A flying pork product helped an American writer claim literary infamy in this year's Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, which crowns the author of the worst opening sentence to an imaginary novel.
Lawrence Person from Austin, Texas beat out more than 6,300 contestants with his deliberately dreadful description: "She had a body that reached out and slapped my face like a five-pound ham-hock tossed from a speeding truck".
The winning entry captures perfectly the spirit of the contest, which celebrates purposefully purple prose and memorably mangled metaphors. In other words, bad writing.
Named after Victorian novelist Edward George Bulwer-Lytton – who gave us the infamous "It was a dark and stormy night" opener – this quirky literary competition has been running for 42 years.
Bulwer-Lytton's original sin against literature appeared in his 1830 novel, Paul Clifford, featuring an opening paragraph so overwrought it became a template for bad writing: "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". Overwhelmingly verbose.
Check out my selection of seven other submissions.
Jack Harnly of Sarasota in Florida, USA submitted this sentence to a non-existent novel: "She was poured into the red latex dress like Jello poured into a balloon, almost bursting at the seams, and her zaftig shape was awesome to behold, but I knew from the look on her face and the .45 she held pointing at me, that this was no standard client of my detective agency, but a new collection agency tactic to get me to pay my long-overdue phone bill".
Gwen Simonalle of Grenoble, France came up with this: "Staring unblinkingly into the pleading, tear-filled eyes of yet another dame looking for me to solve all her problems, I sighed, stretched, scratched my whiskers, stuck my hind leg in the air and bent my spine at a 45-degree angle to reach down and lick my butt clean, then donned my fedora – Taco, Cat Detective, was officially on the case".
Eric Williamson of Nine Mile Falls in Washington, USA's contribution: "Cthulhu awoke from loathsome dreams of gangrenous decay and the foul stench of congealing viscera, lifting his pulpy, misshapen head to find what foolish supplicant had roused him to yet another age of fear and creeping dread, but found his bloodthirst unslaked, having been brought to consciousness not by horror-filled screams of human sacrifice but by his little sister’s overly dramatic wail of 'Cthulhu’s touching me!' from her side of the family station wagon’s back seat".
G Andrew Lundberg of Los Angeles in California, USA: "On an otherwise fine spring morning, Helga Tottentanz learned in an exceptionally hard way that, whatever they might’ve told you in hospitality school up in Cologne, as a serving wench in Mainz’s finest inn in 451 AD, you don’t greet a battle-weary and obviously stressed general named Attila, fresh from crossing the Carpathians at the cost of ten thousand or so men, with an overly cheery 'Hi, Hun'”.
Greg Homer of San Vito, Costa Rica: "Zenta the Australopithecine woman gently placed the egg into her homemade reed basket (leaving behind two of her fingers bitten off by the mother Archaeopteryx) and silently wished that one day a harmless, delicious, abundant egg-laying bird would evolve".
Matthew Holmes of Doreen, Australia: "His burnt flesh sizzling like a burger on the grill, blood pouring from his wounds like an overshaken cola, and sweat as salty as French fries pouring down his face, John knew that after this mission was over, he was getting McDonald's for dinner".
And Tony Buccella of Allegany in New York: "If broken hearts were made of simple syrup, and shattered dreams were made from white rum, and agony and despair came from ¾ ounce of lime juice, freshly squeezed, and three mint leaves respectively, then Mary Lou just served up a mojito cocktail straight from the ninth circle of hell when she told Ricky the baby wasn’t his".




















































