>> It was a cold and stormy
night.
No, that doesn't work.
How about, it was a cold and
rainy day on the University
of Wisconsin-Oshkosh campus.
>> We're going to talk about
dead words.
>> But the warmth coursing
through Sue Fondrie's
educational DNA...
>> They're words that are
overused; they're hackneyed;
they're trite; they're clichéd.
>> Was evident to the untrained
naked eye.
>> It just doesn't sound right.
>> Okay, how about this?
It was a damp, chilly morning
on the UW-Oshkosh campus.
>> Nah.
[laughter]
>> But the educational heat
emanating from professor
Sue Fondrie...
>> Ooh, that's even better.
>> Could fry an egg
on Alabama asphalt in June.
>> You have to just
throw crap out there.
>> Professor Fondrie teaches
writing to UW-Oshkosh students.
And somewhere in the course
of forming future wordsmiths,
she discovered she had another
calling.
>> It takes effort to be bad,
apparently, although I actually
found it to come fairly easily.
>> Sue Fondrie
found she had a knack for
deliciously dreadful writing,
a knack that led her
to an international contest
that celebrates those
who write poorly.
>> I never enter contests.
I entered a contest in college
to win a pair of sunglasses.
I was the third caller
to the radio station
That's the last thing
I've ever won.
It's called the Bulwer-Lytton
Fiction Contest,
named after a 19th century
British author.
>> It was pitched as a way
to find out who could write the
worst opening line to a novel
similar to Bulwer-Lytton's
novel, "Paul Clifford."
>> You've likely seen
Snoopy, the beagle,
plagiarize the first line
of "Paul Clifford" for years
in the Peanuts cartoons.
But that opening line
doesn't stop there.
>> "It was a dark and stormy
night; the rain fell in
torrents, except at occasional
intervals, when it was checked
by a violent gust of wind
which swept up the streets
(for it is in London that
our scene lies), rattling along
the house-tops, and fiercely
agitating the scanty flame
of the lamps that struggled
against the darkness."
You could have just ended after
it was a dark and stormy night.
[laughs]
And we would have gotten
the point.
>> So, as Sue Fondrie traversed
a bumpy, pock-marked Wisconsin
artery one day, (for it is
on Highway 41 that her
inspiration lies), she summoned
from her creative depths,
a uniquely unsightly
award-winning opening line
to a fictitious novel.
>> Should I read it to you?
>> Yes, please.
>> "Cheryl's mind turned like
the vanes of a wind-powered
turbine, chopping her
sparrow-like thoughts into
bloody pieces that fell onto
the growing pile of forgotten
memories."
And "the growing pile
of forgotten memories"
is particularly awful,
because if they're memories,
how can they be forgotten?
>> Does that make sense?
>> Professor Fondrie's writing
was so bad, it was good.
Good enough to take top prize
in the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction
Contest.
Her students remain amazed,
in awe of her awfulness.
>> I think to know how to write
a bad sentence, you have to know
how to write a good sentence.
>> Folks far from this campus
have called for an explanation
of the explicitly and
especially egregious use
of the English language.
>> The best part, I think,
of getting my name out there
is I've heard from at least
20 different former students
who have contacted me,
you know, out of the past,
to say, "Congratulations,
I loved seeing your name."
"I always knew you were
a terrible writer,
and this just validates it."
>> It was a moist, nippy day
on the UW-Oshkosh campus, and
like every day in her classroom,
Professor Sue Fondrie
practiced what she preached.
>> That's a good idea...
>> Encouraging her students
to twist their sentences,
to torture their metaphors.
>> I encourage everyone
to be bad.
It's fun to see what you can do
when you play with language.
I don't think we play enough
with language.
>> She's already
working on her contest entry
to defend her title.
>> I'm going to aim low.
>> Yes, she'll aim low.
Low, like a...
Well, we'll leave
the next noxious chapter
to Professor Fondrie.