Andrushka

I remember, back in the day, back when we were young and I was beautiful, back when I thought Latin was funny and just before I asked Buffy to the Celtic-themed banquet (which Angela so expertly orchestrated), Mr. Blake, the legend himself, assigned his creative writing class (of which I was a part), the task of writing bad leads for creative prose, an homage to the master of regrettable leads himself, Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, praise be unto him; I remember it with fond rememberance. Now I'll stop trying to write poorly. In all seriousness, this is what Bulwer-Lytton wrote that immortalized him in the world of wretched 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 (Paul Clifford, 1830).

Today I was reminded of the author and exercise when I found the website of the Bulwer-Lytton contest. They have been promulgating painful prose for the last 23 years with hilarious effect. In 2005, the contest winner was Dan McKay of North Dakota. He wrote:

As he stared at her ample bosom, he daydreamed of the dual Stromberg carburetors in his vintage Triumph Spitfire, highly functional yet pleasingly formed, perched prominently on top of the intake manifold, aching for experienced hands, the small knurled caps of the oil dampeners begging to be inspected and adjusted as described in chapter seven of the shop manual.

You can find these and many, many more hilariously bad leads here and here.

Posted by Scott on 06 March 2006 at 3/06/2006 02:30:00 PM | Permalink