkin

Long story short, I am developing a tool that writes novels. It's long before I finish it so I am not going to put up names or any links as they don't exist yet. Buttt, I am calibrating it to a standard and I want you guys to help me choose which way of writing do you like more.

Right now it creates novels in both styles - first one is plain and simple, easy describing and ignores rules of showing versus telling at the benefit of readability. It is really easy on the mind and even 12 year old can read it (variant A).
The second one though, is not, but it definitely is more quality if it was to be read to an author/writer. But Is it a better book for average reader, who may or may not need so much sensory details and dramatism(variant B)? I am still debating

A
Marcus walked into the gallery with a confident smile on his face, clearly expecting Chloe to be grateful for the deal he had offered her. She stood up from her desk, feeling a surge of cold fury rising inside her chest. "You actually came," she said with biting sarcasm. He looked surprised by her tone, as if he genuinely hadn't expected her to be upset. "Chloe, I thought we agreed this was the best path forward for both of us," he said in a placating voice that only made her angrier. She realized in that moment that he truly believed his own lie, and somehow that was worse than if he had been knowingly cruel.

B
Marcus came in smiling. He always came in smiling; it was the first thing she'd ever liked about him and the last thing she'd believe again.

"You actually came," she said.

"Of course I came." He set his keys on the desk like he still lived there. "Chloe. I thought we agreed."

Agreed. The word did something small and ugly in her stomach.

"Sit down, Marcus."

"I'd rather stand."

"Sit down."

He sat. He was still smiling, but it had moved — it was in his mouth now and not his eyes, and she watched it travel and thought, there. That's the real face. I should have been looking at the mouth the whole time.

A
Elena slowly opened the basement door, feeling a wave of dread wash over her as the smell hit her nostrils. It was a sickening combination of copper and something rotten, and she immediately knew with sinking horror that something was very wrong down there. Her heart pounded with terror as she forced herself to take the first step down the wooden stairs, the darkness seeming to swallow her whole

B
The door wasn't locked. That was the first wrong thing.

The smell was the second. It came up the stairs to meet her — not at her face, lower, around her knees, the way smoke moves, except smoke doesn't smell like a butcher's drain in August.

She put her hand on the rail. The rail was tacky.

She didn't look at her hand.

One step. The wood gave a little under her weight, the way wood does when something underneath it has been wet for a long time. Two steps. The dark down there wasn't really dark — there was a thin grey shape to it, the shape of the room, and something in the middle of the room that had edges.

Don't name it yet, she thought. Get to the bottom of the stairs first. Then name it.

A
Sam looked at her across the kitchen with so much love in his eyes that it took her breath away. She felt her heart swell with affection as she realized just how lucky she was to have him in her life. "I love you," he said softly, his voice full of tender emotion. She smiled warmly, feeling tears of happiness prick at the corners of her eyes, and whispered the same words back to him.

B
Sam was at the counter cutting a pear. He cut it badly, the way he cut everything, in uneven brown-edged slices, and slid half of them across the cutting board toward her without looking up.

"You're staring," he said.

"I know."

"Is it bad staring or good staring."

"Good."

He nodded once, still cutting. The knife was the cheap one. They'd had it since the first apartment, the one with the radiator that knocked, and she could not for the life of her remember why they'd never replaced it.

"I love you," he said, to the pear.

"I know," she said. "I love you back."

He pushed the rest of the slices toward her.