Most often I get stuck at the ends and beginnings and of chapters. I can't start the next chapter until the end of the last one is right. I know this usually means that whatever I've written has to be cut.
Between my laptop and a thriving aloe vera plant is my hand-drawn map of the world of my current novel; I have to control that space before I can know how the story will unfold there.
Writing is a craft, not some divine gift, and the thing about crafts is the more you do them the better you get at them; so if you want to call yourself a professional writer... you really have to put the hours in.
I was reading Chekhov short stories soon after the birth and the thought came to me that if I tried to write now I should know how to do it.
Frankenstein-like, I assemble the whole from whatever components I have to hand; I don't start at the beginning and work through to the end, finishing with a flourish.
I've heard tell of the psychopathology of answering machines, the ghost-in-the-machine poetry of microprocessors, but I've watched the use of Facebook profiling by editorial committees: what is our demographic looking for?
While I was shy and embarrassed to begin with, I soon became obsessed. I didn't like the person I was turning into. Marketing brought out the pushy me.
I have no difficulty admitting it; I want your attention. That's why I spend all those hours hammering away at a keyboard. It's all about you.