Every writer aspires to write a killer opening line for their story. However, some of them try too hard to instantly capture the reader's attention, and fail hilariously. Thanks to the writer Adam Cadre, who has held the Lyttle Lytton Contest since 2001, we have a huge amount of absolutely horrendous first-liners not only to laugh at, but also learn from. Each entry is accompanied by Adam's witty commentary, that could maybe help improve your writing!
Adam was inspired to create his own contest after borrowing the idea from the annual Bulwer-Lytton contest, which also 'celebrates' the worst opening sentences of novels. As Adam explained in his website, the original contest started getting a little too "unwieldy" for his taste, so in turn, he created a contest with entries no longer than 33 words.
Read the best submissions of 2018 below, and tell us what you think in the comments.
More info: adamcadre.ac
Dany approached the castle. (If you’ve forgotten about Dany, reread books 3‑6). In her hand, she held the sword Justificier (reread book 7), still bearing the blood of Durin (reread book 9).
Agent Gunner Storm closed his steely grey eyes and pictured the erotic sphere of Lady Liberty’s bare breast as he thrust into the terrorist princess.
A tear rolled down her face like a tractor. “David,” she said tearfully, “I don’t want to be a farmer no more.”
As I felt the vampire sexily drinking the blood from my neck, the warmth between my legs grew both in wetness and in fear for my life.
The girl with the vegan pork regarded me with eyes more kind than the nonviolence on her plate.
The tongue has no bones, but it is strong enough to break a heart.
She walked in with a dress the paralyzing green of the BlackWidow Ultimate Stealth 2014 Edition Elite Mechanical Gaming Keyboard by Razer (4.5 stars, 37 customer reviews)
“It looks like this continent is out of water,” I said in Antarctica, as a rookery of penguins waddled thirstily by.
I had always been the kind of woman to put my career first, but as I prepared to abandon my crying children to go to work for the hundredth time, a thought struck me—“Was this His plan for me?”
You find a cave (you’re a male Half‑elf). The female Full‑elves inside try to restrain their libidos, but that’s like butterfly nets trying to stop 100 mph of uncooked rice.
My lamestream friends told me to start dating again, but I knew the jet fuel of love couldn’t melt the steel beams of my heart.
The award show was a veritable orgy—not of sex, but of cultural appropriation.