I need ideas to write stories. One exercise I'm going to try to achieve that is just rambling away. I'm going to write whatever pops in my head, whether or not it makes sense or flows together.
Anger! Anger! Anger! Anger's pumping through my veins now making my blood run hotter. My cheeks turn even redder than normal. I wish I could do things on my own. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I feel hopeless, devoid of any capabilities. What's that? Nothing. The sound of nothing in my ears. No wind. No rain. No anything. Nothing. Listen up. I'm tired of this. Tired of the world. Tired of your anger. Tired of your lies. If you can't be truthful, then why are you here? I won't take your nonsense. Move back to where you belong because you don't belong with me. I'll keep dreaming because then I can create something, anything. Anything is better than this black void. I'll dream of blue skies and angels singing and children laughing and of my husband holding my hand. I miss him, you know? There's nothing like being held by someone who loves you, who makes you feel content, happy, safe. I build a nest here. Somewhere I can be warm. No images. I need images. I can't think. I felt warm for a second, now blank. Blank face, no expression. Frustration. How long must I endure this void? I'll close my eyes. Though it's dark, I still see a light. And a sword. That must be Inuyasha. I open my eyes again. Nothing. Bah! This sucks. How am I supposed to get anything done?
Hmmm . . . Perhaps another exercise would be better than stream of consciousness.