Cud Flashes in the Pan:


 

Cud Flashes in the Pan:
It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...
David M. Fitzpatrick

 

Cud Flashes in the Pan:
It Was a Dark and Stormy Night…
by David M. Fitzpatrick

The Edward Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is an annual event. It was inspired by the infamous first line of EBL’s novel Paul Clifford (1830), which you no doubt remember for what is today considered melodramatic writing:

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.

The thing about this line is that, regardless of how reviled it is, it’s grammatically sound. The contest seeks submissions which are the best worst lines contestants can muster: They must be bad, but good.

I’ve collected compilation books of contest winners for years, and last year decided to submit something. It was so much fun writing them that I came up with one for every category (and then some). Alas, I did not win, but it didn’t change how much fun it was. If you’re a writer, this is a great writing exercise, and if you win you get some entertaining bragging rights.

You can find the contest at www.bulwer-lytton.com.

Now, on to my array of good, bad, and ugly sentences—all losers! We’ll go artwork-free henceforth. After all, this is only 19 sentences, people.


===========


My plane landed in the ancient and magnificent city of Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit; of course, that, the official name of that municipality, is not how the English-speaking world knows it, but “Bangkok” always sounded kinda silly.

*     *     *

In Greg’s one handwritten line, Bill couldn’t discern where the emphasis was: “MARK didn’t screw your wife yesterday”; “Mark DIDN’T screw your wife yesterday”; “Mark didn’t SCREW your wife yesterday”; “Mark didn’t screw YOUR wife yesterday”; “Mark didn’t screw your WIFE yesterday”; “Mark didn’t screw your wife YESTERDAY”—wherever that emphasis, Bill wanted to know who Greg and Mark were.

*     *     *

“Meow!” said the calico cat; “Mew!” said the tuxedo cat; “Rowr!” said the orange tabby; “Hiss!” said the Russian blue; “Squeak!” managed the gray tiger; “Purrrr!” trilled the white cat—but it was all incomprehensible to the bug-eyed green alien who’d only learned English for his first-contact mission with Earth’s ruling species.

*     *     *

Andrew’s otorhinolaryngological problems began as pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, but the pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism and psychoneuroendocrinological aftereffects, confirmed spectrophotofluorometrically and pneumoencephalographically, were vicious… no treatment, not even immersion in Bath’s aequeosalinocalcalinoceraceoaluminosocupreovitriolic spa waters, worked; otherwise, an old antidisestablishmentarianist like Andrew would have felt floccinaucinihilipilification, but it all emphasized the hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian nature of his condition—ironic, given his hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia—but at least such words made entering short-fiction contests easier.

*     *     *

Hours in the waiting-room chair, the super-busy nurses handling more-serious patients… sure, Betty was a hard-luck case—low-income woman, one-night-stand infection, early-stage pregnancy—but she loathed unhyphenated compound-adjective phrases, so as black-as-ink night became bright-sun-lighting-up-the-Eastern-sky morning, the poor-punctuation sign had worn on her; she rushed to the fire-engine-red door that read EMERGENCY ROOM DOCTOR and sarcastically hollered, “So where’s the room doctor who responds to emergencies?”

*     *     *

Alabama Smith (wearing his top hat) entered the bar and saw Arizona Doe (Panama), California Jack (cowboy), Colorado Beck (fez), Connecticut Twain (straw), Louisiana Beau (beret), Massachusetts Bay (ballcap), Minnesota Joe (knit), Mississippi Jim (visor), and Pennsylvania Bob (derby) laughing and drinking together, and Smith realized that, even without that fedora-wearing Jones guy from Indiana, this promised to be one rousing expedition.

*     *     *

“I’m not just your father; I’m an alien vampire/werewolf with superpowers—and only you, my alien-human hybrid daughter, know,” he said; but, although it made sense now that Sara saw his true amphibio-reptilio-avian face, she was too wrapped up chatting with her friends, so she typed “my dad is SO weird” to them, and they all LOL’d.

