(no subject)

The con is about 40 minutes from close, and I must say the weekend sure went by fast. As usual, I didn't get nearly enough time to visit with some of my friends here, but that seems to be a running theme at most conventions I attend.

As you might expect, I made sure to attend as many of the writing panels as I could (not including the two that I help to host). The last one was the "Dark And Stormy Night" writing panel. I wrote two (in my opinion) very bad opening lines that I will gladly share here when (if) I get the hardcopy back.

If I don't get the originals back, well, you're not missing much. The idea of the contest was to try and write badly, and I like to think that I'm as capable of writing badly as the next person.

Bad opening lines

I didn't win, but I got honorable mention. Apparently my entries for the contest were too "good" to be considered "bad". I choose to take that as a compliment. Congratulations to dronon on taking second place.

Anyway, I believe that I threatened earlier to post my one-liners here if they returned my hard copy, and they did, so here they are.

Here is the one that gained me "honorable mention".

The Siamese goddess flowed into my dingy office like a furry beam of catnip and lavender-scented sunlight, where she poured her lithe, silky form into the unworthy naugahyde swivel-chair, crossed her legs enticingly, tipped back the brim of her broad sun hat with a perfectly-manicured claw and said, "I thought the little one-eyed Moroccan hamster seer was speaking metaphorically when he warned that trans-dimensional gerbil ninjas were coming to abduct my brother, but now he's gone, and the seer has fled, and I desperately need your help to find that small medium at large!"

My second entry:

Freddy the furry ferret philanthropist and part-time bee keeper was widely recognized around the town for his broad, flamboyant hats, colourful lederhosen, spicy hungarian meatballs and his propensity for stripping down to his bare fur and dancing in the fountain at the town square, tapping a frantic beat with his wooden peg-leg while his prosthetic tail swung in time - which is exactly what he would have been doing now if he had not mysteriously vanished on his way to the bakery two nights back like the last bath towel in a shared room at a furry convention whose existence is universally acknowledged, but whose present location is obscured behind an opaque veil of evasion, misdirection, denial and innuendo.