Skip to comments.Seattle writer wins bad fiction contest
Posted on 06/30/2010 3:50:49 PM PDT by JoeProBono
SEATTLE, - A Seattle author was named the winner of a contest to create an opening sentence to begin the worst possible novel.
Molly Ringle, who has published one novel with two more on the way, was declared the winner of the 28th annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a bad-writing contest sponsored by San Jose State University, the California school said.
"For the first month of Ricardo and Felicity's affair, they greeted one another at every stolen rendezvous with a kiss -- a lengthy, ravenous kiss, Ricardo lapping and sucking at Felicity's mouth as if she were a giant cage-mounted water bottle and he were the world's thirstiest gerbil," Ringle's prize-winning sentence read.
Still better than L. Ron Hubbard.
my friend and i get a kick out of this contest... we love to read the sentences of the top winners... we often guffaw...
It would be funnier if this contest was for actual published novels. heh
Well it damn sure DOES!
Y’all ever see the similar contest, wherein the contestants must begin their opening sentence with “It was a dark and stormy night...”?
THAT one is HYSTERICAL. I’ll go dig up something resembling a link for ya.
hit and run
I cant find the link anymore though. It was of course about Hillry.
Just in time for tea!
“a lengthy, ravenous kiss . . . lapping and sucking . . . .”
Sounds kinda like Al Gore getting massage.
OK OK....seems I WAS referring to this very contest (always thought it had to include that offending phrase; but it’s only a contest to choose the worst of that STYLE of writing).
I LOVED this one: :)
As Holmes, who had a nose for danger, quietly fingered the bloody knife and eyed the various body parts strewn along the dark, deserted highway, he placed his ear to the ground and, with his heart in his throat, silently mouthed to his companion, Arm yourself, Watson, there is an evil hand afoot ahead.
I wish I was a Wellesley wench
Oh the passions I would quench
at parties I would drink highballs
(never touch a beer!)
I’d bat my big blue eyes and sigh
“Are you an ENGINEER?”
But I’m just a tech coed,
Mama dropped me on my head.
I wear a slide rule on my belt,
Man, oh man, do I look svelte!
The song goes:
Oh, I wish I was a Wellesley girl
I’d give the Techman such a whirl
I’d charm them with my smile
And then I’d hook them properly
I’d march them down the aisle.
Oh, I wish I was a B.U. girl
In C.L.A. I’d really toil.
In Hayden you could find me
Almost every night.
And though I could not read a word,
My blouse would be too tight.
A Techretary I would be
To catch a man from MIT.
I’d sit in Building Twenty,
Perhaps in Building Ten,
Doing little favors
For all those lovely MEN.
Oh, I with I wath a girl from Thmith
A thouthand Techmen I would kith.
They’d all come to my miktherth
Id date them on the run.
But when the boys from Yale come round,
I’d flush them one by one.
Oh, I wish I was a Simmons wench,
And oh the passions I would quench.
At parties I’d drink highballs
I’d never touch a beer.
I’d bat my big blue eyes and squeal,
Are you an EnginEER?
Ricardo lapping and sucking at Felicity’s mouth to get at the tea somehow always makes it memorable.
For me anyway.
Winner: Historical Fiction
In Southwestern Germany just east of the Luxemburg border and north of France where history pitted various related Hapsburg Royals against each other and the Archbishops of Trier, the Abbots of St. Maximin, various members of the nobility, and mobs of axe-bearing villagers, there stands a ruin whose building stones mostly were carted off to build other buildings.
Mary Ann R Unger
The band of pre-humans departed the cave in search of solace from the omnipresent dangers found there knowing that it meant survival of their kind, though they probably didn’t understand it intellectually since their brains were so small and undeveloped but fundamentally they understood that they didn’t like big animals that ate them.
We have a winner!
(I was hoping it would go a little longer. Shoulda noun the diperversity of the amerit litter eathe hear would get the port man toe of it.)
She walked into my office wearing a body that would make a man write bad checks, but in this paperless age you would first have to obtain her ABA Routing Transit Number and Account Number and then disable your own Overdraft Protection in order to do so.
San Marcos, CA
Through the verdant plains of North Umbria walked Waylon Ogglethorpe and, as he walked, the clouds whispered his name, the birds of the air sang his praises, and the beasts of the fields from smallest to greatest said, “There goes the most noble among men” — in other words, a typical stroll for a schizophrenic ventriloquist with delusions of grandeur.
