Bad Writing - a Thog-a-like thread for dreadful prose.

From The Eye of Argon (obvious choice, I know):

Eyeing a slender female crouched alone at a nearby bench, Grignr advanced wishing to wholesomely
occupy his time. The flickering torches cast weird shafts of luminescence dancing over the half naked
harlot of his choice, her stringy orchid twines of hair swaying gracefully over the lithe opaque nose, as
she raised a half drained mug to her pale red lips.



...So she has a flexible nose that you can't see through? Sounds like a regular nose to me.

Granted, the writer wasn't that old at the time he wrote it, but neither was Shelley when she wrote Frankenstein. I don't think he should've given up writing as an adult, though; heaven knows I've written some stinkers, but I didn't give up and I'm improving.

Another awful novel is Supermarket by rapper Logic, but I gave it away and can't find any of the worst extracts.
 
‘Shrieking, slithering, torrential shadows of red viscous madness chasing one another through endless, ensanguined corridors of purple fulgurous sky...
... formless phantasms and kaleidoscopic mutations of a ghoulish, remembered scene; forests of monstrous overnourished oaks with serpent roots twisting and sucking unnameable juices from an earth verminous with millions of cannibal devils; mound-like tentacles groping from underground nuclei of polypous perversion ...
...insane lightning over malignant ivied walls and demon arcades choked with fungous vegetation...’
(H.P. Lovecraft, ‘The Lurking Fear’, 1923)

And the forecast for Friday and the weekend looks like this...
 
"And who was this ghastly creature, Professor Lovecraft?"
"Let me see... [turns over page] That's you, that is."

(Probably comprehensible to a small percentage of UK members, but still, it had to be said.)
 
"And who was this ghastly creature, Professor Lovecraft?"
"Let me see... [turns over page] That's you, that is."

(Probably comprehensible to a small percentage of UK members, but still, it had to be said.)
I thought it might have been a description of Brighton Marine World...
 
So:

L Ron Hubbards: The Invaders Plan, I never finished it because it was so awful. When the main protagonist turned the BDSM man hating torturer lesbian into a purring heterosexual highly sexualised pussycat by the sheer nature of his awesomeness I figured this wasn't the book for me - y,know, because I am not 12.

This one might be a bit more controversial:

Suzanna Clarkes: Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell, I know this won awards, but I found the whole things so tiresomely boring and dull, about halfway through (when nothing continued to happen) I just decided I didn't like the tone, style, world setting or characters.
 
So:

L Ron Hubbards: The Invaders Plan, I never finished it because it was so awful. When the main protagonist turned the BDSM man hating torturer lesbian into a purring heterosexual highly sexualised pussycat by the sheer nature of his awesomeness I figured this wasn't the book for me - y,know, because I am not 12.

I threw things at my TV the other day when big butch Katee Sackhoff's lesbian marine character went all gooey, legswrapped round Vin Deisel's Riddicky dick for no other reason than his being the hero of the movie.
 
‘Shrieking, slithering, torrential shadows of red viscous madness chasing one another through endless, ensanguined corridors of purple fulgurous sky...
... formless phantasms and kaleidoscopic mutations of a ghoulish, remembered scene; forests of monstrous overnourished oaks with serpent roots twisting and sucking unnameable juices from an earth verminous with millions of cannibal devils; mound-like tentacles groping from underground nuclei of polypous perversion ...
...insane lightning over malignant ivied walls and demon arcades choked with fungous vegetation...’
(H.P. Lovecraft, ‘The Lurking Fear’, 1923)

And the forecast for Friday and the weekend looks like this...
Bad writing, Lovecraft: gun, fish, barrel.
 
A Woman in Space by Sara Cavaugh (an SF book from short lived romance publishers Tiara) is proving to be a goldmine of crappy writing. I have no idea who 'Sara Cavaugh' is but she (or he) has obviously never read any science fiction and probably not a lot of anything other than crappy romances.


