Dad sent around an email ages ago with a top ten list of entries in something called the Bulwer-Lytton Contest, or the Dark and Stormy Night Contest. The goal is "to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels."
On a writer's site, one of my friends from my old singles' ward is holding a short story contest in a few weeks, and to generate some awareness and excitement for it, I suggested we hold our own little Bulwer-Lytton contest.
It's been going on for two days now and we're approaching 140 entries, and I thought I'd post a few of my favorites from the bunch (not all of them are mine):
1). Dawn—spuds at seven paces, and Gottfried fell dead without a scream, a russet potato lodged fatally in his right ventricle.
2). Antonio knew that he too could find love—despite his being a JAR OF TANG!
3). In the beginning, the Narrator was missing, and the story was forced to go on without the lazy bugger.
4). On the day it happened, sooty gray clouds swaggered across a pink-streaked sky—oh, gads, I just lost my train of thought.
5). William couldn’t believe how much clearer his sinuses felt after the Resurrection.
6). The day that changed my life was the day that my belly button lint first called me, "Da da!"
7). The smell of fresh french fries filled the air with a greasy saltiness that made the mouth water, and Mr. Potatohead knew his wife had done something awful.
8). Seriously vexed, Silvio the Elf riffed his long, slender fingers through his coiffed flaxen locks and lamented to his pink unicorn, “Prunella, why do all the maidens think I’m gay?”
9). No one else had detachable fingers like Arthur.
10). Screaming denials at the doctor, I declared there was no way I could have swine flu—although there was that one night I got drunk with Miss Piggy . . .
I'll include other entries from the contest in the upcoming Christmas Chronicle. It's been a fun creative exercise, and if anyone wants to take a crack at it, feel free to post in the comments section.
5 weeks ago