Bulwer-Lytton makes me doubt myself

Yikes, this year’s winning entry in the Bulwer-Lytton contest actually doesn’t sound bad to me; I mean I can really see it – the gritty reality of lustful passion.

“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.”‘

Garrison Spik

And this one sounds okay, too –

“Like a mechanic who forgets to wipe his hands on a shop rag and then goes home, hugs his wife, and gets a grease stain on her favorite sweater — love touches you, and marks you forever.”

— Beth Fand Incollingo, Haddon Heights, New Jersey  (The name seems odd though, kind of close to in cognito with a nod to lingo.)

I think the following is not within the nature of the rules, but I guess the awards committee thought elsewise:

“‘Toads of glory, slugs of joy,’ sang Groin the dwarf as he trotted jovially down the path before a great dragon ate him because the author knew that this story was a train wreck after he typed the first few words.”

— Alex Hall, Greeley, Colorado

Well, it is cloudy today and rained . . . Will it be a dark and stormy night?

One thought on “Bulwer-Lytton makes me doubt myself”

  1. Even modern schlock isn’t as good as it used to be, how depressing. Either that or the relentless assault on the English language has finally blunted the edge of critical judgment. The first two didn’t look bad, could have passed for the NYT.

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