The challenge you gave us is easy," writes reader Nathan Powell concerning the Deseret Morning News' Fourth Annual Bad Writing Contest. "I'm an engineer and we can write pages and pages that are all one sentence. It comes naturally."
Apparently, great bad writing comes naturally to many of you — we received nearly 300 entries this year! What follows (as determined by our Features Department) is the Best of the Worst.
Romance
Max was drawn to Henrietta like a magnet; not that imbecilic love-struck, head-over-heals attraction that makes a man desperately cling to a woman like an ecstatic fly to a fresh pile of dung, but genuine no-nonsense attraction, straight from the magnet strapped to his arthritic arm that kept attaching itself to Henrietta's pacemaker, for which he was consistently slapped. — Ross "Show Me the Prize Money" Clement
It had been a normal day, if substitute teaching can in any way be considered normal human activity, until the principal came to my room just before the last bell and calmly, but with a detectable undertone of maniacal glee, announced that the teacher I subbed for had been seriously hurt in a spa accident — something about a seaweed wrap gone terribly wrong —and I would be her permanent replacement, despite the fact that my passport was now invalid, the witness protection program wouldn't allow me to have a paying job, and Lord Bunsen was waiting in the Ferrari with the skis all waxed and ready. — Pam Williams
Somehow Earl knew she'd come back, even as he watched her lumber up the hill and away from his lovesick arms, for he knew women like he knew seedless watermelons, and he knew that in both cases, the best ones always rolled downhill; actually, he knew that all watermelons rolled downhill, even the ones with seeds, and women only rolled downhill if you pushed them, but other than that, Earl knew women and watermelons very well indeed. — John Nichols
Contemporary Realism
Something was wrong, he realized, and quickly checked to make sure he was wearing pants. — Jake Garrett
He always slept with one eye open because he was afraid he might miss something of importance, like, for instance, his child's first tooth pushing through her gums or perhaps the house catching on fire because he'd forgotten to put out his cigar or just maybe a mouse bringing its large litter of baby mice in the house for the winter until it spied the family cat licking its chops, so it hurriedly carried them (the mice, not the chops) to the neighbors who didn't care for cats because they thought they had no personalities so they kept only two dogs, an antsy Saint Bernard (male) and a nervous female poodle (white). — Anne Smart-Pearce
Medical Thriller
He'd had one drink too many last night, and a half-dozen more after that, but he had to drag himself to work today, he couldn't risk losing this job, no not this one, his last chance, so he jammed half a can of tobacco in his cheek to keep himself awake, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and asked the nurse for the rib spreaders. — Mark Vernon
Murder Mystery/Sweepstakes winner
Jasmine Templeton was shapely and graceful, with looks to kill — and if looks could kill, every man in the "Purple Flamingo" would be dead, which would normally be bad for business, except that in this case, it was Thursday, Ladies Night and Buy-One-Get-One-Free Cappuccino Night, so luckily no men were endangered when Jasmine stepped through the threadbare curtain and shrieked, "Help, Simone is dead!" — Laurel Walker
Here are more wretched openers for you to enjoy. Thanks again to ALL contributors. You totally made us groan — and we mean that as a compliment.
