Be prepared to laugh through the groans... or groan through the laughs.
Over on Quora, someone asked, "How bad can a first manuscript be?" Mercedes Lackey answered, Well, this is the classic first manuscript that made the rounds of editors in the 1980s that was so bad it was done in round-robin midnight readings. You could read until you broke up laughing, then you had to pass it to the next in line.
Her answer included a link to The Eye of Argon by Jim Theis. The transcriber's note claims, "all effort has been made to retain the full and correct text, preserving even mis-spellings and dropped spaces."
I started giggling halfway through the second sentence, and quit after about half a page -- funny as hell, in a groaning, disbelieving way, but I have better things to do with my time... one of which is to share with all of you.
After you give at least a glance at this story -- it really has to be seen to be believed -- check out some of the comments under Ms. Lackey's answer, such as...
That was amazing! My hare prickled yawkishly the hole weigh threw!
and --
I...
have no words!
He abused every last one of them.
Farther down, someone asked, Wasn’t the expression purple prose coined for that work?
To which someone else answered, Yes, although, that seems to generate its own category of “even purpler purple prose.”
Or “extremely purple prose.”
Yeesh.
So purple it's black and blue.
The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the Norgolian empire. Age worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting sands of time shone dully against the dust splattered crust of earth. The tireless sun cast its parching rays of incandescense from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three heaving mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome cargoes of their struggling overseers.
"Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of hell, barbarian", gasped the first soldier.
"Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death, wretch!" returned Grignr.
A sweeping blade of flashing steel riveted from the massive barbarians hide enameled shield as his rippling right arm thrust forth, sending a steel shod blade to the hilt into the soldiers vital organs. The disemboweled mercenary crumpled from his saddle and sank to the clouded sward, sprinkling the parched dust with crimson droplets of escaping life fluid.
The enthused barbarian swilveled about, his shock of fiery red hair tossing robustly in the humid air currents as he faced the attack of the defeated soldier's fellow in arms.
"Damn you, barbarian" Shrieked the soldier as he observed his comrade in death.
A gleaming scimitar smote a heavy blow against the renegade's spiked helmet, bringing a heavy cloud over the Ecordian's misting brain. Shaking off the effects of the pounding blow to his head, Grignr brought down his scarlet streaked edge against the soldier's crudely forged hauberk, clanging harmlessly to the left side of his opponent. The soldier's stead whinnied as he directed the horse back from the driving blade of the barbarian. Grignr leashed his mount forward as the hoarsely piercing battle cry of his wilderness bred race resounded from his grinding lungs. A twirling blade bounced harmlessly from the mighty thief's buckler as his rolling right arm cleft upward, sending a foot of blinding steel ripping through the Simarian's exposed gullet. A gasping gurgle from the soldier's writhing mouth as he tumbled to the golden sand at his feet, and wormed agonizingly in his death bed.
Grignr's emerald green orbs glared lustfully at the wallowing soldier struggling before his chestnut swirled mount. His scowling voice reverberated over the dying form in a tone of mocking mirth. "You city bred dogs should learn not to antagonize your better." Reining his weary mount ahead, grignr resumed his journey to the Noregolian city of Gorzam, hoping to discover wine, women, and adventure to boil the wild blood coarsing through his savage veins.
Amazing, isn't it? I gotta say... Mary Sues, Marty Stus, and self-inserts can't hold a candle to this; it makes the worst fanfic I've ever seen compare favorable with Shakespeare. (OTOH, I don't go trawling for bad fanfic.)
But I can't help it; this just has to be shared. I'm especially looking at you,
sallymn. Words used this badly are a reminder that we need to celebrate words that are used correctly, and well. Let us never forget.
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