Testing! Testing!

Email this morning

Is your blog down, or is there something wrong with my server?

Maybe the Society for the Preservation of Dialogue Openers has
campaigned to get you taken off air.




NOT YET IT AIN"T!

and these, another BCer

Turning Right

Why God still uses a slide-rule

Broken Skin

May Contain Nuts

Stop that Painful Craving

Digging into the apple with my thumbs

The Panic Room

Yesterday is a different country

Tears Dry on their Own

How Not to Lose your Identity

In the land where nothing happens twice

The interview's not till after lunch

With sadness there is something to rub against

20:10 Second Set of prompts

No convictions, that's my one major fault
O the unrivalled stench of branded skin
On a late bruised-looking roadside weed, a butterfly
Part of the problem in this house is hormones.
People talk nonsense and I put them straight
So by the winter of 1911 there were no more than nine
So here it is, the walled-up door
So the holiday proceeds, a series of snapshots
Some said he must glower at his mistress
Spindly in a heat-haze, almost out of sight
That would be my worst nightmare.
The autumn, when the convicts took their leave
The June moors whispered and rustled their cloaks
The milk and the post arrive with a baby
There were beech trees there, three of them
They sit as far apart as you can in a small compartment
They walk too far, out in the sticking mud
Those bastards in their mansions
Though she'd only a dove's flitting of a family herself
What's on, my dear Ellie Menterry?
When did I ever see you wear a hat?
When I was twelve I fell and broke my elbow.
Winters or springs, summers or harvest, bristling or sunning
with just a toothbrush and the good earth for a bed
Women had little guts, except for one or two
Yes, but what about the spiders?
You are near again and have been there
your man is long gone, and I have loitered

Lack of Moral Fibre

In Boot Camp there's a good heavy debate going on about whether we have themes and use characters to express those themes (OR) have characters who create themes (and a few other methods)

This has people there talking about stories which seem to not have themes or have messy themes or contradictory themes

And then they are talking about consciousness of theme creating stilted writing orr "essays"

We're discussing all these things and I've just posted this story to use an as illustration of various points.



Did the author set out to prove some theme?

Is that what you feel? ie: is it an essay?

Or is it an exploration? Does it HAVE a theme?


(punctuation is deliberate)



LACK OF MORAL FIBRE

north africa 1943

Bridie something happened today and I want to tell you. well write it on a letter and stick it in the tin the one for letters that I dont want to get sensored I mean. but tell you anyway. if anything happens and they send you a fellah's tin.

Bridie I carnt say where I am exact even tho Im not going to send this off. If something happened and the Jerrys got hold of my tin they might be able to work out where weve been. careless talk cost lives. Id like to send this off but theres no point as the sensor would scrub harf of evrything off and whats left wouldnt make any sense.

I keep thinking how big you must be now with the baby. I really wish I could be there when it comes. I really dont want to be here. I want to be with you and I want to be there for the baby when it comes. the doctor rekkoned in the middle of August dint he and its August now. you might of all ready had it and I dont no if its a boy or a girl.

they might charge me with lack of moral fibre Bridie. Im not some big brave lug but Im not yellow neither and LMF means your yellow and not up to being a fighting man. Well Im not up to being a fighting man but that doesnt mean Im yellow. I can fight to look after you or the baby or for the farm but standing out in the desert all alone on your own ecept for scorpions and ghurkas creeping around thats different theres no point.

sometimes when I manage it and I think of you and see your face O Bridie it hurts. we only had 48 hrs and the one night in the Barry hotel thats all. its not enough for two people to love each other properly. I was scared achully when we were getting married. I had lack of moral fibre then all right. but I never new that it could be so wonderful tho Bridie or that first time youd fall and Id be in north africa when you got big and the baby came.

still.