-----------Chapter two--------------

While Carol was spending a fitful, sleepless night, her co-
pilot-to-be, Lieutenant Roger Dennis, unaware of his having
been selected for the mission, was in his room at Bachelor
Officers Quarters. He was spending a satisfying evening
with his current girl friend, Linda Peterson. At the moment,
after a restful night’s sleep, he was awakening. He had not
a care or worry in the world. He did have a hangover and
was sexually beat. Linda sure could take a lot out of a guy.
At times she was insatiable.

Shaking his head groggily, Roger slid from his pajamas.
He showered and shaved, then dressed in a pair of casual
pea-green slacks and a light, green colored shirt. At age
twenty five, Roger was five feet eleven and weighed one
hundred and seventy five pounds. He was blond, blue-eyed
and handsome, and liked sexy girls like Linda. He was a
light hearted, liberal minded individual with a good sense
of humor. A graduate of Air Force Academy near the top
of his class.

Heading toward the Officer’s Club to eat a combination
breakfast and lunch, since it was going on noon, he felt the
spring come back to his step as the tom-tom beating died
down in his head. What a night! Wow! Sucking in deep
breaths of the refreshing Texas air of the Johnson Space
Center, he began feeling better. It was Saturday morning
---------------------------------------------------------------




So it's night and late Saturday morning simultaneously?
 
So it's night and late Saturday morning simultaneously?
I think he was heading for his brunch on late Saturday morning, thinking of the night that had just happened.

What a night (that was)! Wow!... It was Saturday morning'


Introduction time:

'I am Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zeladonii, acolyte of the Zeladonii, First Among Those Who Serve The Great Earth Mother, mated to Jondalar, Master Flint-Knapper and brother of Joharran, leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zeladonii. I was Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi, Chosen to be the spirit of the Cave Lion, Protected by the Cave Bear, and friend of the horses Whinney, Racer, and Gray, and the four-legged hunter, Wolf.' (Jean M. Auel, The Land of Painted Caves, 2011)
 
A Woman in Space by Sara Cavaugh (an SF book from short lived romance publishers Tiara) is proving to be a goldmine of crappy writing. I have no idea who 'Sara Cavaugh' is but she (or he) has obviously never read any science fiction and probably not a lot of anything other than crappy romances.


-----------Chapter two--------------

While Carol was spending a fitful, sleepless night, her co-
pilot-to-be, Lieutenant Roger Dennis, unaware of his having
been selected for the mission, was in his room at Bachelor
Officers Quarters. He was spending a satisfying evening
with his current girl friend, Linda Peterson. At the moment,
after a restful night’s sleep, he was awakening. He had not
a care or worry in the world. He did have a hangover and
was sexually beat. Linda sure could take a lot out of a guy.
At times she was insatiable.

Shaking his head groggily, Roger slid from his pajamas.
He showered and shaved, then dressed in a pair of casual
pea-green slacks and a light, green colored shirt. At age
twenty five, Roger was five feet eleven and weighed one
hundred and seventy five pounds. He was blond, blue-eyed
and handsome, and liked sexy girls like Linda. He was a
light hearted, liberal minded individual with a good sense
of humor. A graduate of Air Force Academy near the top
of his class.

Heading toward the Officer’s Club to eat a combination
breakfast and lunch, since it was going on noon, he felt the
spring come back to his step as the tom-tom beating died
down in his head. What a night! Wow! Sucking in deep
breaths of the refreshing Texas air of the Johnson Space
Center, he began feeling better. It was Saturday morning
---------------------------------------------------------------




So it's night and late Saturday morning simultaneously?
Weird. It seems to imply Linda is still there but, if so, why does he say nothing to her before going to brunch. And why does she say nothing when he puts on green trousers and shirt (ewww!). And why is he wearing pyjamas? So many questions.
 
Jean M. Auel, The Land of Painted Caves, 2011
I believe I've mentioned the following before....

Many years ago, I was in an Ottaker's bookshop during a sale, where lots of the books had stickers on them containing a lowered price.

