QWERTY? QWERTY???

My friend Jinksy who lives in England told me about an interesting challenge this morning over at This Is Getting Very Silly (Dr. FTSE’s blog).

The challenge is simply this (though few things are ever very simple):

When you can’t think what to write, here’s a neat way to beat writer's block. Just look at your keyboard, then write a 26-word passage that makes sense, using as the first letter of each word the letters on your keyboard taken in order, left to right, top row to bottom row.

If you can do that, writes Dr. FTSE, you can do anything.

QWERTYUIOPASDFJKLZXCVBNM is the pattern on my keyboard, but if your keyboard is different, use your pattern.

My contribution, possibly the opening lines of my smashing new best-seller, The Adventures of Quentin and Kevin, was:

Quentin, waxing eloquent, raced toward Yvonne’s upstairs, inconsolable over Penelope's abominable situation despite Friday’s germs hovering jauntily. Kevin languished, Zen-like, xenophobically coveting Veronica’s Norwegian behind mightily.

Oops, the N and B seems to have exchanged places when I wasn’t looking. Oh, well.

Emboldened, I decided to try again. My second offering was an excerpt from my other potential blockbuster, Nothing Makes Sense Any More:

“Quit whining,” Edward reluctantly told Yakima’s ubiquitous imbecile, Percy, “only people at Seattle drink filthy gin.” Hoping, John kissed Loretta. Zany xylophonist Charles visited bassoonists near Manhattan.***

Basically, what this challenge proves most is that there’s no fool like and old fool (I’m talking about me, not Dr. FTSE).

But I would love to see what deathless prose you can come up with! Put it on Dr. FTSE’s blog, then copy your offering into a comment here on this post.

Now, get busy!

***Belatedly, I see that my second offering (the one that started “Quit whining...) is a little botched in the O and P area. If I change the name Percy to Oliver and delete the word “only” the result is a true qwertygram (a word I just invented):

“Quit whining,” Edward reluctantly told Yakima’s ubiquitous imbecile, Oliver, “people at Seattle drink filthy gin.” Hoping, John kissed Loretta. Zany xylophonist Charles visited bassoonists near Manhattan.

And if we combine my original qwertygram (Quentin, waxing...) with the one from Frances Garrood in the comments, we have the beginnings of a truly intriguing story:


Quentin, waxing eloquent, raced toward Yvonne’s upstairs, inconsolable over Penelope’s abominable situation despite Friday’s germs hovering jauntily. Kevin languished, Zen-like, xenophobically coveting Veronica’s Norwegian behind mightily.

Quentin was easily rendered tipsy. Yvonne understimated Ian’s orange punch. Andrea, senseless, dropped floorwards. Gavin held Jennifer, kissed, laughing zanily (xxx). Caroline’s vodka befuddled Nathan’s mother.


Wow, in just two paragraphs we have been introduced to Quentin, Yvonne, Penelope, Kevin, Veronica, Ian, Andrea, Gavin, Jennifer, Caroline, and Nathan’s mother. Nathan, however, is nowhere in sight.

I have changed the working title of my novel to Caroline’s Vodka. It has a certain ring to it, like Angela’s Ashes.