Chamblee54

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest has announced the results of the 2021 competition. Every year, B-LFC solicits opening sentences for bad novels. The “winners” of this competition receive heartfelt condolences from all concerned. Chamblee54 uses B-LFC as an excuse for text to go between pictures every year, like this. Pictures today are from The Library of Congress. Part two is also available.
As a “value added service,” chamblee54 compiles a list of noteworthy author names and locations. This years notables: Derek Lepoutre, Pickering, Ontario, Canada, Kyla Guimaraes, New York, NY, Paul Scheeler, Buffalo, NY, Hwei Oh, Sydney, Australia, Steve Lauducci, Bethlehem, PA, Dave Hurt, Harrogate, England, Janie Doohan, Walla Walla, WA, Stu Duval, Auckland, New Zealand, Roni Markowitz, Brooklyn, NY, Lisa Hanks, Euless, TX, Reinhold Friebertshauser, Chagrin Falls, OH, Fr. Jerry Kopacek, Elma, IA, David Laatsch, Baton Rouge, LA, Peter Skrzypczak, Burlington, Ontario, Canada, James Romag, Colorado Springs, CO, Angelica Zhu, Alameda, CA
A lecherous sunrise flaunted itself over a flatulent sea, ripping the obsidian bodice of night asunder with its rapacious fingers of gold, thus exposing her dusky bosom to the dawn’s ogling stare. Stu Duval, Auckland, New Zealand
Little Timmy suffered from Claustraphobia: the fear of being trapped in a closet with Santa Claus. Donald J. Hicks, Jr., Manchester, NJ
Even though Bambi the deer grew up to become a sleek and powerful 10-point buck, the other deer frequently chided him about his name, which was a perfectly fine name for a cocktail waitress but not so much for a male deer. Greg Homer, San Vito, Costa Rica
“Ding dong, the witch is dead, ding dong, the witch is dead, ding . . . “ before I could tenor the next “dong” the black cat that had been sitting on the unmarked grave fixated me with a strange look and a sudden burst of sparkles came over me and changed me from a villager to a green frog, and now I spend my days sitting on the edge of the duck pond in which we drowned the witch, all alone and afraid a Frenchman would come along and fancy my little legs.
Francis Nys, Mechelen, Flanders, Belgium
The Big Joe Palooka murder wasn’t just another killing, another homicide, another manslaughter, another slaying, another hit, another whack, another rubbing-out, another bumping-off, another assassination, another liquidation, another extermination, another execution—but it was nothing new for Johnny Synonymous, Obsessive-Compulsive Crime Fighter.
Paul Scheeler, Buffalo, NY
The cat purred like a Geiger counter beside the fireplace which crackled like gunfire (which reminded Detective Greenwich of his service in The Ukraine and The Latvia), this feline being the only witness to the murder of the wet nurse and, unless purring counts, he wasn’t talking.
Michael McDermott, Dublin, Ireland
Detective Hill raised his service pistol and pointed it at the suspect, a master of disguise hiding in plain sight as a living statue in central park: “Freeze!” he called out.
Justin C. McCarthy, Cranston, RI
It was a dark and stormy night, as disorienting and miasmic as the inside of the bag of an industrial strength vacuum cleaner with a shredded HEPA filter being dragged over a steel foundry floor. Jeff Laurence, Carmel, CA
Dark and stormy, the night screamed like a ravished virgin …. the dark, stormy night ranted madly in a barometric tantrum …. it was an ebonic nocturnal tempest …. the stygian typhoon of eventide …. prosopopeic fuliginous Nyx, enceinte as it were with lachrymal lamia farouche as Hecate, disbosomed upon her terrene demiorb an empyreal borasque. Jack Holiday, Burbank, CA
Our story begins in the cozy cottage of Bynnoldh-Dyr, son of Asgwitch-Torgwyr, in the idyllic elven village of Myrthffolwrd, but our book actually begins some two hundred pages earlier, in which you are pummeled by irrelevant history and unpronounceable names, because my publisher is paying me by the word. Neil B Harrison, Springville, UT
To the rest of the world, General Sir Antony Alexander Agamemnon Hardcastle may have been the Scourge of the French, the Hero of the Borghorst Pass, and the fourth-worst enemy of the late Napoleon Bonaparte, but to the waitress at the Badger’s Head Tavern and Grill, he was just another customer — and if he called her “cutie pie” one more time, she was going to do to him with one fork what Boney couldn’t with a thousand men. Scott Lyons, Stirling, Scotland
She had a deep, throaty laugh, like the sound a dog makes right before it throws up.
Janie Doohan, Walla Walla, WA
His voice rang out sweet and loud, like maple syrup that had achieved speech and wished to push its deeply held political beliefs on others. Paul Kollas, Orlando, FL