One of the books in the sale was by Jean M. Auel (not The Land of Painted Caves, as the bookshop had become a Waterstone's by the time it was published) with its sticker partially covering the bottom of her surname, giving (what would sound like a warning): AUFL.
 
I think we are underestimating this writer.

I can assure you we are not.

Currently our entrepid, mismatched duo are on their way to the moon (wearing 'magnetic boots' that 'clomp' to stop them floating about inside their ship) when they discover they are on a collision course with a huge piece of 'space junk'. They hand over guidance to ground control because they have bigger computers or something.

_------------------

Carol could sense the huge craft turning slowly in orbit. She fearfully watched the oncoming mass filling up the screen. Would ground control be in time?
"This is it!" she screamed, instinctivly bracing herself for the crash. "We're going to hit it! Oh, my God!" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
A roaring hissing sound, growing in intensity, drowned out all sounds aboard. Carol moaned when she felt the craft bounce and vibrate. A swooshing noise like the wail of a thousand banshees beat on her eardrums. She felt faint. She clutched the seat arms tightly and stared grimly at the mass filling the screen.
Ship and space junk were about to collide head on!
Then as suddenly as it began the noise abated. The ship stopped vibrating. The mass of matter zoomed from the screen. She breathed a prayer of thanks. She swung the outer camera around. The junk was fast disappearing below. The anti-collision device had worked. It had detoured the ship out of range. The collision had been avoided. A near miss.

-------------------------

Phew!

Rocky Jones would have been proud of her. Noisy space junk!

At the end there is a perfect example of one of Ms Cav's favourite stylistic (page filling) tricks. She frequently says everything several times. She reiterates what she has just said but in a different way. She just keeps saying it again and again using different words. Repeating herself until she has made the same point many times. It is very annoying.

Straight after this they have a snack of 'metal tubes of consentrated food' and 'containers of concentrated juices'. Why they didn't go look see what else was in the fridge from which our hero took the orange juice he was drinking in the last chapter isn't explained. Presumably they'd forgotten about it sooner than the author.

This book is exceding my expectations in all sorts of directions. Though if our heroine 'bestows' another smile on anyone I think I will scream.
 
Oh and they are on their way to the moon at "over Mach four" and are sheduled to make a landing on the moon in a "lander plane".

Their current theories as to what happend to the mysteriously missing previous expedition are "moon monsters" and "Commies".

Seriously.


I suspect open cockpits and ack-ack fire from a secret Nazi moonbase.
 
It's the book that just keeps on giving!

I'll spare you the weird gratuitous nudity bathing / excersizing sequence in which the words 'surges' and 'urges' appeared in italics. But I do have to wonder how they were doing 'push-ups' while weightless.

They get to the moon.

---------------

Staring down at the desolate wasteland which appeared to be not unlike some of the desert areas of the western United States, she sucked in deep breaths of awe.

Pg 63

--------------------
 
‘Shrieking, slithering, torrential shadows of red viscous madness chasing one another through endless, ensanguined corridors of purple fulgurous sky ... formless phantasms and kaleidoscopic mutations of a ghoulish, remembered scene; forests of monstrous overnourished oaks with serpent roots twisting and sucking unnameable juices from an earth verminous with millions of cannibal devils; mound-like tentacles groping from underground nuclei of polypous perversion ... insane lightning over malignant ivied walls and demon arcades choked with fungous vegetation ...’ (H.P. Lovecraft, ‘The Lurking Fear’, 1923)
 
‘Shrieking, slithering, torrential shadows of red viscous madness chasing one another through endless, ensanguined corridors of purple fulgurous sky ... formless phantasms and kaleidoscopic mutations of a ghoulish, remembered scene; forests of monstrous overnourished oaks with serpent roots twisting and sucking unnameable juices from an earth verminous with millions of cannibal devils; mound-like tentacles groping from underground nuclei of polypous perversion ... insane lightning over malignant ivied walls and demon arcades choked with fungous vegetation ...’ (H.P. Lovecraft, ‘The Lurking Fear’, 1923)

That is the worst TripAdviser review I have ever seen.
 

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