What Cocteau Is Teaching Me About Writing

I am the sort of writer who likes to know the end of a story first, and have a narrative road map along the writing way. But I can't do that with this Bordertown story/novel/novellas? I have no idea yet how it will come together and I feel like Belle arriving at the Beast's castle, where the way is dark and perilous -- but those human arms holding up the candelabras, cast a small pool of light, leading to another pool of light, pushing her towards...what?

Another hallway, with huge windows and curtains blowing inward, the moonlight making stepping stones on the floor.

I think I am writing a Bordertown noir though I am still not sure how these separate stories will come together: a girl who either predicts or creates the future by painting graffiti on the walls, while her twin shifts the terminus stones beneath Bordertown to move it like a cosmic tortoise until one stone goes missing, threatening stability of the city; two gangs that come together to create their own martial arts with a unique Bordertown dojokun and plan a tournament of styles; an unknown girl found deceased in a warehouse, and the undertaker, himself a teenager trying to unravel her identity and return her to the right world. What sort of beast is waiting at the end of this story?

 Ok...I think I am being way too dramatic! I write moments, just let them happen, and then all day, they steep and somewhere in the middle of washing dishes, driving to the store, walking along the desert washes, or in these early pre-dawn mornings I keep, another candelabra lights up and I move in that direction. Good or bad, I have to trust that somewhere in my brain (or maybe my heart) that I already know the whole story.