Writing is like walking through the fog. You start with only the ground you're standing on and a distant idea--a destination at which you hope to arrive. You find your footing in a little bubble of visibility. You know who you are, and just maybe an approximation as to where. And with your fleeting goal in mind, you stumble off through the mist. Shadows appear and take form. A tree. A dirt road. An incline. A wall. As you come to understand it, you build the world around you.
Somewhere out there are hulking shapes... Mountains, rivers, monoliths formed by unknown hand. It's impossible to fathom from where you're standing that the world doesn't end at the event horizon of your tiny sphere. That you are but a soap bubble drifting through hazardous terrain. You feel that there are eyes out there that can cut through the fog, that can see you stumbling, that can see your fear. It's impossible to feel that you have control. That your destiny is in your own hands. But still you stumble forward.
When you're writing, ideas are fully formed and ready to be plucked out and put on the page, if only you can find them. If only you can put one foot in front of the other and stumble through the fog. If you have the courage to continue when you're so very, very lost.