This is how it always starts. I have the pictures in my head, and slo-o-o-wly the words start.
Describe the place. See it through their eyes. Text and subtext.
It’s slow going. I hope for a thousand words, but at this stage, a hundred is okay. A hundred is good, 200 is better.
Some of the words won’t last. I’ll find a better way to say it, or I will realize it doesn’t need to be said at all. I’ll change the gender or the colour or the name or the season. I’ll try a different way into this, and maybe it will be so right I will wonder why I ever thought there was any other idea, or it will be so horrible that I will feel the need to drink all the alcohol available to get the taste out of my brain.
By next week or so, though, I’ll be getting those thousand words or more, and lots of questions will be settled and my cigarette consumption will have dropped back to the normal six I allow myself instead of the eight or ten that this stage of writing seems to need, and the building blocks of plot will get mortared into place over the foundation of “world” and I will stop thinking I don’t know how to do this anymore.
Till the next phase where everything falls apart again and I manage to keep 5 words out of every 50, and I believe that I completely suck.
Writing. There are reasons most of us do this alone.