Hilarious second collection of entries into a bad written contest that challenges contributors to craft the worst possible opening sentence for a novel. Possibly more enjoyable for those who write prose, but definitely amusing for anyone that enjoys reading. ( )

The secret of what would make a successful Bulwer Lytton Contest entry, decided Elwood Featherstonehough (pronounced 'Fanshaw') as he waded through the thick treacle of a hundred and twenty pages of main clauses riven asunder by agonizingly long-winded subordinates peppered with preposterous character names, irrelevant asides, and unnecessarily overwrought and awkwardly alliterative prose, was perhaps destined forever to remain tantalizingly just beyond his purview. ( )

"Son of 'It was a Dark and Stormy Night'" Compiled by Scott Rice
This is a book from 1986 featuring the notable entries from the infamous Bulwer-Lytton Contest. This annual contest by San Jose State seeks the worst possible opening lines for a novel in the tradition of "It was a dark and stormy night..." Some of the entrants are just really weird single sentences that take up half a page, but some are outright hilarious. It takes great skill to do quality bad writing. Here are some of my favorites:

"The sun hiccupped morning onto the weeping landscape..."

"Her breasts rose like twin Fujiyamas, the silk of her blouse forming miniature ski runs in their folds, causing me to consider taking up cross-country skiing with a vengeance; but I chose its stead tact as a stance as I intoned a wistful 'Good evening.'"

"He pounded his seed-filled zucchini into her well-oiled food processor and she took him through all the cycles, pureeing his once proud squash."

A special one for me since it is about my home region:
"Ghost of the tule marches, wraiths of fog slithered over canal banks and seethed from dank sloughs' still cattails, slowly rising like steam from extinct grizzlies' backs, like softly snorted breath of vanished tule elk, like smoke from extinguished but normally slow-burning Yokuts' fires, misty miasma inexorably writhed across the San Joaquin, reclaiming the man-altered valley for an evening, returning it to the spirits of its long dispossessed owners, and really fouling up the traffic in Fresno."

For a final funny note, the last page of the book features the grand prize for the next year's contest - a Macintoch 512K and MacWrite word processor! ( )