I carnt say anything about my job but you no what it is roughly. well yesterday we had a shot up Hurricane down in no mans land and they sent out a jeep and brought the pilot in but someone had to go out and guard the plane. corporal hill picked me and they took me out and left me with a 303 and five rounds plus one up the spout. me and six bullets looking after a shot up Hurry it was stupid. it was very hot in the afternoon and I thought Id get fried. then it was evening and then it got dark and then it got colder and colder and I thought I was going to freeze.

this moral fibre stuff is all mixed up Bridie. one of my tin letters says about when we first got machine-gunned by fock wolf 190s. I run out in front of the Hurrys and started popping off at the Jerrys and corporal hill grabbed me and pulled my gun away. he said stop trying to be a hero jonesy you carnt hit a flaming 190 with a lee enfield. Then I dived under the Hurry and Corporal Hill grabbed me and made me run away from the planes. he said Jerry wasnt after us he was after the planes. we couldun do nothing about Jerry. leave shooting at planes to the regiment aa boys.

then once we got ourselfs into a scrape in a little ayrab town on a 12 hour pass and jockey harris fell out with some huge squaddie who was giving him a pasting. I said come on mate pick on someone your own size. I was bigger than jockey but this squaddie was like a tree comparing to me and corporal hill whacked him with a bottle. we legged it. after I said corp hitting a bloke with a bottle is dirty and he laughed and said alls fair in love and war and I had a screw loose if I really wanted to fight a goliath. I said I didnt want to fight no goliaths but someone had to help out jockey. he jest shook his head.

I do have guts Bridie. when I first met up with you in Swansea those roughnecks were pulling your dress. Well Bridie I was very scared then but being scared isnt the same as being yellow its just common sens isnt it.

I knew if they took me on that was that. but they didnt which is just as well. I dont know what Id of done ecept I wouldnt of run away. a man cant.

Bridie if youv all ready had a baby and its a girl I hope you called it Mary Bridget like we said. wen I close my eyes I can still see you - still feel how special it was in the Barry hotel and how we - you know - the first time. It wasnt a surprise to me that you got in the family way the first time. I remember all the stars and the sound of the waves when we walked up on the cliffs that night and I remember how we held each other and how all I wanted was for us to get the war over and have about twenty kids and make a go of the farm.

thats it I think Bridie. im a farmer not a fighting man. it says we can make swords into ploughs. thats what I want to do plough. A man can avoid scraps. its not big to win scraps even tho wen I was younger I did get into the odd one. I think a man has to keep hisself to hisself and look after his wife and his baby. thats whats right I think.

I wish I could be with you.

it got very cold in the desert but I could of managed that but it was the dark Bridie. the dark moves when its really dark did you know that. and the worst bit is that the Hurry was hot and then when it got to be night it started to cool and make noises. I tried to do all sorts of things to take my mind off being scared but it just got worst. by the middle of the night I was jumping out of my skin evry time the engine did a clunk or a click.

Not only that Bride but there were ghurkas out there. even tho their ours their evil little buggers. they got brown faces and big white smiles and in the day their funny little blokes but at night they go out in no mans land and they have these cookris in their mouths and you don't hear them or see them, if your standing up they feel your bootlaces. Jerry ties his different. the wrong way and clop your heads off jest like that. if your lying down they can tell if your Jerry from your uniform shoulders. If their wrong clop again.

Well I kept thinking what if they feel my boots and the laces are wrong clop. or what if they feel my shoulders and their wrong. clop. And theres a snake called the shoelace snake here Bridie. it eats your laces and in the morning you go to do up your boots and zip thats it your dead.

