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Chessiecon Turkey Award Contest

Rules

  1. Entries shall be imagined as the worst possible opening to the worst possible SF/F novel (n)ever written. Contestants may make as many entries as desired, but each submission should be clearly delineated from others. Only one dubious prize will be awarded per entrant regardless of number of entries.
  2. Each entry may consist of a single sentence or a paragraph not to exceed 80 words in length.
  3. Each entry must be original work, and not previously published or entered into The Turkey Awards.
  4. Entrants should strongly resist the temptation to work with puns based on Edward Bulwer-Lytton's famous opening to "Paul Clifford", ("It was a dark and stormy night...") or Jim Thies' "The Eye of Argon".
  5. Entries may be made by e-mail or by surface mail. E-mail submissions should be made in the body of the message, not an attachment, and should be sent to: turkeys@chessiecon.org with the subject line of "Turkey Award Submission(s)". Surface mail submissions should be sent by post card or letter to: TSFS, Inc. PO Box 83032 Gaithersburg, MD 20883-3032 Attn: Turkey Award Submission(s). Entries should also be clearly marked with the entrant's name.
  6. Contest entries will be presented and judged during a panel at Chessiecon 2021.
  7. Contest judges are not eligible to win.
  8. Dubious prizes will be awarded for 3rd-Worst, 2nd-Worst and Worst Place.
  9. Deadline for entries will be 11/25/2021

2020 Winning Entries

Dishonorable Mention to Ted Weber:
The manor lord wore a fine belt buckle, as befit his station. Brass, it was, but polished such that it gleamed like gold. The frame curved like a C, cleverly reminiscent of a short bow, with wood grain patterns inscribed along its limbs. The prong lay upon it like a stout arrow, and indeed was fitted with a barb at the end--not so pointy as to draw blood from its master, though. Frame, prong, and bar fit to a finely filigreed chape, the bulk of the buckle. It was rimmed by raised knobs, almost reminiscent of teeth, or perhaps tiny mountains. Inside of that, the engraver circumscribed curliques and leaves, possibly ivy but certainly not oak, unless of course it was an undocumented hybrid of some type. And in the center, a boar, posing proudly, tusks thrust forward and eyes ablaze. All in all, a fine belt buckle indeed.
--From the 10-volume epic fantasy, A Song of Food and Slaughter

3rd-Worst Place to Yakira Heistand:

I was sick. And by sick I meant I was dying. I knew this because I was holding the long ropes of my intestines in my hands. They were slippery and kept falling out of my hands. There was dust in the air from the horses that had recently rushed past me and my intestines. I had to sneeze. Somehow I knew that would be a bad idea.

2nd-Worst Place to Eowyn:

Dripping dye and death, Lucy's locks loomed over gore gartered gaiters gritty with goolash. The pub was closed.

Worst Place to Ted Weber:

Grimpimple the Half-Orc sat half-askew in the leathery-odorous expanse of his Cobbler Shoppe, picking at a particularly pernicious boil firmly ensconced on his left buttock.
"If I didn't hate elves so much," Grimpimple mused out loud, "I'd have one Magick this consternance away!"
This brought about a torrent of nostalgia-sneezes of yesteryear. Grimpimple began to think about his family history and everything from his encyclopedic hearsay about the various Realms of the world.
--From The Old Bastard and the Magic Shoe, Book I, Volume 1