Waitasec. You mean I can win an award for the opening line of my novel… and never actually write the rest of the book? Count me in!
Next year, maybe. Meanwhile, the results of this year’s Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest are in. My favorite of the lot:
“She sipped her latte gracefully, unaware of the milk foam droplets building on her mustache, which was not the peachy-fine baby fuzz that Nordic girls might have, but a really dense, dark, hirsute lip-lining row of fur common to southern Mediterranean ladies nearing menopause, and winked at the obviously charmed Spaniard at the next table.”