And anyway I couldn't do anything to save this Hurry if I wanted to. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with six bullets. If Jerry wanted the plane hed need a low-loader and eight men. If one or two Jerrys turned up they couldn't pinch a whole plane could they and if about eight came well I wouldnt have enough bullets even if I shot like davy crockett.

so I went back to camp.

but Bridie all the way back I was thinking about you that maybe this was lack of moral fibre and I wasnt all the man youd hoped Id be and that maybe if our baby was a boy you wouldnt want to call him Ron after his dad. Iv got to admit I nearly went back when I thought this Bridie. sometimes when a chap does something that looks brave its because not doing it is more scary than doing it. I mean like when the two roughs were pulling your dress I was very scared but even more scared of not helping. I wouldnt be able to look in the mirror if I didn't help.

but really I couldn't look after the Hurry. Maybe if one ayrab came along on a camel I could shout who goes there and frighten him off but what would an ayrab on a camel want with a bloody big plane anyway.

it was a long way back to camp Bridie. I kept thinking what happens if I miss the road and get lost theirll never find me. the road was near to the sea and when the moon came up I could hear the sea and see the waves and they were silver where they turned over. It made me think of the sea on our wedding night tho the shine then was in your face not the waves.

well I got back and I went to look for corporal hill. I swung my lee enfield off my shoulder and I said corp I walked in. well corp his face was a picture and he said walked in from where and I said walked in from where the shot up Hurry is and he said oh shit (pardon my french).

corporal hill told me buzz off to my tent and get washed up get some breakfast and come back about eleven. Thats why I think its lack of moral fibre Im up on. Its getting that time all ready Bridie so Im writing this letter and putting it in the tin in case. Theres a war on. LMF is serious. they can put you away for quite a while for LMF. even shoot you if they want to. I carnt believe theirll shoot me. all I did was walk back to camp but it doesnt mean the thought doesnt cross your mind.

they keep telling us that all this fighting across north africa and I spose eventually all the way up italy getting machine gunned by 190s and standing out in the dark guarding shot up Hurrys is the same as looking after our loved ones on the farm. They keep telling us its about freedom and not standing for Jerrys shennanigans give an inch he takes a mile.

well I dont know Bridie. Seems to me that I could have stayed on the farm and built it up and kept out of the war and been with you. and when Mary or Ron had come we could think about another one or two to start with. seems to me thats man enough for anyone and fighting a couple of roughnecks or some squaddie is best avoided and serves no purpose.

I know that I shot at the 109s but that was like I got carried away. I know I would have had a crack at that big squaddie but that was only because he was too big for Jockey. them cases I can explain but standing in the cold in the middle of the night next to a shot up Hurry with snakes and scorpions and ghurkas after your laces not when you cant do anything if Jerry comes after the plane anyway that doesnt make any sense and if thats lack of moral fibre then its lack of moral fibre.

1,999 words

First of Three Flash Sessions

6-8-10 Tonight

The miracle of glass
Zebra
She pauses at a picture
How does the book open?
Cloud shadow
Are you prepared for what the night will bring?
Pie
The game is finished, he plays his ace
In the field, two horses
Climbing the hill within the deafening wind
I'm not a slag
Instructions, under plain brown covers
It was me who found the sausages next day
Variations on the Dead
Maybe father would have done better to keep a civil tongue in his head
Milk Wood
My dear, my skeleton will set like biscuit overnight
Anchor
Never let it be said that when things are looking their grimmest, they can't get worse.
God is on YouTube
Possibly, possibly
To some new ambush, another mistake

The Road Below the Window

An airless dusk before thunder, a man running. I am putting in my eye-drops. The radio is playing downstairs in the kitchen. I think I can smell pear-drops. For one second I am in a glass-jarred sweetshop, then that gap in history closes, like a cloud closes on a ladderlight of sun.

I hear more running, no boots yet. I blink, stand up and go to the window, carefully, to the side, and look out through dirty lace.

The storm swells up, electric, heavy. The afternoon, buzzes, hisses like bees in an animal skull stumbled against on a cliff-walk.

The clocks say eight, the light says winter. This is still summer but the sense of weight in my country, the dark foreboding, is like a bad smell, something rotten behind a wall, something waiting to burst.

How did we come here, to these unexpected latitudes? When we saw the first fires, the uniforms, the rallies, why were we so excited? Could we not see how far we had been moved from the rivers of our childhood, from those days when life revolved around a penny, pear-drops, chocolate?

