Happy May 24, my fellow Canadians (and non-Canadians)!
Hopefully everyone enjoyed the beautiful long weekend we had and celebrated May 24 safely.
I was so busy myself I was only able to scrape up these pictures for you. As you can see, we’re at last in bloom here in Ontario. Now that the snow scares are through (seriously, we had snow last weekend!), everything is popping.
And since I am being told as I’m writing this that I keep looking outside, I will stop writing and head back out there. As should you! Cheers!
Thinking of bad novel beginnings last week was so much fun I wanted to try my hand at bad writing prompts this week. If you’re in need of a bad story idea, look no further! Get writing and share your stories in the comments below!
After eighty-three years of living a mundane nine-to-five life, even in retirement, Oliver remembers that he is an alien from the planet Ilkjaoin in the H-10598 System. Oliver can’t remember, however, why he was sent to Earth or how he can return home to Ilkjaoin. He knows only that he must return before his impending heart attack takes his Earthly body and his Ilkjaoiny consciousness with it.
Everyone is born with an inconvenient superpower. No one can escape their embarrassing, troublesome, annoying, or sometimes plain dangerous birthright. Yet Gamila is determined to use her fruit-browning powers to stop the Sleeper Clique, girls who put others to sleep by laughing, from ruling her high school.
The CEO of an escape-adventure company designs all of the company’s escape scenarios himself with meticulous planning and care. When he goes on his vacation, he notices that his itinerary is rather familiar… and that he must escape his most dangerous adventure yet.
The Office of Financial Business has hired a private investigator to go undercover in their cubicles. The PI’s mission? To nab the peanut butter sandwich thief, to track down the missing blue pens, to stymie the photocopier jammer, and to uncover why the coffee creamer always curdles before its expiry date. Oh, and to figure out who killed Jenny in HR.
A proper young Englishwoman is travelling across the Mediterranean Sea, when her vessel is attacked and boarded by corsairs looking for golden bounty. The pirate captain had not expected to find that his most valuable treasure would be the Englishwoman he discovers hiding below decks. And this treasure is one he must protect from his own crew.
The rain is neverending in the city of Fraaloush. That doesn’t stop this family from matching their widowed mother with the eligible men of the city. In the children’s search for their mother’s happiness, they learn why the rain never stops.
Have you ever read the opening lines of a book that are so bad they are hilariously good? You just know you’re in for a special treat.
The Lyttle Lytton Contest brings to light these gems…at least, it challenges writers to write the worst beginnings to “very bad imaginary novels.” Last week the contest published its 2016 winners. Check out the winners and runners up here and the archives of past years here.
The creativity and perfectly terrible wordsmithing of the contest winners inspired me to try writing my own bad beginnings to bad imaginary novels. Turns out, it’s harder than I thought! Share your own bad beginnings in the comments below.
A soft pink petal fell onto Lillian’s nose as she lowered her camera. The solitary cherry blossom that had dared bloom in this wet, hot spring was weeping for its green sakura sisters.
The worst thing had just literally happened to Ashleigh. She was dead. Murdered. So what if Maddox had literally had the worst night of her life?
Pups was what they called him. When they whistled, snapped their fingers, or roared in rage, Pups was what they called him. But Pups knows deep in his heart that his name is Esteban.
One cannot fathom the difficulties one faces when one’s ethics preclude one from indulging in one little bite, one thought to oneself.
Wayne got lost in Nadia’s sapphire oceans. Google Maps couldn’t help him now.
He grimaced. He cried. And he threw up a little in his mouth. The nightly news was getting too grisly these days for Evan Hommergee.
“Zombies don’t exist,” Sybil whimpered even as her hand reached into the cracked-open skull before her and pulled out a hunk of slimy, pulsating, delicious brain matter.
The world may end with a whimper, but Youlan’s began with a bang. The bang of the headboard against the off-white beige walls as his father thrust into his mother on a passionless Valentine’s Day evening.
Her sun-kissed golden hair fell in wisps and stray pieces about her face like the hussy that she was.
“Life’s a bitch, then you don’t die,” Nikola Tesla said with a wry grin before he pounded back the last of his six-hundred-year-old cognac from his crystal glass. (Adapted from Syfy’s Sanctuary.)