RedMage,
a spirit that brings gifts to artists, origionally a Deamon to the Greeks, an intermediate spirit between gods and men, later split into I think seven, Wilki knows all.
Crosser, I write, and I start with the key, some idea of what, and write outward from there. After a few pages it gains it's own energy. Stories tell themselves to me.
I may have jumped into Chapter Three, but the rest falls into place. I know the deamon thing, ten hours a day for days on end, me fingers on a keyboard, fully engaged, with no idea where the next line is coming from.
I have tried the outline and that was all me, hard to produce, and only what I knew. I might write a repair manual. But when I am only keybording, great stuff flows. A bad start is going no where, how could I write a beggining or end when the story is somewhere between? Once I have a ball of story, it is easy enough to attach ends.
Sometimes I just start writting a description, a hillside, rain falling, and it is a spirit call that bring more images. I am a visual, I see one thing, start tapping away, and stories grow from there. Below the hillside is a trail, people I did not think up come along, following them leads me to a story.
I do not think it my imagination. I come up with things that I have no background for. It is the point of view of another. Hundreds of pages go by. When I later read it, clean up the keystrokes, it is a whole.
Where I try to embelish a story I mess it up, I do best just enjoying the story as it comes out. Sometimes I am typing twice as fast as I can type. Willing hands and an open mind.
Before WP I was the only one, and was open to new friends. I would think I was nuts but many others report the same, and nuts are not good writers.
It is a letting go that brings it forth. Self reduced to hands on a keyboard. I have no idea how this works.