So much that was good, so much removed. The light in the eyes of fathers on Sunday afternoons when the trams were stopped and we scurried out along the tracks as if finding freedom for the first time, fathers, mothers, always in their best, children with polished shoes, those, high, light voices.

Now I hear the first car and the heavier braking of a truck. And now the boots. They manage to clatter in step. Perversely the clop and rush on the cobbles is rich and alive. I would call it musical, exciting, if it were not such a tragedy.

My eyes have settled. I go down the stairs, making little noise. It is important, these days, to be invisible. I am standing in the stone-flagged kitchen, the black kettle is swelling with heat on the stove, when I hear the single shot. There is something about the singleness, its isolation that I know it has struck down its target.

I am sad, but I do not know who has been shot. It is a routine death and I must drink my coffee and eat a little rye bread.

This house was once so full, so dizzy with noise, the clamour of the nest. My son, so booming, so important and the girls darting, finishing nothing, their voices like strings tuning before a symphony.

Helen had her lover. They met in cafes. She was always early. She said once that she feared not dying, but she feared that one day tomorrow simply would not come. Father, am I wrong she said? I could not answer. So she went to her young man early, because if she was late then she had missed some time with him and it was gone forever.

I am thinking of you now Ruth. How you cannot be is beyond me, but you are not, I have to say it, you are not. I am sorry I did such a bad job, that Karl is lost, Helen, little Ruth, Anna. They are travelling, I am sure.

Helen, I am reading Dante again. It is a wicked poem. It sidles up to me. Who said, the poem reads the man? It reads me, me, the man who waited patiently for answers, the man who was polite until it was too late, the man who obeyed orders, who was law-abiding until the loathsome stench rose up and could not be ignored.

Before he said his last goodbye and warned me to stop writing, Karl came home just one more time. He was healthy, vigorous, tall and muscular, and if the uniform had been one in which I was proud to see him, he looked every bit the grand soldier. He spoke of how he was now exalted, free, yet not an inch of him was free.

Helen, of course, married that young man. She could not risk the endless night. They were married in a place called Windug, but then like so many others, they went away.

I looked down from the window earlier. I saw only the dull cobbles waiting for an onrush of rain, then I heard running. We run, we run, but where to?

Before you went away, you would make me look down, look out on the hungry. You called it the famine road, and you would give away our bread. But then you died, your quiet, routine, small death. I was given a half-day off work.

I know my country was sweet, once. It was sweet. I remember those walks, the tinkling shops, the chocolate, the pear-drops. In winter, the mountains, the clear waters, snowdrops, Edelweiss.

Was I really one of those who welcomed them? Was I? We were sweet, wholesome, a steady ship. Did I help bring in this heavy, filthy, sea? Or ship sank routinely while the bands played and we were much smaller than we imagined. When a sugar-ship sinks, is the sea made sweet? No, the sea corrupts, the rest is lost.

Look down you said once, this was once a famine road. Look down, see, my love, the hungry and you sent me to the pantry for food. I opened the pantry door and a river of filth flowed out.

Duracell...

01,375 Words May 01 Tuesday
01,023 Words May 02 Wednesday (Flash & Poem)
01,157 Words May 03 Thursday (Long Poem etc)
01,052 Words May 04 Friday
01,000 Words May 04 Friday (EDIT, article drafted 15:49)
00,600 Words May 05-06 (Two Poems)
02,621 Words May 08 (Article)
00,738 Words May 08 (Flash)
00,988 Words May 09 (Flash)
01,227 Words May 10 (Story)
01,736 Words May 12 (Article and Poem)
01,583 Words May 13 (Article)
01,900 Words May 14 (Article & Flash)
00,890 Words May 15 (Flash)

17,890 Words Total 2,890 Words ahead of schedule

07:30 Prompts on Tuesday

When you see a list of prompts and are thinking, "Is there a story here?" don't just read quickly thorugh and think, "Huh?"