This Is The Place category
Alexa gazed into the burly trucker's robin-egg blue eyes and exclaimed huskily, "Oh, Tarquin, my love, this is just like Paris, only we're not in Paris, we're in Vernal, and there is no strolling violinist, just the high school marching band, and the butterflies in my stomach aren't from the breathtaking view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, just from a bad batch of clam chowder; but except for all that, it's just like Paris." — Karen M. Atkin
Mule Deer Gone Wrong
As Gerald sped down the mountain road, pushing the throttle of his '84 Yugo well beyond its mechanical limits, his eyes suddenly focused on the large mule deer whose hooves were frozen to the hot blacktop and whose eyes were glaring back into the one working high beam as if to say, "So you get pretty good gas mileage from that recycled beer can with the rubberized steering wheel and plastic bumpers, well, do ya, punk?" — Alan Jackson
Sci-Fi
They told me I could do anything with the powers of mind — except levitate strawberries into my mouth and start Ford trucks and make people do the Charleston and keep Windows from crashing — but pretty much everything else was OK. — Kiersten Olson
Mystery
Gazing fixedly at the corpse which bobbed in the pool as forlornly as an overcooked noodle in a bowl of 10-for-a-dollar Samurai Ramen, shredded paper strewn across the lawn like confetti in Times Square about eight minutes after midnight on New Year's Day and dozens of onlookers snapping photographs like tourists who weren't about to waste a perfectly good roll of film even though the last tour had been cancelled, Detective McBride knew that, if it weren't for the fact that it was 6:00 in the morning, it would most certainly be a long night. — Heidi Gordon
Romance
They looked deep into each other's eyes, and he wondered what she was thinking, having no idea that during the endless minute that their eyes and bodies embraced, her mind paced itself through tomorrow's To Do List, debated the merits of U.S. participation in the U.N., made mental notes about next week's Sunday School lesson, paused briefly to kick herself for having missed this morning's workout, settled on menu ideas for their next dinner together, worried that perhaps she'd offended her neighbor with her comment about the dying dahlias and, finally, felt relief that they didn't yet have children to further distract her from such romantic encounters. — Dalene Rowley
Looking past her lovely lips puckered into an enticing maraschino cherry, settled between the soft curves of her cheeks which were as smooth and white as whipped cream, he gazed searchingly into the twin pools of melting chocolate that were her eyes and breathed the question dearest to his heart, "What's for dessert?" — Kathryn Andersen
Even though Barry had a tendency to emotionally overwhelm his girlfriends, just like a greasy pan-fried whole red onion smothers a small grilled hamburger patty at the local diner, this time was going to be different because Sherry was special; her sweet, delicious, full-bodied lips melted his heart, and just thinking about her caused his passion to overflow in the same way the drippings from an expensive rib roast pushed the batter over the lip of the pan of his grandmother's Yorkshire pudding. — Doug LeCheminant
"I . . . don't . . . know . . . why . . . you . . . make . . . me . . . swoon . . . so," said Martinique de Buffonerie to the Marquis de Fromage as she sank lankly onto his large, hard chest like a child retreating to the protection of those on whom it depends for safety and comfort — only for Martinique, the comfort was accompanied by danger and arousal. — David Edwards
"I despise you," she said hatefully through teeth clenched tighter than ever teeth were meant to be clenched, like a waffle iron that is clamped shut firmly and is being sat upon heavily by a very large person or animal or object while the batter oozes slimily out the sides — only in her case it was saliva. — David Edwards
Young Adult Literature
It was a great school where everybody knew your name and knew that Kara was angry because Ashley was going out with Tom who said he'd go out with Chelsea, Kara's best friend, but stood her up to go out with Melanie, Chelsea's next-door neighbor, but decided he didn't like Melanie anymore, so he went with Ashley, Chelsea's worst enemy, who is in fact Kara's worst enemy because Chelsea is Kara's best friend and has to hate Tom for going out with Ashley, Chelsea's worst enemy. — Melissa Stevens
