English
We all have guilty pleasures. To quote the character of Martin Vanger, the antagonist in the remake of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” ‘… we’re not that different, you and I. We both have urges. Satisfying mine simply requires more towels.’
At least one of my guilty pleasures doesn’t require towels, merely a strong stomach and epicaricacy when I encounter egregiously bad writing. I am not alone by any means, and count myself amongst the multitudes that eagerly await the annual results of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.
The English Department at San Jose State University is the sponsor of the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a whimsical literary competition that challenges entrants to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels. The contest is named after Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, who opened his novel, “Paul Clifford” with ‘It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.’
My entry this year was
‘Pausing, with a Lomonosov tea cup near her sensuous lips, Veronica suddenly became aware of the sound of multiple MH-60 helicopters approaching her impeccably appointed, 23rd floor penthouse. Immediately, her Mossad training took control, but immediately wasn’t fast enough. Simultaneously, there was the sound of breaking glass, accompanied by the ‘thump’ of boots hitting her recently polished hardwood floors and the unmistakable sound of rappel couplings being disengaged. Time began to dilate as she charged for her front door; exactly the spot where a shape-charge detonated. As consciousness slipped away, Veronica thought “Dear God, the Pope has deceived me!”
Sadly (for me), the 2012 Bulwer-Lytton was won by Cathy Bryant of Manchester with an opening paragraph that could qualify her as the ‘Ed Wood’ of literature.
If you have a Bulwer-Lyttonesque opening paragraph lurking within, I’d love to see it.
–Bear
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There was a pungent but lovely smell of fresh camel dung wafting in the still air; he realized with a quick sudden that some nefarious hooligan had been pilfering his personal reserve of Sobranie 759 and his anger swelled into volcanic upheaval, firmly grasping the Dunhill Sylph letter-opener flint lighter, he envisioned swift vengeance by way of the blade and finishing with the flame, justly burning the culprits bastardly body to a soft dottle.
What about a pipe-smoking themed Bulwer-Lytton contest?
= )
Here’s my 2nd entry:
Clenching the heavily bitten green vulcanite bit of the charred Royal Danish estate pipe while torching the full bloom of cut plug Climax Golden Twins, he felt a ghostly presence emanating within the sulfuric swirl of his blazing bowl and sadly succumbed under an undefeatable odor that this haunted hellraiser would never get to heaven.