Instead live in the prompts. Read them all, let them interact, then read them again, savour the comparisons and contrasts, read from the bottom upwards, read out loud, stare at lines that "hum" for you.

I'm sincere in believing that everybody can get a story from a list of 10-20 prompts if they just allow them in.

And don't think prompts only lead to small, inconsequential stories. treat them with respect, allow them inside your head (and heart) and they are as powerful, possibly MORE powerful, than life itself.

Why MORE powerful?

Because they shake the tree, they come at you, disturb, fire up the unexpected connections. They reach the unconscious and start to ring bells, open doors, slam them, run around. But you have to open your legs.



PROMPTS

An airless dusk before thunder, a man running
Eye-drops
White bees hiss in the coral skull
Snow-drops
The radio is playing downstairs in the kitchen
Pear-drops
A gap in history closes, like a cloud
Chocolate-drops
Far from a childhood of rivers
Drips
We came to unexpected latitudes
Pangs
The Duke of Common Interest
Pong
There is no such thing as a routine death
Ching!
When a sugar-ship sinks, is the sea sweet?
Alchemy
I am standing in the stone-flagged kitchen
Infamy
On a Sunday afternoon after the trams used to run
Jewel
They met in cafes. She was always early
Tevez
Look down you said, this was once a famine road
Tommy Cooper's Fez
The clock say eight, the light says winter
Reading Dante
The clamour of the nest
The poem reads the man
I opened the pantry door and a river flowed out
Why girls aren't
Not an inch of him was free
Pariah
They were married in a place called Crinkle
Lolly
The mourners at the divorce

Another Successful Primary Story Session

11 Stories in for 10PM Friday

ALL CRITIQUED AT LEAST 8 TIMES BY 23:30 MONDAY

Crits/Posts

10-55
09-21
09-13
08-15
08-14
08-14
08-13
08-13
08-12
08-11
08-11

092 Critques
192 Total Thread Posts

and now they all think avbout writing one for THIS Friday

21:50 Prompts

All over town, cracks in pavements, patios, walls
and behind ran another that stopped now and then
And there's the smudge glimmered through many a week
Andy and Tony were two dafties
Behind the spreading butter comes the knife
Bollocks
CRISP
Depends on my mood, really
Do you want to come round on Saturday?
EXT-erminate!
For he wasn't well-liked by them that set themselves up as gentry
gave him a bit of a shake and asked "Who's pro-German?"
He toyed with a naked razor
He was fumbling between my legs.
he was head over heeels in debt and dammit if you couldn't wonder
he wouldn't do anything against God's will, would father
he'd started that three years before and wasn't through with it yet
Her they come, books, skin, lattes
I didn't know it would hurt like that.
I know things are going to be different from now on.
I was more upset when he didn't dance with me.
I wasn't that fussed though.
I'd shoot myself first.
If I move my mouth, it's mostly to smile
Ignite the flares, connect the phones, wind all the clocks...
I'm dreaming of that work "Man seated reading"

Good Start to the Week

Seven BC Hits and the words are flowing too



01,375 Words May 01 Tuesday
01,023 Words May 02 Wednesday (Flash & Poem)
01,157 Words May 03 Thursday (Long Poem etc)
01,052 Words May 04 Friday
01,000 Words May 04 Friday (EDIT, article drafted 15:49)
00,600 Words May 05-06 (Two Poems)
02,621 Words May 08 (Article)
00,738 Words May 08 (Flash)
00,988 Words May 09 (Flash)
01,227 Words May 10 (Story)
01,736 Words May 12 (Article and Poem)
01,583 Words May 13 (Article)
01,900 Words May 14 (Article & Flash)

17,000 Words Total 3,000 Words ahead of schedule

20:10 Prompts

These, and you may use the previous lot

An old lady writes me

Girls faces dim with time

Now an apprentice washes his cheeks

The grey horse, death

At this town's rotted edges

White rain, wind, and paper sails

No parent knew

That tree under various lights

Merely to name some is prose

18:34 Flash Prompts

I came upon a child of God, he was walking along the road

The cop slumps alertly on his motorbike

I spit out stale gum

Wanda, when are you going to wear your hair down?