*     *     *

Twelve days before eleven cops arrived, ten of Susan’s friends took her for a nine-hour girl’s night where eight strippers on seven videos earned six wads of bills she’d brought; now, with five state and four federal charges for the cocaine, and three lawyers telling her she had two choices—guilty or innocent—there was only one option; so, as she boarded the plane, she muttered, “This sure doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

*     *     *

It was dark (like the inside of a box during a power outage in a black hole) and it was stormy (like a hurricane blizzard on Centauriax 5); it was a dark and stormy night, Lieutenant Fluffy Jingles of the USS Demon Molester realized with amusement, even as he knew that Edward hadn’t known how dark and stormy a night could really be.

*     *     *

It was a bright and sunny day; the sunbeams fell in rays—except at occasional intervals, when they were interrupted by a towering cloud of white which shadowed down on the streets (for it is in Streetsville that our scene lies), darkening across the housetops, and lightly dimming the brilliant light of the sun that dominated over the shadows—namely, a dark and stormy night’s antithesis.

*     *     *

Sam had never seen an origin story like his, but after the giant interdimensional worm encased him and neurocopulated with his brain, Sam discovered he could fly, lift cars, shoot eye lasers, and transform into a giant worm, so there was no doubting that he was a living comic-book hero—he’d call himself… Superworm.

*     *     *

When Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox, hope filled Lillian’s heart, for she knew that the country would heal, that things like racism and political divisions would vanish, and that the coming twentieth century would see civilization approach perfection; excited, she ran into the plantation fields to savor her slaves, whom she always treated like family, while she still could.

*     *     *

“Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo,” Johnson said to the Buffalo school trustees; they knew “buffalo” was synonymous with both “bison” and “bully,” and while Johnson could have said, "Buffalo bison [that] Buffalo bison bully [also] bully Buffalo bison,” they knew the distinguished teacher held an English doctorate, and they believed him… although they suspected he was just showing off.

*     *     *

The sun was fire (technically thermonuclear fusion of hydrogen into helium at its core) in a sky so blue it was like brilliant green—as blue as the brightest green, for Richard couldn’t imagine a comparable blue—and the trees, erupting from the ground below like slow-motion-exploding giant plants, were a very different green than he’d imagined while considering the sky’s blueness; he beat his wings, as soft as snow was cold, and flew as high as obsidian was hard and black.

*     *     *

James crept into Vanessa’s dark bedroom, dived beneath her covers, kissed his way up her body—saving the best parts for last, like a grand dessert after a fast-food meal; Vanessa trembled, writhed, moaned, squealed, then bade him light the lamp… but when he did, he realized it was not Vanessa but his mother—yet, as James fled, he felt greater love for his sister Vanessa.

*     *     *

When the United Earth Spaceship Venture passed unexpectedly through a wormhole and found itself suddenly above a strange planet orbiting a green star, Commodore Kirkpatrick looked at the approaching alien armada on the viewscreen and said, “Looks like this was a bad day to get infested with Rigellian testicular worms.”

*     *     *

When Nathan examined the long, slender dagger, he realized that the face reflected in the blade was not his but that of an evil spirit within it; indeed, as the knife explained that it had to be hidden away until needed; Nate said, “A possessed knife! What should I do?” and the blade replied, “I am a dirk—and store me, Nate.”

*     *     *

“Jane, come with me down the road below the village to the church on the hill above the valley at noon with Mother’s ring during the holidays on Christmas, at the altar before our families; in marriage, we’ll go beyond happiness, out of misery and into ecstasy, until the end of time!”—but Jane knew Will’s romantic preposition proposition position was really about sex.

*     *     *

There were few octogenarian Jewish women on the frontier packing twin Colt Dragoons, but Grandma Goldstein knew she’d win despite her arthritis and incontinence; Goldie marched with spur-clinking steps down the dusty street to face Black Zane, ready to expand her legend—but then Zane doffed his cowboy hat and she saw the yarmulke, and she experienced fear for the first time.

*     *     *

Once again, you can find the contest at www.bulwer-lytton.com. Get writing!

 

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Maine, USA. His many short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies around the world. He writes for a newspaper, writes fiction, edits anthologies, and teaches creative writing. Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.