Bulwer-Lytton Awards Winner 2009
THANKS to Brian Appleyard and Andrew Sullivan for reminding us it’s the annual Bulwer-Lytton awards - “entrants are challenged to submit bad opening sentences to imaginary novels.”
The pick of this year’s winners:
Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest - Winner:
“Folks say that if you listen real close at the height of the full moon, when the wind is blowin’ off Nantucket Sound from the nor’ east and the dogs are howlin’ for no earthly reason, you can hear the awful screams of the crew of the “Ellie May,” a sturdy whaler Captained by John McTavish; for it was on just such a night when the rum was flowin’ and, Davey Jones be damned, big John brought his men on deck for the first of several screaming contests.”
The winner of 2009 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is David McKenzie
Runner-Up
The wind dry-shaved the cracked earth like a dull razor–the double edge kind from the plastic bag that you shouldn’t use more than twice, but you do; but Trevor Earp had to face it as he started the second morning of his hopeless search for Drover, the Irish Wolfhound he had found as a pup near death from a fight with a prairie dog and nursed back to health, stolen by a traveling circus so that the monkey would have something to ride.
Warren Blair
Ashburn, VA
Runner-Up
In a flurry of flame and fur, fangs and wicker, thus ended the world’s first and only hot air baboon ride.
Tony Alfieri
Los Angeles, CA
Winner: Fantasy Fiction
A quest is not to be undertaken lightly–or at all!–pondered Hlothgar, Thrag of the Western Boglands, son of Glothar, nephew of Garthol, known far and wide as Skull Dunker, as he wielded his chesty stallion Hralgoth through the ever-darkening Thlargwood, beyond which, if he survived its horrors and if Hroglath the royal spittle reader spoke true, his destiny awaited–all this though his years numbered but fourteen.
Stuart Greenman
Seattle, WA
Most of the others read too much like popular fiction to be parodies…
Posted: 9th, July 2009 | In: Media Comments (6) | Follow the Comments on our RSS feed: RSS 2.0 | TrackBack | Permalink
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July 10th, 2009 at 10:11 am
From ‘Sqeezebox’ The Tony Anorka Story
“It was a sun soaked sunny summers South Cal day as the Greyhound shushed to a halt in downtown LA. Young Tony Anorka stepped from the ‘bus on to the littered pavement. He looked around him, taking in the differences.
‘Yup’ he told himself, ‘It sure is a long way from Axewound, Arkansas’
Not wanting to waste a single minute he approached an old man on a bench drinking from a bottle in a brown paper bag.
‘Hey, old timer, know anyone who’s hiring accordian players in this here town?’ “
July 10th, 2009 at 9:45 am
The air crackled with tension as electrons whirled, merged and sparked earthward in a searing, incomprehensibly powerful flash, striking the dull gelatinous mass laying listlessly beneath; a writhing began and there was shape, form even substance as the now gleaming gel stirred, moved and stood, at first tremulously, then tremendously, proud and strong: it rose triumphantly…. Anorak the dark and stormy knight.
July 10th, 2009 at 9:31 am
Yampster - I think you have done this before…..
July 10th, 2009 at 9:30 am
bravo AGW!!!! sterling effort!!
July 10th, 2009 at 9:07 am
Tales of the Anorkan. Book One. The Marking
“The Captain, Anorka, lay face down on the padded couch. His naked back glistening in the afternoon sun as he waited for the Old Woman to finish her work. He watched in the mirror as her needles rose and fell in an hypnotic rhythm as she plied her ancient craft. Learned as a child she was full mistress of it now. Anorka longed to join the others on the Field of Glory but he knew she could not, would not be hurried. He knew the wait would be worth it and it would mark him out as special.
‘There’ she sighed ‘ ‘Tis finished’
‘Thanks Mum’ said Anorka as he pulled on the only hand knitted Arran Arsenal away kit in the world.”
July 10th, 2009 at 7:41 am
For shame, we can do much better:
“The excited harridan’s left foot was tapping a rapping, triumphant, death rattle as the end of the mighty Anaork drew closer; a soar-away success of the damp dark place of over-writing and treachery over wit and reason: then as the denouement, the trilling orgasmic climactic peak of sanctification came creeping closer, a dark ochre clot started its inexorable slither to the mighty trembler’s brain to deliver one terrible last lesson of mortality…bad blood is not a good thing.”
There! A sample of tale of Volkanorakia.