The dark circles of sleepless nights

Like the wind outside, roaring, pausing

Gentleman, which of these three vegetables most represents your sad wife?

After all day scrambling below the peaks

A plane turns on its elegant silver heel, dives

She stares at the number over the door

You do not do, you do not do

We lie on my mother's bed, smoking

I woke early, staring at a tree

Nothing would rest there, nothing would sleep

The sawmill foreman blows a whistle, saws stop

To dream of baboons, periwinkles, sky

Turning and turning

Flashes Tonight?

There may be three sets of prompts tonight

18:30

20:00

22:15

if there's some BC interest...





alx

Maybe Smokelong's Editors...

I looked at four issues of Smokelong

The latest issues, 16-15-14 and Issue 3

29-01
20-00
24-01
20-00


93-02

93 stories, just 2 openers


But then I thought this. When a magazine starts it's less well known. The first issue you can contact mates and everything but then the next, well, you are reliant on what is submitted.

It would therefore not be unreasonable to expect a hisgher percentage of D-Os in issues 1 & 2

What was the result when I looked?

35 stories, 4 DOs = 11.42% (when the magazine is scratching for stories)

95 stories, 2 DOs = 2.1% (when the magazine is strongly supported)


or to phrase it another way, when submissions are less/weaker Dialogue Openers were 5.5 times more likely to occur




Alex



PS Lump those sis issues together (less representative) and you get a DO incidence of 4.67%, precisely one story in 23.

Yup, no doubt about it, them there DO's sure is prevalent.

More Evidence

My reference to Cadenza was challenged as meaningless because a recent edito and the current editor/assistant editor had, in the past, been in Boot Camp.

"Therefore" the data was invalid because they had been 'brainwashed' by me.

Now hang on a minute, those three people, John Ravenscroft, Zoe King, Vanessa Gebbie have been very, very successful while in BC and since they left. John left about SIX YEARS ago, Zoe about 4, Vanessa 2.

But IF they "only write one way" because I brainwashed them (some might say "taught") how come they have been so successful?

These anonymous hecklers are hilarious. If I claim credit for Boot Camp I'm "living off the backs of the writers' success.. it's down the THEM, not me".

But if they make a mistake, THAT is down to me.


So, let's say for the argument, that Cadenza's results "don't count".

What about the Bridport Prize? Do i control that too? What about Best American Short Stories? Do I have a finger in THAT pie also? Did I run the Ian St James Awards?

Get the poiont? These very sad anonymous posters have to think of a different "excuse" each time data is posted.

Here's some more

The Alsop Review

Now the editor of that has never been near Boot Camp, never been taught by me or engaged me in any other way other than the odd email.

If you go to The Alsop Review and Click on THE WRITERS there are 15-20 short-story writers and novelsists. You can view exactly 120 pieces. SEVEN are Dialogue Openers.

5.8%


The statistic stands up yet again.

No try, say "Skipe" or "Long Story Short" and the percentage will probably rise.

Work out why.

Three Years, One Dialogue Opener

Specially for my anonymous viewers


I just looked at Cadenza's last six competitions (3 years)

So how many Dialogue openers made the prizes in three years?


ONE

Cadenza 16 (Two competitions)

NO 1st
NO 2nd
NO 3rd

NO 1st
NO 2nd
Yes 3rd

Cadenza 15
NO 1st
NO 2nd
NO 3rd

Cadenza 14
NO 1st
NO 2nd
NO 3rd

Cadenza 13
NO 1st
NO 2nd
NO 3rd

Cadenza 12
NO 1st
NO 2nd
NO 3rd


Just ONE out of 18, a story that managed third place

One Hun-Dred and TWENTY!

