Bulwer-Lytton 2011

The results of the 2011 Bulwer-Lytton prize - a prize for the worst opening sentence in a (usually imaginary novel - for 2011 are up ( well they were up in July) and I can't resist the prize winner:

Cheryl’s mind turned like the vanes of a wind-powered turbine, chopping her sparrow-like thoughts into bloody pieces that fell onto a growing pile of forgotten memories.

(Sue Fondrie) I also rather liked this one:

The grisly scene before him was like nothing Detective Smith had ever seen before, but there were millions and millions of things he had never seen before, and he couldn't help but wonder which of them it was.

(Sean Griffin) - from the Miscellaneous Dishonourable Mentions.

Bulwer-Lytton Contest 2010

The results for the Bulwer-Lytton 2010 contest are up - it's a competition for the worst opening sentence of a novel (you only have to produce the sentence not the rest of the work). I think my favourite of the quoted ones was:

The dark, drafty old house was lopsided and decrepit, leaning in on itself, the way an aging possum carrying a very heavy, overcooked drumstick in his mouth might list to one side if he were also favoring a torn Achilles tendon, assuming possums have them.

Seeing clearly

I was given, for Christmas, a copy of Chase Twichell's collection of poems 'Dog Language' a series which observe loss in particular the dying and death of her father. Very clear, well observed writing you can't look away. Here's 'Vestibule':

What etiquette holds us back
from more intimate speech,
especially now, at the end of the world?
Can’t we begin a conversation
here in the vestibule,
then gradually move it inside?
What holds us back
from saying things outright?
We’ve killed the earth.
Yet we speak of other things.
Our words should cauterize
all wounds to the truth.

And this section from an earlier poem in the collection 'Watertown':

Grandma had a hundred-year-old
jade tree on the piano.
I'm possessed by a need
to have one exactly like it--
coins of green water,
bark like elephant hide.
Hers had a glazed pot,
a stone turtle.
I want that turtle.

wanting something from down the ages which, maybe, is no more.
There's a review of the collection by the poet Matthew Thorburn. It is published in the UK by Bloodaxe

A dark and non-globally warmed night

The Slate has announced the results of a Write like Sarah Palin competition there's some wonderful (? ed) examples there. Here's part of Anne Sensenbrenner's winning entry:

One night after a long day of campaigning, when the haters had made my spirits reach a nadir, I looked into Todd's eyes, which were as blue as the stripes on Old Glory, and too representing truth and loyalty, and he looked back at me with a twinkle of determination which I hadn't seen since I told him my goal of having another baby in my fifties and naming it Tron, then did I know for sure

(etc), but go and read them all. Thanks to Chris Ambidge for the pointer.

Better late than never

How did I miss the Bulwer-Lytton results - which were announced back in June? Maybe it was when I was wandering across the Alps in search of the mythical flower of nearly extinct tribe of the Ngurr although it could have been a river. I was very taken by this one:

The first time I saw her she took my breath away with her long blonde hair that flowed over her shoulders like cheese sauce on a bed of nachos, making my stomach grumble as she stepped into the room, her red knit dress locking in curves better than a Ferrari at a Grand Prix.
Harol Hoffman-Meisner
Greensboro, NC

Apologies to those readers who saw all these long ago!