Spectator competition: the novel that John Lennon might have written (plus: martian poetry)

The latest challenge was to submit an extract from a novel written by a rock star of your choosing. I was pleased that Adrian Fry went for that genius storyteller Tom Waits although, as Morrissey’s recent stinker demonstrates, being able to write decent song lyrics is no guarantee of literary success (the Guardian’s Michael Hann spoke for many when he described the pope of mope’s novel as ‘an unpolished turd of a book, the stale excrement of Morrissey’s imagination’.) Many of you simply strung song lyrics together to create a narrative, which, while expertly done in many cases — ‘It was 11:59: she felt blue as she looked out of the window on to the Union City scape below; the tide was high…’ (Geoff Cunnington) — wasn’t quite what I was after. Gerda Roper, Mark Shelton and C.J. Gleed were unlucky losers. The winners pocket £25 each. Bill Greenwell takes the bonus fiver.

Bill Greenwell (from ‘Newt Trips’ by Jim Morrison) You know what it is to go thru the body of the beast, right? The heart, the crimson muscle, beating around you with soft & universal lamentations? All right, we shall go on.