Not "One Hun-dred and EIGHTY!"

(yet) but it's just been pointed out to me that Caroline's First Prize this weekend takes us to 120 Firsts overall

Three More Hits Today after Four Yesterday

Two paying acceptances at Espresso Fiction and CALLY! has an acceptance at Word Riot

Seven hits and a first prize in 24 Hours!!

That's 77 Hits this year, four First prizes and $3,393 in payments




PRIZE LIST ($3,054 won)


FIRSTS

001 Fleur wins $2,000 Guardian/Virgin Trains Prize
002 TomC wins Mary Gornall ($150)
003 TomC wins Grace Dieu Writers ($400)
004 Caroline wins Blaenau Gwent ($170)

SECONDS - Runner-Up

001 DaveP RUNNER-UP in Biscuit. WINS Digital Voice Recorder ($84)
002 Cally runner-up in Cotswold Prize ($50)
003 Jenny Jackson $100 second at JBWB


THIRDS

001 Lexie 3rd in Grace Dieu ($100)


FINALS

001 Colin named shortlist at Happenstance
002 Lexie Highly Commended at Cafe Writers
003 Cally HC at JBWB
004 Caroline HR runner-up at Flashquake
005 BCer shortlisted (results TBA) at Philip Good
006 Cally shortlisted in Biscuit
007 ColU shortlisted in Biscuit
008 Joel shortlisted at Tonto
009 RVJ shortlisted at Earlyworks (1)
010 RVJ shortlisted at Earlyworks (2)
011 RVJ HR'd at JBWB
012 Cally HR'd at Twisted Tongue

Further Proof that Dialogue Openers are a Bad Idea

I have unearthed a whole batch of statistics about dialogue openers and their prevelance. It's important to note that some teachers of light popular fiction and womag fiction state that it is a good thing to open with dialogue "because it's immediately interesting, engaging, intimate" and that at least one "teacher" states that "more than half" of such stories begin with dialogue.

Here are the results of a survey I did in 2005/2006

I looked at 2,467 Stories



1.98% Nobel Prize Winners
2.50% OHenry Prize Winners
2.94% Best American New Voices
2.96% Best American Short Stories
3.78% Selected Famous Writers
6.62% All Famous Writers Surveyed
7.09% Ian St James Finalists (but only 1% in Prizes)
8.79% Bridport Finalists (but only 1% in Prizes)

5.44% OVERALL:

2,467 Stories.
2,333 Did NOT open with dialogue

Just 134 stories opened with dialogue

Many of these are competition entries. That is beginner and intermediate writers, NOT the best, most experienced writers.



The OHenry's in Detail

020 18 02 10 OHenry Prize 1997
020 20 00 00 OHenry Prize 1998
020 20 00 00 OHenry Prize 1999
020 20 00 00 OHenry Prize 2001
020 19 01 05 OHenry Prize 2002
020 20 00 00 OHenry Prize 2005

120 117 003 2.5% OVERALL



The high percentage found for "all famous writers surveyed" really surprised me, so I looked again.

Four writers seriously skewed the figures.

Two of those writers are dead (ie they wrote a long time ago, and one, living, is in his eighties, ie much of his work is over 50 years old). Take out just four writers from a very long list and the percentage drops to 3.78%



I open a copy of "You've Got to Read This" a selection of stories chosen by writers are good examples of short-stories. 33 Stories NO dialogue-openers.



In one debate on this, a respondent remarked saying that "dialogue openers appeared in The Ian St James Awards, the New Writer and The Bridport Prize."


Well, first, OF COURSE THEY DO, because this is a lower standard of writing. It's beginner-intermediate writing!!

What we should expect (if I am right) is this.

The highest percentage of dialogue-openers will be in the batch of stories that don't make the long-list.

The long-list will have a much lower percentage of dialogue openers.

