WRITING CONTEST WINNERS:
1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 , 2006 and 2007 .

Winners of the Annual Birthday Challenge 2000

Each year, the editors of the Muse prepare a commemorative special edition for distribution at the BSI dinner and the Baskerville Bash. The issue recognizes the past year’s contributors to the Muse. It also includes an essay competition. This year’s assignment, suggested by Linda Spessotti, was to “write an uncharacteristic, corrupt, non‑Watsonian, reprehensible (i.e. bad) opening to a Sherlock Holmes case.”

The responses were numerous and came from many countries. All were truly and delightfully awful. However, one entry was especially appalling. The winner of the 2000 Birthday Competition is Sandy Kozinn. She will receive a $30 gift certificate from the bookstore of her choice for her efforts. The first runner‑up was Warren Randall, and the second runner‑up was John Russo.

Here are all three entries, as well as Sandy’s cover letter ‑ a rather remarkable work in its own right.

My dear Ms. Diamond,

It has recently come to my attention that your fine literary magazine, “The Serpentine Muse, “is seeking assistance from those who may have unpublished work from the hand of John H. Watson, MD.”

While I have no such completed work available to assist you in your project, I have recently come across certain fragments, which appear to be the uncompleted beginning of a story by Dr. Watson. These fragments were found among the papers of the late Dolly C. Arthur, Emerita Professor of Late 19th and Early 20th Century Popular Fiction and holder of the Moriarty Chair of Creative Writing.

Professor Arthur’s handwriting became difficult to read as she aged, but those of us assisting in organizing her papers believe that the post‑it note stuck to the pile of clipped‑together papers reads something like “The Adventure of the Lost (or Last?) Manuscript.”

I enclose a copy of the transcribed papers for submission to your project.

Very truly yours, Sandy Kozinn

THE ADVENTURE OF THE LOST (or LAST?) MANUSCRIPT

It was a dark and stormy night, the wind sobbing in the chimney like a hound baying at the moor.

...yes, he said, yes, I’ve found the test, yes, he said, yes, the test, the test for human blood, he said, yes, for human blood....

I limped across the room, cursing my hip. Bullet wounds are easy to remember. “Cut the cackle, Holmes,” I sneered, “and take a glom at the Mirror’s Agony Column.”

“Hark, a client! On the 19th stair!”

“What a pain,” remarked Holmes, opening the battered wooden case and sniffing up some nose candy. “Guess I’ll need something to stay alert.”

A man entered. The man sat. “My name is Ernest. Ernest is a fine name. Ernest was my father’s name. Ernest was my grandfather’s name. It had much honor. Now it may be soiled. I need your help.”

“The facts, sir,” Holmes snarled, “just the facts.”

THE SCANDALOUS BOHEMIAN

by Warren Randall

To Sherlock Holmes, he was always The Woman. I have seldom heard him mention him under any other name. In his Commonplace books, his clippings eclipse all others. It is not that he felt anything akin to emotion for Irving Adler. As all emotions, and love particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise, but admirably balanced mind, Irving was a problem waiting to happen.

The case began on May night in ‘94 as we sat huddled by the sea coal fire. I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other, but I stopped by anyway.

Holmes began to read his new monograph of the evening to me, Needles and Pins: The Art of the Lapel. As I suggested, “Get a life,” there came a rap‑rap‑rapping on our solid British oaken door.

“Come in,” we both called, after the door flung open.

Untitled

by John Russo

I sat down to join my friend and companion, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, at the breakfast table. Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, was clearing away a trayful of remnants of what Holmes had already devoured. She spoke in her typically cheerful voice as she greeted me and assessed what she had just brought in for our meal.

“Mornin’ Doc! You have a ways to go to catch up with your friend here. He’s already eaten two stacks of pancakes and a pound and a half of bacon. I’ve just brought up another stack and a slew of bangers as well!”

Holmes spoke up, “Morning, Johnnie! Sorry, but I’ve already cleaned Mrs. Hudson out of bacon, and I think I could still eat a horse! I wonder where Silver Blaze is right now.”

We all laughed and laughed right up to lunch.

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