Why go to tea if it’s not going to be like something out of the latest idiotic vampire movie? Surely not for the scones ... you could use them for .
She purred sensually, oozing allure that was resisted only by his realization as an entomologist that the protein dust on the couch from the filing of her crimson nails was now being devoured by dust mites in a clicking, ferocious, ecstatic frenzy.
Cynthia had washed her hands of Philip McIntyre - not like you wash your hands in a public restroom when everyone is watching you to see if you washed your hands but like washing your hands after you have been working in the garden and there is dirt under your fingernails — dirt like Philip McIntyre.
The winner of the 2010 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is Molly Ringle of Seattle, Washington. The author of one published and two soon-to-be-published novels, Molly Ringle only writes bad fiction when she fails at good fiction. She’d rather not say how often this happens. She lives in Seattle with her family, and her vices include uncalled-for moments of sarcasm, excessive consumption of Nutella, and an unladylike avidity for the raunchy films of Mel Brooks
Molly Ringle is the 28th grand prize winner of the contest that that began at San Jose State University in 1982. She is also the second consecutive Washingtonian in a row to win the contest, last years being David McKenzie.
Leaning back comfortably in a plush old chair, feet up, fingers laced behind his head, Tom Chambers inventoried his life and with a satisfied grin mused, Ah, marlin fishing off the coast of Majorca, a bronze star for that rescue mission in Jamir, the unmatched fragrance of pastries fresh out of the oven at Café Legrande, two sons who would make any father proud . . . Ive never done any of that.
Drexel Hill PA
“Why, darling, you could have used the scones as the object of a preposition!”
There's other ways to have tea?
I remember that, very funny.
Oneida Revere picked at her meal and stared dully across the table at the charismatic charlatan who had seduced her with the illusion of love and tarnished her family’s sterling reputation; she was wise to his bent mind games and though it felt like a knife through her heart, she knew it was time to stick a fork in it and call it done - her days of spooning with Uri Geller were over.
T. A. Daniel (Seattle, WA) and Craig Rieger (Concord, CA)
The Department of Redundancy Department may want to look into this sentence. :=)
At 4:00 a.m., when the booze is gone, the chili is gone, you've been in these clothes for 36 hours, and they still haven't called the election ...
No, that was a scene in the vampire movie, wasn't it?
It might be time then for Nachos or Fried Oysters in the tub..
Their servers are currently overloaded.
Here is one of my favorites, winner of the "Vile Puns" category in the 2005 contest:
Falcon was her name and she was quite the bird of prey, sashaying past her adolescent admirers from one anchor store to another, past the kiosks where earrings longed to lie upon her lobes and sunglasses hoped to nestle on her nose, seemingly the beginning of a beautiful friendship with whomsoever caught the eye of the mall tease, Falcon.
Thanks, I’ll be dreaming of fried oysters in the tub, now. From Frankie’s, under the pylons of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel, south end. Mmmmmm ... a day of shooting with Dad, Frankie’s, and then a poker game ...
Caviar comes from a virgin sturgeon
A virgin sturgeon’s a very fine fish;
A virgin sturgeon needs no urgin’
That’s why caviar is my dish.
I gave caviar to my lady
She was a virgin tried and true,
A virgin sturgeon needs no urgin’
Now there’s nothing that gal won’t do.
I gave caviar to my grandpa
An stodgy old man of 91;
A virgin sturgeon needs no urgin’
Grandma wishes that she could run...
Please do. Reading some of those “It was a dark and stormy night” intros, I had to hold my tummy I was laughing so hard.
Jerry lathered the butcher knife with copious amounts raspberry jam and freshly churned butter and began applying the breakfast concoction to her supple bossom and midsection - Molly was toast.
Molly Ringle, I got two words for ya, bite mei.
If you want off my ping list get over it!
Reality TV and The View and is going to put this contest right out of business.
Here’s a link to the after thread! A wellesley wench
If it doesn’t include “hot, throbbing member” in the first sentence, followed by “glistening honeypot” in the second, I ain’t bothering......
Turns out it is the same contest.......only it has been expanded and no longer HAS to start with “It was a dark and stormy night...” the way it used to.
This link on this thread.......same contest. Laughed so hard I hurt......:)
Richard Gere gives it two thumbs up!
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