The short-list an even lower percentage, the prizes, lower still, and the WINNERS the lowest percentage of all.



I have no proof or firm figures of "also-rans" but I know from experience that the really bad stories I have judged OFTEN (20-50%) contain dialogue openers.

But I managed to get complete data on all the anthologized Ian St James stories (effectively the short-list) and the 1-2-3 prizes, and the winners.

Here is what I found.

The columns are Stories/NO Dialogue/Dialogue/ Percentage

ST-ND-DO-%
012 09 03 25 Ian St James 1989
012 12 00 00 Ian St James 1990
012 11 01 08 Ian St James 1991
012 12 00 00 Ian St James 1992
016 16 00 00 Ian St James 1993
016 14 02 13 Ian St James 1994
027 24 03 11 Ian St James 1995
020 20 00 00 Ian St James 1996-7

127 118 009 7% OVERALL


7% is where I'd expect it, but now...

Let's look at the top three and winners.

Was the story opened with dialogue?

1989 AT THE STROKE OF TWELVE (HarperCollins)

NO 1st David Rose
NO 2nd Judy Forshaw
NO 3rd Belinda Raine

1990 SUCCESS STRIKES TWELVE (HarperCollins)

NO 1st Annie Hedley
NO 2nd William Walker
NO 3rd Louise Doughty

1991 MIDNIGHT OIL (HarperCollins)

NO 1st Faith Addis
NO 2nd Alan Dunn
NO 3rd Stephanie Ellyne

1992 BLOOD, SWEAT & TEARS (HarperCollins)

NO 1st Jeremy Cain
NO 2nd= Francesca Clementis
NO 2nd= Peter Naylor

1993 FLYING HIGH (HarperCollins)

Shorter Category

NO 1st Kate Atkinson
NO 2nd Juliet McCarthy
NO 3rd James Maguire

Longer Category

NO 1st Philip Sealy
NO 2nd Hilary Waters
NO 3rd Min Dinning

1994 BROUGHT TO BOOK (HarperCollins)

Shorter Category

NO 1st Anna McGrail
NO 2nd Alison Armstrong
NO 3rd A S Penne

Longer Category

NO 1st Joshua Davidson
NO 2nd Mike McCormack
NO 3rd= Sue Camarados
NO 3rd= Bronia Kita

1995 PLEASURE VESSELS (Angela Royal Publishing)

Shorter Category

NO 1st Dick Bayne
Yes 2nd Hwee Hwee Tan
NO 3rd Bead Roberts

Longer Category

NO 1st= Kristina Amadeus
NO 1st= Maria Caruso
NO 3rd Nick Kelly


1996/7 PULSE FICTION (Angela Royal Publishing)

1996

NO 1st Josephine Corcoran Algebra
NO 2nd Indira Debah Black Water Crossing
NO 3rd Carrie Worrall Gathering

1997

NO 1st Michel Faber Some Rain Must Fall
NO 2nd Kevin Doyle Do You Like Oranges?
NO 3rd David Evans Dead Man's Shoes


How strong must the statistics be for people?

Of 36 awarded prizes, just ONE prize (second) began with dialogue!!


Again the quality-prediction holds.

A decent comp, 7% of the finalists overall are dialogue openers (because the entrants are not yet fully-fledged, regularly published writers) but THE WINNERS? It falls to just that single second place (2.8%)


So like it or not, dialogue openers are (generally) NOT associated with good authorship, have never won an ISJ Award, haven't won a Bridport that I've a record of.

The lower you go in quality the more often you see dialogue openers. That suggest that beginners and poor writers think dialogue openers are good and experienced quality writers have abandoned them.

Now maybe this isn't a rule, or a law, but I would advise all writers to avoid dialogue openers wherever possible because there is ALWAYS an equal or better way to open (most usually better), because judges do not like them, because editors aren't crazy about them, because they are assoicated with low-end beginning writing.

If the above isn't almost categorical proof that what would be?