they never would have lasted anyway

“How do I look?”

“Your tie is crooked.”

“Oh, thanks. Is that a new suit?”

“Yeah, well, ya know this is a special occasion.”

“Ha! Good one. Which side is the groom’s?”

“On the right. Let’s go over by the wall, near the back.”

“We aren’t gonna do this in the church are we?”

“Naw. Wait until they’re outside, takin pictures. Everyone else will be in the reception hall.”

“Good thinkin. But, what if he doesn’t show?”

“Bernie already confirmed that he left the hotel. If he bolts before he get’s here, Bernie will take him out.”

“This guy’s none too bright, is he.”

“Ya think? First tryin to con Paulo, now thinkin that we wouldn’t possibly go after him today. Major rocks for brains.”

“You sure we couldn’t do this after the reception? I bet they’ll have shrimp.”

“Shut it. The ceremony’s startin.”

A celebration of bad writing

I’m contemplating entering the Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest this year.  Never heard of Bulwer-Lytton?  Of course you have!  You know, “It was a dark and stormy night,” right?  Well Snoopy plagiarized that bit of fiction from the late, not-so-great Victorian novelist Edward George Bulwer-Lytton.  He also coined the phrases, “the pen is mightier than the sword,” “the great unwashed,” and “the almighty dollar.”  As significant as those contributions to modern parlance are, his novels were largely un-readable.  But, his memory lives on thanks to the fiction contest named for him. 

From the official website:  Since 1982 the English Department at San Jose State University has sponsored the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a whimsical literary competition that challenges entrants to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels.

You can read all about the author, the contest and the past hilarious entries here. 

It’s actually kind of a challenge to write one sentence that embodies horrible, cringe-worthy fiction (although some might say I do a pretty good job already!).  Below are my attempts.  Let me know what you think. 

Jetting across the salt-flats at speeds previously unknown to man, Jack was amazed because he didn’t know the speedster could go that fast. 

*****

Knowing that Brandon’s murderer had died gruesomely was cold comfort to Christine, like a blanket drying on a clothes line in winter, but had to be brought in because it was time for bed and that was the only blanket she owned. 

*****

As the contenders entered the arena, a hush enveloped the crowd in a warm, buttery embrace not entirely unlike a fresh croissant, but actually more resembling a cake doughnut since a croissant is only a semi-circle and the hush fell all the way around, but it is doubtful that anyone at the 10^th Annual Pumpkin Junction Hog Calling Competition knew what a croissant looked like, anyway. 

*****

Carter had the deadly rhinoceros in his sights, so he slowly lifted the high-powered rifle up to his shoulder and aimed it at the beast, lining up the shot using the circle and crossed-lines thingy on top of the barrel. 

unnatural selection

     John felt heavy. Or at least he thought he did. He really couldn’t be sure he felt anything at all. He didn’t even know if he was alive or not. He could swear he sensed something pressing down on him, though. When he thought about it more, he began to realize that the pressure was localized to his chest. He was about to surmise that he was having a heart attack when he felt something very strange touch his nose. It was warm and damp and rough and it brushed against his nose in an upward fashion. John thought if he was having a heart attack, this was a symptom he had never heard of. He made a decision to open his eyes and after a couple of moments he actually did it. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the light of the room, but when they did he still couldn’t quite believe what he saw perched on his chest. It appeared to be a large, gray cat with white paws looking back at him with wide green eyes. It licked his nose a few more times then ambled down his body to settle at the foot of the bed.

Dialogue

            [Stephen] made his way to the bar where Mark was mixing a drink for a woman on the first stool.  Stephen couldn’t see her face from his angle, but she must have been quite attractive.  Mark was giving her his best “will accept phone number in lieu of tip” smile.  She didn’t appear interested, not looking up as he slid her drink to her.  Mark’s charm and persistence tended to pay off more often than not, however.  Before the sun was up she could quite possibly be searching for her clothes by the light of his aquarium.    
            Stephen sat on the stool two over from the woman and slid the lock-box across the scarred wood to Mark.  “Break it to me gently,” he said.  
            “Aw, why do gotta be like that?  A little optimism couldn’t hurt.”  Mark was already pouring Stephen’s nightly Maker’s on the rocks.  
            “You’re right.  How did it go?”  Stephen stared into his drink. 
            “Well, I had to call a cab for Carter again tonight,” Mark told him.  “He was bitchin’ up a storm about his freakin’ foreman again.”
            “What time was it?”
            “Oh, about nine thirty or ten.”
            “Damn.  If he doesn’t improve his stamina we’re gonna lose one of our best paying customers.”  
            “You’re all heart, man.  Tonight was alright for a Thursday.”
            “Yeah, yeah.  You might as well close the tabs and turn on the overheads.  The sooner I close the books the sooner I can go cry myself to sleep.”
           “Optimism, man.”  Mark said as he took the box to the register.           
            Stephen savored a sip of his drink and heard a soft laugh off to his right.  “Now I know to leave a good tip,” a woman’s voice said.

I really like writing dialogue.  I like figuring out the flow of the conversation and including the little pauses and gestures that can reveal so much about a character.  I notice that sometimes when I’m talking with people I tend to envision the dialogue in my head, and I pay attention to what people do with their hands while they talk.  It’s all fodder for future fiction (alliteration not intended).