It was a dark and stormy January 2025

No, I am not referring to the state of the world or what at times rages within my psyche. The sophisticated reader will immediately supply the famous missing words: "It was a dark and stormy night." This sentence was popularized by Snoopy of "Peanuts" fame, as he sat on the roof of his doghouse typing the first line of his novel. But it first appeared more than a century earlier (followed by a semicolon) in the novel Paul Clifford, a must for your reading list. That opus, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton, was published in England in 1830. Bulwer-Lytton has since been pilloried for writing the most hackneyed opening sentence in the history of English letters.

I, however, think Bulwer-Lytton got a bum rap. The sentence following the semicolon reads as follows: "the rain fell in torrents - except at occasional intervals when it was checked by a violent gust of wind that swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness." This sentence is a paradigm of concision compared to some recent legislation and judicial opinions I have had to read lately. Granted, it's not Hemingway, who might have written: "The wind and rain whipped my face; she was gone. I walked back to the hotel."

I did a little research on Mr. - actually, Baron, he was a noble - Bulwer-Lytton. He wrote 27 novels, was pals with Dickens, and had a sizeable readership. He is reputed to have coined the popular phrase, and please excuse the irony, "The pen is mightier than the sword." Also "the almighty dollar." What a phrase-maker.

Since 1982, the unfortunate Bulwer-Lytton has had a writing contest named after him. It features various categories of fiction where writers from all walks of life compete to see who can pen the opening sentence of "the worst of all possible novels." Master of this genre is my good friend, attorney Andy Lundberg. His literary career began in the offices of the Stanford Chaparral, a campus humor magazine, where his labors led to his election to the Hammer & Coffin Society, the national collegiate humor honorary society, and an appearance in "Hellbent on Insanity" (1982), a best-of college humor collection. He also spent a couple of years of editing what he calls "that long-running laugh-fest, The Harvard Law Review."

Here is Lundberg's winning worst opening sentence in this year's Historical Fiction category: On an otherwise fine spring morning, Helga Tottentanz learned in an exceptionally hard way that, whatever they might've told you in hospitality school up in Cologne, as a serving wench in Mainz's finest inn in 451 A.D., you don't greet a battle-weary and obviously stressed general named Attila, fresh from crossing the Carpathians at the cost of ten thousand or so men, with an overly cheery "Hi, Hun." Here is his science fiction category winner this year:

With the long-awaited legalization of human cloning and the availability of goodly amounts of the DNA of its founding fathers, America in 2035 found itself entering a new golden age--one in which Nathan Hale at last had more than one life to give for his country, Benjamin Franklin was on hand to get the freaking Post Office back on the rails, and Alexander Hamilton could finally play himself on Broadway eight shows a week.

One day over lunch, Lundberg and I hit upon an idea. Perceptive readers of this column have noted the foreshadowing. As the host of Morning Edition would ask puzzle master Will Shortz, "Are you ready to play?" We decided to run a contest consisting of three categories: 1. The poorest first sentence of an appellant's opening brief; 2. The poorest first sentence of a respondent's brief; 3. The poorest opening sentence of an appellate opinion. The three winners will receive prizes best described as coveted. But first a few examples to stimulate your creative powers.

Lundberg's examples are:

Appellant's opening brief:

Appellant is respectfully afraid that the trial court's reversal stats are not going to be enhanced by this proceeding.

The judgment below walks into a bar and says, "I hate myself."

 This case presents a single, fundamental issue: Does this Court really want to live in a slipshod world in which "harmless error" isn't regarded as the oxymoron it so richly deserves to be?

The trial court entered summary judgment against appellant, but there are additional grounds for reversal. [What defense lawyer wouldn't love that one!]

If you're looking for grounds for reversal, Your Honors, you have come to the right place!

Respondent's brief:

Appellant's attack on the judgment below resembles a half-eaten banana rotting in the hot noonday sun.

In this action for breach of contract, respondent submits that appellant - a term that, for reasons that will become clear momentarily if they aren't already, we use loosely - offers absolutely no grounds for disturbing the judgment below.

This insurance coverage appeal moves your respondent Mutual of Winnemucca to paraphrase the immortal Johnnie Cochran: If there's no ambiguity in the term, you must affirm.

Before the Court starts reading this brief, you might want to ask the Clerk where that red rubber stamp reading "Affirmed" is stashed, just sayin'.

Here are a few examples of poor opening sentences in judicial opinions:

"Here, Civil Procedure is an oxymoron." "Here we spell out our holding: affirmed." "We reverse this death penalty case so that Snoopy can play in the noonday sun."

And now the coveted prizes for the winning entries: They will be published in one of my columns. But that is not all. Winning entries will also receive a signed copy of my book, Under Submission, Volume II. We will accommodate any winner who wishes to remain anonymous. And for those of you embarrassed to receive my book, I will send a copy discreetly wrapped in the newspaper of your choosing.

Decisions of the judges, Mr. Lundberg and myself, are final from which there will be no appeal. Those opting for arbitration will have their matter heard by arbitrators Lundberg and Gilbert. Rules of the American Arbitration Association will not be followed.

Please send entries to my editor Diana_Bosetti@dailyjournal.com.