The Bulwer-lytton Fiction Contest

[Takara_Soong 4]

Edward George Bulwer-Lytton is the author of "Paul Clifford". It was published in 1830 and holds the distinction of having the worst opening paragraph ever. It was he, not Snoopy, who coined that classic opening line "It was a dark and stormy night...".

 

Every year The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is held with prizes going to the best of the worst opening paragraphs. Here is a link to the site for your reference:

 

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

 

I thought it might be interesting if we had our own version of this contest (no prizes, just for fun).

 

Here is the link to post your entries:

 

Fan Fiction

 

Here are some samples of winning submissions from The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest to give you an idea of what we're looking for.

 

The corpse exuded the irresistible aroma of a piquant, ancho chili glaze enticingly enhanced with a hint of fresh cilantro as it lay before him, coyly garnished by a garland of variegated radicchio and caramelized onions, and impishly drizzled with glistening rivulets of vintage balsamic vinegar and roasted garlic oil; yes, as he surveyed the body of the slain food critic slumped on the floor of the cozy, but nearly empty, bistro, a quick inventory of his senses told corpulent Inspector Moreau that this was, in all likelihood, an inside job.

 

--Bob Perry, Milton, Massachusetts (1998 Winner)

 

Through the gathering gloom of a late-October afternoon, along the greasy, cracked paving-stones slick from the sputum of the sky, Stanley Ruddlethorp wearily trudged up the hill from the cemetery where his wife, sister, brother, and three children were all buried, and forced open the door of his decaying house, blissfully unaware of the catastrophe that was soon to devastate his life.

 

--Dr. David Chuter, Kingston, Surrey, ENGLAND(1999 Winner)

 

The heather-encrusted Headlands, veiled in fog as thick as smoke in a crowded pub, hunched precariously over the moors, their rocky elbows slipping off land's end, their bulbous, craggy noses thrust into the thick foam of the North Sea like bearded old men falling asleep in their pints.

 

--Gary Dahl, Los Gatos, CA (2000 Winner)

 

A small assortment of astonishingly loud brass instruments raced each other lustily to the respective ends of their distinct musical choices as the gates flew open to release a torrent of tawny fur comprised of angry yapping bullets that nipped at Desdemona's ankles, causing her to reflect once again (as blood filled her sneakers and she fought her way through the panicking crowd) that the annual Running of the Pomeranians in Liechtenstein was a stupid idea.

 

Sera Kirk, Vancouver, BC (2001 Winner)

 

On reflection, Angela perceived that her relationship with Tom had always been rocky, not quite a roller-coaster ride but more like when the toilet-paper roll gets a little squashed so it hangs crooked and every time you pull some off you can hear the rest going bumpity-bumpity in its holder until you go nuts and push it back into shape, a degree of annoyance that Angela had now almost attained.

 

Rephah Berg, Oakland CA (2002 Winner)