Bulwer-Lytton

And the winners are in for the 2006 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. The object of the game is to create the worst opening sentence for a hypothetical novel, and the whole endeavor was inspired by a real opening sentence by a real author:

"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."

-- Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, "Paul Clifford" (1830)

Pretty convoluted, eh? Not to mention verbose. And purple. Makes me want to dig out the novel and read the whole thing... well, okay, maybe not.

This year's grand prize goes to:

Detective Bart Lasiter was in his office studying the light from his one small window falling on his super burrito when the door swung open to reveal a woman whose body said you've had your last burrito for a while, whose face said angels did exist, and whose eyes said she could make you dig your own grave and lick the shovel clean.

-- Jim Guigli of Carmichael, CA

The whole winner's list is well worth a read. Have fun!

(Oh, and I actually know someone locally who got onto the Dishonourable Mentions list one year... Terri, if you read this, what year did Roger win?)

Pottery class and one nutty squirrel

Quick update on last night's pottery class: I never got near the wheel, because last night was a... *drumroll* glazing class. We got to sit down, pick up our brushes, and paint the pieces we'd made in previous weeks. Those who finished quickly got to work at another table or on the wheels on new pieces, but because one of my pieces required some fairly delicate detail work, I didn't have time to do much else than paint my incense holder, incense bowl, and serving platter.

Before the class, something interesting happened. I arrived at the rec center about an hour early, so I went into a little park right next to it, picked a bench in front of a little grove of trees, and sat down to sip a vanilla bean latte and start reading The Da Vinci Code. I'd been reading for about 20 minutes when the sound of rustling behind me made me look back, where I saw a little grey squirrel bopping around under the low tree cover digging up stuff from various places in the leaf litter and nibbling on it (cached food, I imagine). I watched it for a few minutes, feeling that somehow this little creature's presence was a message -- perhaps that my worries about the class were a result of taking things too seriously, and that, like the squirrel, I should be lighter and a little more spontaneous. Feeling better about the class to come, I returned to my book...

Only to be distracted a few minutes later by even louder rustling noises. Turning around again, I saw that the squirrel had bounced over to a thick pile of moss and was -- surprisingly -- playing in it. Leaping around, jumping straight up into the air, rolling over and over, grabbing low twigs and nibbling on them... I'd never seen a squirrel play, didn't even imagine that they did such a thing. It was very cute and quite amusing.

After the squirrel had finished and sine-waved off to somewhere else, I crouched down under the low branches and took a little bit of the moss. I'm sure I'll find some kind of ritual/magical use for it.

Note to self: Next Wednesday, bring some nuts to put under the trees for the squirrel.