And the winner of the 26th annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest for the worst opening line to an imaginary novel is… drum roll please… not Frank Hilliard. D’oh! In fact, it was the unfortunately named Garrison Spik, a 41-year-old communications director and writer from Washington, for the following submission:
“Theirs was a New York love, a checkered taxi ride burning rubber, and like the city their passion was open 24/7, steam rising from their bodies like slick streets exhaling warm, moist, white breath through manhole covers stamped, ‘Forged by DeLaney Bros., Piscataway, N.J.’ ”
Brilliant flourish at the end! Although, I quite liked the Canadian entry from Sarah Totton of Owen Sound, Ont., who received a “miscellaneous dishonourable mention” for this hilariously descriptive bit of surrealism:
“The penguin stood on the iceberg, cutting a striking black-on-white profile, much like the silhouette produced by a person standing behind a screen in front of a bright light while holding up a Twinkie to represent the penguin and placing it atop a Yorkshire terrier to represent the iceberg.”
Complete results can be found here. Remember to take the usual precautions to protect your keyboard from harm before diving in.
p.s. I’d be remiss if I didn’t include some of Frank’s deathless prose:
The first Susan heard about it was when Ron’s red F-150 pulled up in the driveway. She watched him get out and amble up to the door with the imposing presence his bulk always generated in the opposite sex. At 6’ 2” and 240 lbs, Ron Westlake was a handsome hunk of a man, respected by women, deferred to by men.
Priceless.