IJMC - Think You Can Write?

It's been years since I've had a bottle of Andre. Cheap champagne, where 
you get what you pay for. There's a difference between drunk off of one 
alcohol or another, and Andre almost gives you that champagne bubbliness 
without the cost. Almost. Better than tequila? Dunno...            -dave







    The winners are in at the 17th annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest,
which challenges entrants to compose bad opening sentences to imaginary
novels.

Here are a few of the runners-up, and if you can bear to read that far,
the winner...

    ROMANCE: "My heart skipped a beat as the bearded walrus gently
nudged me in the small of my back with one smooth, curved tusk,
expelling a warm breath of air into my upturned face, its smell of
peanuts reminding me of that precious night on Coney Island; the night
when I became a woman ... a woman and a convict." - Alison M. Kelly,
Vero Beach, Fla.

    WESTERN: "It was a majestic weapon, a masterpiece of form and
function, hand-crafted by master gunsmiths, accurate to a 100 yards, its
bright silver body and long barrel glistening in the sunlight, the
hand-carved ivory inlay warm against the palm, and mom got a good dollar
for it after my brother was shot in the back." - Terry Mayer, Oshawa,
Ontario.

    SCIENCE FICTION: "While the technician finished his work, Elmodine
Jaatrix reflected upon how badly the evening was going: the ionizer on
her Acme 2100 E-Z Klean dishwasher had burnt out, the window-bot had
developed an attitude and the Instafashion clothing dispenser would only
produce athletic supporters and Calvin Klein IX synthawool peasant
blouses, and as she stared at the gibbous moon slowly rising in front of
her, she pondered morosely, `If they can build cities in the rings of
Saturn, why can't they make pants for repairmen that don't droop?"' -
Hwei Oh, Australia.

    HISTORICAL FICTION: "Hemlock wasn't all that bad, Socrates decided
philosophically: no after taste, a smooth finish, and (of course) no
hangover in the morning." - T. O. Carroll, San Jose, Calif.

The grand prize went to Bob Perry, for his this little gem, which
fortunately is NOT the first line of a real detective novel...

    "The corpse exuded the irresistible aroma of a piquant, ancho chili
glaze enticingly enhanced with a hint of fresh cilantro as it lay before
him, coyly garnished by a garland of variegated radicchio and caramelized
onions, and impishly drizzled with glistening rivulets of vintage balsamic
vinegar and roasted garlic oil; yes, as he surveyed the body of the slain
food critic slumped on the floor of the cozy, but nearly empty bistro, a
quick inventory of his senses told corpulent Inspector Moreau that this
was, in all likelihood, an inside job." 

    Perry took his inspiration from a mental image of food critics
diving for their thesauri in search of the perfect terms to fill out 20
word sentences on boiled rice or iceberg lettuce.