Creativity

I am fairly typical in that I tend to communicate when I feel good. In terms of this blog, you don't hear from me on the bad days. But today, I am plunging into new territory to share where I am in the new writing project, and it ain't pretty.
The process of writing is (I assume) completely unique to every person. There are some generalities, some 'schools of thought' that might categorize us to some degree. But how we actually go about gettin' a book from A to Z will have as many variations as there are writers.
I have written three long stories now - a 'practice' Young Adult novel, and two Middle Grades stories. One of the latter is in early draft, let-the-yeast-rise mode, and the second is about to be released into the world in the next few months.
Now, I am in the early stages of another YA novel and am hyper-aware of the process. After three outings to get the basics of construction, I am attempting to move into a more artful approach to the process. Don't sound like an artist at all, do I?
I was going to list all the reasons why I am so left-brained but since that's a myth, and I'm giving up labels for Lent, I'll just tell you that I am not a stereotypical artist (I can't give up all the labels at once. How will I communicate?)
I think I have a decent imagination and competent communication skills. Turns out, you can't do a mash-up of those two things and get a book.
So, I am learning as I go, but for me, the bigger challenge is cultivating my true creativity, which, I gotta say, feels like a tenuous thing most days. I have ideas, I have some skill, I have a good work ethic. I am eager to learn and improve. What I lack is faith in the creative process.
I imagine people who grew up in an atmosphere of creativity are less fearful about this chaotic state in which I find myself. I imagine. I don't know. Maybe it's this uncomfortable for everyone.
Right now, I have more questions than answers. I see some characters clearly, others change a bit from day to day. I hear voices (in a good way) and then when I write one of those nice clear voices, I just hear me. I feel the texture of the dream world called The Vale, but I don't convey it adequately. I know bits and pieces, and I desperately want to be patient and wait to hear the story, rather than force it, but the other part of me (currently eschewing labels such as Virgo) is demanding qualitative evidence of progress.
I find myself doing weird things - or at least they seem weird to practical Me:
Yesterday I listened to a physics lecture on cosmology about the amount of "space" in the universe that is not what we know as matter. It was practically (had I understood the damn math) an invitation to find The Vale. Really.
I'm reading Genetics for Dummies because my villain is a Geneticist (and it took me almost an entire morning to decide if he worked at a University or ran a private lab.) I look through magazines and try to find the facial features of the characters I see in my head. I stare at a painting called, Out of this Dream, which I am convinced has something to tell me about the novel. I ask my characters questions as though I'm hosting a show called, "Welcome to my Novel". In the bottom of my backpack lives a blank, hand-made leather-bound journal that I used as inspiration for the one in my story. I want to make it look older and more worn. I don't know why. Stop asking.
It would be extremely helpful if a small fairy-god-mother type character would show up right now and tell me which of my recent weirdnesses can be filed under "creative work" and which are concerning behaviours I really shouldn't be writing about in a public forum.
I think I am allowing my creativity to direct me, but there is a strong possibility that I am losing it, tottering on the brink of sanity, with a brick of menopausal hormones tied to my waist.
I think I`ll go stare at the picture. Here, hold these bricks.