The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is an annual contest where aspiring authors submit the opening sentence to an atrocious non-existent novel.
The judges chose not to award me a prize in 2002. But what can you expect from a bunch of half-wits who couldn't recognise genuine writing talent if it bit them on the ankle. Not that I care, you understand. Bastards! [Spits on floor]
It was a light and clear morning; the sun shone brightly, except now and again when it was partly masked by wispy clouds which gently slipped across its tropical face (for it is in Hawaii that our tale unfolds), highlighting the brilliant colours on the dress covering the body of our heroine, Hope, who had been dead for several weeks.
Dawn, the whispering aurora that transports its occupants from the dark unreal night with its attendant fear and uncertainty into the light of a new day filled with hope and the possibility for a future bright and resplendent with desire, broke.
Dawn broke like a runaway articulated truck crashing into the glassware department of a Sears store, careering on until grinding to a stop amongst the bathroom fixtures in the late afternoon, after which night fell like a crumpling collapsing concrete building which had been smashed and weakened by a runaway articulated truck earlier in the day.
Dawn broke, but with some glue and a wooden toothpick she would soon be as good as new; not so our hero Horatio.
"Yum-yum", thought our heroine, Magdalena, appreciatively as she carved the delicious roast on the plate before her into thick succulent slices of pink meat, but then she had always been especially fond of small children.
"Your dream", said the shrink, "was probably caused by someone you ate; in future try to eat only people you know."
Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful princess whose name was Purcell and, like all princesses, she was kind and gentle and graceful and considerate; our story, however, is about a different Purcell who is a gas station attendant in Des Moines, with a liver complaint and a personality to match.
"I'm married", replied Amy when I sat in front of her desk in the travel agency and asked if she would like to accompany me to a Xmas party, "So I asked her if she fools around but apparently she doesn't; would you like to come instead?" I graciously offered Marta.