[Gail White]

I haven't read 50 shades or the Da Vinci Code, but I'll admit to having enjoyed Wheatley's "The Devil Rides Out".

[Brian Allgar]

I haven't read them either, Gail, but somebody once made me watch the film, which was well renamed "The Da Vinci Cod".

[Graham King]

Apologizing greatly, I assisted the young lady bookseller to arise, struck (as she had been, by my precipitate entry) with one of the dozen titles fallen unshelved- medical texts, clearly. With trained, darting looks, I recognized characteristic diagrams of Gray’s Anatomy; a frontispiece etching of Florence Nightingale; and standard treatise, ‘On Gangrene: Its Occurrence and Treatment’.

My interest, however, lay with ‘Fifty Shades of Purple’- new to me. But how apt! Had not Holmes, only yesterday, been beating cadavers at Bart’s with a riding crop?
Smiling appreciatively, without quibbling I paid and, with my purchase wrapped, hurried back to 221B.

“Watson!” Holmes shot out (languidly flicking pages while I awaited grateful thanks), “Why you present me with a compendium of florid, wordy prose- collated evidently to deter such errant writing- taxes even my deductive powers. Do you hope to shine, relatively? Or were you again preoccupied by auburn hair?”

[Adrian Fry]

When doing these sort of comps, I always assume that the word limit includes the title of story, though it would give me four words extra to play with if it didn't. Any thoughts?

[basil ransome-davies]

I aways assume the opposite, that the title is separate from the narrative & it is the latter which is can be 150 words.

[Chris O'Carroll]

When the comp rubric supplies a complete title (e.g, #2727 “An unwelcome bequest”), it seems obvious that we’re free to use the full 150 words. Everybody’s title is the same in that case, and winning entries are printed without titles. But this comp is a bit different. Any title we come up with will be integral to our specific entry -- Fifty Shades of Graham Greene, Fifty Shades of Blue Peter, Fifty Shades of Red Menace, Fifty Shades of Night Are Falling. I suspect that Bazza’s on pretty firm ground with his assumption, but I’m a timid soul and will probably err on the side of caution. Naturally, I encourage everybody else to err in the opposite direction so that their entries might be disqualified and my odds improved.

[Adrian Fry]

Thanks Chris and Bazza. I have made my title the 'punchline' of my entry so as to circumvent the issue. Like you, Chris, I am timid about such things.

[Sylvia Fairley]

It might be an idea to get a ruling on this from Lucy, for future comps...?

[Adrian Fry]

Fifty Shades of Gravy did for my career. I specialise – rather, I specialised – in devising high concept television formats. In layman’s terms, I surfed zeitgeists, knew soapumentary from mockudocudrama and brainstormed titles that suggested concepts rather than the reverse. Equine origami infotainment extravaganza Only Foolscap Horses was one of mine, along with white goods retail fest Mr, Sell Fridge. I even brought posh lavatorial quiz Gameshow of Thrones to transmittable pilot stage. But then I scrawled Fifty Shades of Gravy across the Channel 4 whiteboard. Though the team were agog for a concept, I couldn’t deliver. Every telly chef I approached – their supply is, surprisingly, finite – opined that there simply aren’t fifty shades of gravy; those there are turn out to be in all other respects identical. Meanwhile, the sadomasochists declared the stuff the very definition of unerotic. Pitch stalled, I was fired before I could suggest Waltzing With Dinosaurs.

[Rob Stuart]

Fifty Grades of Che

Following the Arab Spring and the Ukrainian Euromaidan it seemed the zeitgeist was auspicious for the resurrection of that countercultural classic, the Che Guevara t-shirt. I optimistically screenprinted ten thousand of the standard black-on-red variety, but was dismayed to find they sold more like cold sick than hot cakes. A spot of market research quickly identified the problem: modern consumers expect a choice of designs and materials that reflect their politics and income bracket and the ‘Citizen Smith’ style just wasn’t cutting it. I responded by producing fifty different grades of the garment. These ranged from a solid gold shirt with an inlaid platinum Che and the words ‘HIPPY SCUM’ picked out in rubies, to a jam on recycled burlap version (the picture vanishes on the first wash, thus allaying any fears lefties might harbour about the commodification of the great man’s image.)