Reading and Writing.

Stephen King is one of my very favorite authors. I love horror stories but I've always thought he's excellent with dialogue. I like his pacing, how he takes his time to move the story along in the beginning, then race at breakneck speed and scare the pants of me. He's been given numerous awards, many somewhat controversial because "serious" critics have called him a hack.

One of my favorite books is "On Writing." The first half of the book are vignettes from his childhood and how he began the process of being a writer. The second half is about the actual writing process, the craft of writing. I'm fascinated by having a glimpse into what he considers important in terms of language. I think anyone who loves reading and writing would find his insights very interesting, even if you aren't a fan of his writing or genre.

So, given all of that, I'm thoroughly enjoying the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest--2007 Results, a contest where people send in their worst attempts at writing. You can read the results here, but I'm including a few of my favorites. They are not always the winners of each category, but they definitely made me laugh.

This one is my favorite:

Gerald began--but was interrupted by a piercing whistle which cost him ten percent of his hearing permanently, as it did everyone else in a ten-mile radius of the eruption, not that it mattered much because for them "permanently" meant the next ten minutes or so until buried by searing lava or suffocated by choking ash--to pee.

I actually liked this passage as it went on--it's got a bit of humor in the fact that everyone only has 10 minutes to live, but the last two words are the equivalent of hitting a brick wall with your car. Some others:

I'd been tailing this guy for over an hour while he tried every trick in the book to lose me: going down side streets, doubling back, suddenly veering into shop doorways, jumping out again, crossing the street, looking for somewhere to make the drop, and I was going to be there when he did it because his disguise as a postman didn't have me fooled for a minute.

There was a pregnant pause-- as pregnant as Judith had just told Darren she was (about seven and a half weeks along), which was why there was a pause in the first place.

Joshua was as dumb as a bunny and not at all like the egg-carrying one, more like the one who has never gone to middle school, or even the schools at either end.

The easy and comforting roll of the saddle was second nature to Luke, and as he gazed off into the distant setting sun, he wondered whether he had enough change for one more ride at the supermarket before he had to return to the home.

And because I'm a sucker for puns:

A rather youthful Billy Joel was fascinated when he entered the Green Room at the Tonight Show and saw a group of matronly nuns hastily applying hair color to the noggin of the show's next guest, Neil Young, whose agent offered an explanation from the corner of the room: "Only the good dye Young."

I was in a back alley in Fiji, fighting desperately and silently for my life, fighting desperately for oxygen, clawing at the calm and almost gentle pressure of the fabric held over my face by implacable, ebony thighs when I realized -- he was killing me softly with his sarong.

The droppings of the migrating Canada geese just missed the outdoor revelers at the inaugural Asian math puzzle competition, marking the first time that dung flew over Sudoku Fest.