Tears flowed profusely from Janan's eyes, propelled by the kind of profound sadness only experienced by teenage girls with really big problems, like the one Janan was facing as she resolutely stepped from the car, gave her mom a sad sort of smile that was reproachful, yet forgiving, and then squared her shoulders and began to walk bravely and courageously toward the large double glass doors of her high school, much like doors to be found on high schools throughout the valley where other students were at that very moment approaching, though none with so heavy a heart as Janan, who trudged onward with the nobility of Joan of Arc stepping to the firing squad, or was it just a fire, or maybe like French aristocrats from a different period in French history marching toward the guillotine, except that in all of the movies it seemed like they didn't so much march bravely forward as get driven up in carts, but some of them did walk bravely from the cart to the little stand where the guillotine was, and Janan was sure that it took almost as much courage for her to walk into school that day, for while she didn't actually fear death, humiliation was certain — the kind of humiliation that results from a combination of a really creative home haircut and an archaic dress code that prohibits hats even on really bad hair days. — Susan Cheever
Horror
He pushed the door open carefully and stepped into the room, letting his eyes wander over the walls, probe shadowy corners, peer under the desk and behind curtains, slide across pictures, slither along the curves of sculptures, bounce from one magazine cover to another, and finally roll back into his head before allowing his fingers to explore the desk drawer. — Kiersten Olson
She blanched, although that wasn't her name. — Paige Ferrell
The bat screeched, the witch cackled, the ghoul shrieked, and then there was an unmistakable silence, the kind of silence that let him know that once again his eerie sound effects cassette had been eaten by his tape recorder. — Debbie Hopoate
Oprah Novel
It was the shrill blast of the alarm clock that pelted her into consciousness, the way a blaring car horn makes you jolt off a commute-induced trance and stare around wildly, heart pounding, palms sweating, and she realized to her dismay that she still had that same old song rolling around in her brain, rolling and rolling round and round, like her son's sweaty gym suit in the washing machine, but she just couldn't remember, not for the life of her, was it "Help me, Rhonda" or "Help me, Wanda"? — Kris Reese
"Oh," Tracie sighed as she raised the back of her hand daintily to her forehead, "it's so hot and sticky in this heat," while thinking guiltily to herself that it was sticky like the sweet, heavenly sauce on the extra-large order of baby back ribs she'd secretly scarfed in her bedroom last night after meeting the delivery man on the porch of a neighbor who was out of town. — Kellie Mortensen
Action/Adventure
Getting used to life on the street was difficult for Evan, and as he stared at that discarded eclair resting prominently on the top of the alley dumpster, it grew more enticing by the moment, although if you compared it to some fresh eclairs or even glazed doughnuts from the bakery, it wouldn't be at all appealing — like how LaVern starts to look attractive when Shirley isn't around — and the fact that it was amidst garbage started to actually make it more appetizing, like Shirley is more appetizing when LaVern is around for contrast. — Brigham Coates
Dog Stories
Through the ages of time, tales have been told of the courage of heroes, the glory of kings, the passion of lovers, the honor of duty, and the triumph of good over evil; however, this story is about none of these because this story is about Ginger, the 110-pound, lazy-eyed Alaskan Malamute and her diabolical plan to get the Jimmy Dean sausage off the kitchen table. — Jeremiah Christensen
Medical Thriller
Doc squinted through the mist hanging in the beams of the intense light grid as he contemplated the grapefruit-sized tumor with its strawberry texture and almond-sized nodules clustered like grapes on its pulpy surface, and wondered why such things tend to be described in terms of fruit and if, after all, it would be good to eat . . . on multigrain cereal with cream and a light sprinkling of sugar — J. Derrick White
It — and by "it" I don't mean the subject of an impersonal verb such as "It is raining," but rather the pronoun substituted for a previously specified noun, although in this case, being the first sentence of this novel, the implied referent will need to be deduced from subsequent context — was — and I do mean the third person singular past indicative of the part of speech expressing existence, action, or occurrence — definitely — and I don't mean the obvious, intuitive knowledge certain people have, but rather indisputable, absolute, provable conclusions based on meticulous, scientific methods — strychnine — the crystalline alkaloid, C21H2202H2 commonly derived from nux vomica. — Don W. Reynolds
Legal Thriller
A thunderous bolt of wicked lightening flashed then reverberated, as the darkly dressed minions skulked toward the granite monument, the removal of which had been commanded by even more darkly robed men, whose sinister plot was the banishment from public view of its engraved sacred words, those 10 revered admonitions, while the main malevolent mover silently gleefully amused himself with the misguided hope that once gone from public property the Bill of Rights might no longer offer protection to the masses. — Brian M. Barnard
Epic
