Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations. No more than one sentence!
He’s still standing near the door, coat glistening across the shoulders, watching her with the same expression she saw in the car: the pinched, quiet whiteness of a little boy waiting to be noticed.
For a long couple of seconds he was hyper-aware of the slick wood, of the rough scales beneath his other palm, of the crick in his neck where he held the phone.
He nudged the bottom of Dean’s socked foot with his toes.
Sandburg is sprawled on the floor, making thoroughly illegible notes in a spiral journal.
Things had gone quiet at the loft after that, and somehow I failed to notice that it had stayed quiet.
The psalm was his most often used petition, in a posting that seemed to be in a general and perpetual state of spiritual crisis.
With the ease of long practice he tuned out the steps, the running water, the half-hummed song, and focused instead on failing light shattering through the wide window.
Charlie took a deep breath, trying to push aside the images that little speech had conjured up for him (he’d thought what he’d gotten from Don was bad).
The texture was right, the rough, soft center and the sharp crispiness of the crust, but otherwise it was like chewing on a mouthful of cloth.
(I don't know whether I'll ever finish all of these, and a couple of them are unlikely to be fully written, but I still like all of the ideas, and some I've already put a lot of work into.)