The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest (BLFC) is a tongue in cheek contest that takes place annually and is sponsored by the English Department of San Jose University in San Jose, CA.  Entrants are invited “to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels” – that is, deliberately bad.  According to the official rules, the prize for winning the contest is “a pittance” or $250.The contest was started in 1982, is named for English novelist and playwright Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, author of the much-quoted first line “It was a dark and stormy night.”  This opening, from the novel Paul Clifford, continues floridly: “It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”


Agent Jeffrey’s trained eyes rolled carefully around the room, taking in the sights and sounds.


Bang! As the bullet hit her ear, she felt an excruciating pain, as if her ear were screaming into itself.
She had the kind of face that made you want to say hey, look at your face.
“I’m a winner,” thought Seabiscuit, galloping across the finish line.
“There was to be boxing,” Steve muttered. “Punch, punch, punch.”
I parted her legs with great solemnity. “Hello old friend,” I whispered.
As I approached the dairy aisle, wondering what milk to buy, I remembered my doctor suggested a low fat milk, so I purchased skim milk.
Dolly looked upon her paper expeditiously then elevated up her pencil. She had now commenced not only a race against the clock, but a race to get the best mark ever in the class.
Wow. He was firmly mesmerized by her bright blue eyes that complemented her blue floral dress.
Her golden hair bounced in the breeze like farm-fresh honey flowing from a jar.
The moon shone like a star, while tears of heaven rained the sky.
A lone plastic grocery bag fluttered in the breeze, like a sail without a boat.
She was really really hot, her breast like flames to my heart and mind.
Today was the night where our love was to be consummated, by making love.
Albert Einstein claimed that the only universal constant is light. However, Einstein never witnessed the power of Vittoria Lionheart’s love.
“Do you still love me, John?” I asked. “I don’t love you, Marie,” came the reply from the letter I held in my shaking hands.
Even as I leaned on the lamppost, the sadness of my heart could not be brightened.
It was the worst possible news he could have received. He howled an inarticulate howl of rage, and threw the various decorations on his mahogany desk all across the small room.
Gramlax the Mighty raised his broadsword overhead and swung it mightily, roaring, “You fellows will certainly pay!”
Kaldor fondled the hilt of his sword with his lanky fingers and inhaled the sunrise. “I taste the future blood of my enemies,” he relished.
Melissae’s ears, which ears were long and pointed on account of her proud elfin heritage, were perked up.
Robert woke up in a hospital bed and he couldn’t remember the criminal man he had just killed moments before.
My pen allowed me to write this tale, your eyes to read it, your mind to “get it.”
Just as we were moving from the wedding to the reception, Mother demanded, “Show me by the way that you dance that you are.”
Stephen knew today felt wrong, as he listened to “Heart Cooks Brain,” by the band “Modest Mouse,” from the album “Lonesome Crowded West.”
The cat sat in silence on the window sill, doing catlike things while watching his owner tend to the makings of supper.
Sheila woke up instantly; it was that dream again — the one with the face, and the man, with the face.