With the rising of the sun so rose Wally Wallop and, as his name implied, he greeted the day with a cacophonetic shout symbolic of his heartfelt joy at the battle ahead and the opportunities that would come his way to help his fellow man by catapulting them from the muck and mire of their self-absorbed unrighteous lives and hoist them to the plateau on which he proudly stood, i.e., that of one who washed his hands before every meal, after going to the bathroom, after shaking the slimy hands of the common man, and after touching money covered with an enormity of filthy, crawling pathogens. — S. Brent Scharman
Contemporary Realism
Thirty-something Evan had long deluded himself into believing that Evelyn would never discover that he still lived at home with his mother, but even the most guarded secrets are eventually and inevitably exposed, like a fabric softener sheet clinging tenaciously and undetected to the inner lining of your pants until it suddenly appears in a fluffy ball on your shoe while you're trying to look cool, and all you can do is pick it up and put it in your pocket like nothing weird happened, or laugh loudly and draw more attention to yourself. — Jennifer Gowans
The morning sun shone brightly, and so did the evening one — until it went down and Marcus Krull could finally start looking at the moon, which is what he had wanted to do all along. — David Edwards
Ed walked through the dark, water-plated streets wearing no shoes but only socks, and not good socks, but cheap Wal-Mart socks that you bought in packs of 10 and that lost their elasticity after being rolled together a few times, leaving them sagging around your ankles; and the surrealness of this lone man wandering through the night in his socks was scored by the tinny echo of a far-off radio playing Texas blues, as though Stevie Ray Vaughn were a 12-inch action figure playing "Little Wing" inside an oil drum nearby. — Shawn Pollock
"Don't leave me!" she yelled like a screeching tire on a wet, grimy road or a cat trapped in a clothes dryer that's stuck on permanent press. — McKenzie Lerdahl
When she first planted that giant, sloppy wet kiss on my all-so-virtuous cheek, I must admit that I thought the best course of action might be to run screaming like a loon from the room — but then that might make all the other ladies on hand tend to believe that I don't like women, with their over-perfumed necks and their ruby-red lips glistening in the anxious night air. — David Goddard
Nature Writing
The hot dry wind howled like a hot dry howly windy thing as it whistled through the needles of the cactus in the desert where cactuses grow, so she turned and whispered, "This is where I belong, in the desert where the wind whistles through the needles of the cactuses in the desert where cactuses grow and the hot dry wind howls like hot dry howly windy thing." — Mandy and Channy Cook
The desert biodome habitat which Professor Michaelson had created was filled with an immense amount of bird species, all of which were wild and could be found in real deserts — not like parakeets that are household birds nor the Toucan which is strictly a rainforest bird, neither of whom would ever survive in a real desert nor in a desert biodome. — Dallen M. Johnson
This Is The Place
Xenia paused, trembling, on the west balcony, the gun cradled loosely in her shaking but meticulously manicured hands, gazing across the valley into the watercolor pink and gold and blue and purple and aqua winter sunset, its alpenglow reflected across the Great Salt Lake like a golden road to Reno and echoed in the glittering oil refinery below, until, finally, the glue melted and she could stick that cursed red bow on her Christmas wreath. — Chris Graham
The conductor raised his arm to begin the performance — not his good arm, but his prosthetic left arm, which had unattached at the shoulder and dropped through his coat sleeve, rattling on the stage floor and frightening the audience in Symphony Hall before the concert began. — Kirk Wentworth
As she watched the new Elder Jones get on the plane, the pain she felt reminded her of the time she sent her dead goldfish to his watery grave or the time when she saw all three scoops of her triple-decker ice cream cone fall to the ground or the time she got a D on her simplified algebra test — only 10 times worse. — Michelle Christensen
As they sat near the reflecting pool on Temple Square, anticipation of "the question" made her heart beat faster than a cricket, in the spring of its life, trying to escape the clutches of a ravenous spirit-driven seagull. — Melissa Walker
It Was A Dark And Stormy Night
It was a dark and stormy night — not like last night's dark and stormy night or even the night before that or even the night before that," the weatherman repeated as a glitch in his teleprompter led him into a verbal nightmare during the morning news broadcast. — Kirk Wentworth
It was a dark and stormy morning when Frederich set sail on the Great Salt Lake in spite of the severe drought conditions that had lowered the lake's level so that even the brine shrimp were feeling threatened, but with undaunted courage he steered his small craft toward Antelope Island in his quest for buffalo chips that he would use during the coming winter months in his small stove to warm his apartment, obviously a better alternative than the high-priced coal from Carbon County. — Jim Mortimer
E-MAIL: acannon@desnews.com