Written Rotten
Good writing is always worth celebrating, but sometimes so is bad writing.
So, three cheers for the Bulwer-Lytton prize, showcasing the best of the worst. The 2010 winner is Molly Ringle, from Seattle:
"For the first month of Ricardo and Felicity's affair, they greeted one another at every stolen rendezvous with a kiss--a lengthy, ravenous kiss, Ricardo lapping and sucking at Felicity's mouth as if she were a giant cage-mounted water bottle and he were the world's thirstiest gerbil."
Something tells me Molly's been spending too much time in Starbucks. My favourite effort, though, comes from Scott Davis Jones in California:
"The dark, drafty old house was lopsided and decrepit, leaning in on itself, the way an aging possum carrying a very heavy, overcooked drumstick in his mouth might list to one side if he were also favoring a torn Achilles tendon, assuming possums have them."
Now, that's classic prose. If only I could aspire to Scott's dizzy heights I might one day write badly well.
Or at least write worse better.
So, three cheers for the Bulwer-Lytton prize, showcasing the best of the worst. The 2010 winner is Molly Ringle, from Seattle:
"For the first month of Ricardo and Felicity's affair, they greeted one another at every stolen rendezvous with a kiss--a lengthy, ravenous kiss, Ricardo lapping and sucking at Felicity's mouth as if she were a giant cage-mounted water bottle and he were the world's thirstiest gerbil."
Something tells me Molly's been spending too much time in Starbucks. My favourite effort, though, comes from Scott Davis Jones in California:
"The dark, drafty old house was lopsided and decrepit, leaning in on itself, the way an aging possum carrying a very heavy, overcooked drumstick in his mouth might list to one side if he were also favoring a torn Achilles tendon, assuming possums have them."
Now, that's classic prose. If only I could aspire to Scott's dizzy heights I might one day write badly well.
Or at least write worse better.