At last count, there were nearly 700 entries, and three days to go. Why does he do this to himself?
Anyway, here is my esteemed entry, the first paragraph from the wonderful and noble work of literature entitled: "The Book That Currently Has No Title But I Hope To Come Up With A Good One Soon."
Arkansy De-Crisp Lechampion had a recurring nightmare in which he found himself fully-clothed in a public place. He would wake in a cold-sweat and sprint about his cave, knocking into cauldrons and tables and banging into the stuffed and beautifully posed sabre-toothed rapscallion, the very one he had defeated the previous summer using nothing but a fish scaling knife and an onion on a string. The usual method, of course, but Arkansy was nothing if not old-fashioned.