I used to take my pen and just write whatever:

Maple syrup ran thickly through the forest, leaving dark pools in the tall grass, and no one seemed to notice, or no one cared.

If it's not love, then it's the dog that will keep us together, she said.

Silence slides into your brain and nothing can stop it but the interruption of an old man in khaki pants who pounds the table and demands a piece of paper.

This makes too much sense, this wandering around aimlessly through the barren lava lamp fields of Tahiti. Our feet fly far away from us, leaving us to wonder when they'll return, and if.

She traversed the rocky cliff and wondered if she'd ever see the sun again. The stars shone darkly on that late summer night, illluminating her joy, masking her hideous visage. No one will know, she mumbled to herself, And I will make sure that he fails, even if I die tonight.

The waves lapped at her heels, reminding her that strange creatures lived beneath the waves, strange creatures that at that very moment knew nothing of her plot, and that would love to tear her to shreds and eat her.

The chameleon in her pocket grew confused, not knowing which shade to choose (her emotions changed so rapidly), so it decided that the best thing to do was sleep but its snoring woke the spider who had dozed off long before when the snake had bored it with a long and involved tale about two brothers who loved an ugly woman