I work from a script. I can show you an example of what it looks like from script form to finished narrative.
Script
EXT. FOREST .NIGHT
MATCH SHOT OF LIGHTNING
CRACK!
It is dark, and the rain is falling in earnest.
WIDE GROUND-LEVEL UP SHOT: The trees with the rain falling
heavily towards CAMERA.
CROSS DISSOLVE INTO
ECU GROUND SHOT OF CLEAR PUDDLE REFLECTING THE FOREST, THE
IMAGE DISTORTED BY THE RIPPLES CAUSED FROM THE RAIN.
LOW ANGLE SHOT: VALAN'S DISTORTED REFLECTION MOVES INTO SHOT
BOOT (reflection) MOVES TOWARDS CAMERA
VALAN'S REAL BOOT ENTERS FRAME AND COLLIDES WITH ITS
REFLECTION
SPLASH.
CUT TO WIDE/SIDE SHOT OF VALAN (DOLLY TRACKING SHOT) WALKING
CAMERA-RIGHT THROUGH THE RAIN.
Valan is holding his hood down with one hand and gripping the
neck of the cloak together with the other.
TREE IN FOREGROUND SWIPES CAMERA.
FADE TO BLACK
FADE IN
DOLLY OUT FROM TREE STRAIGHT INTO EYE LEVEL SHOT/ MS of VALAN
FACING CAMERA.
CUT TO MCU OF VALAN'S TENSING FACE, HIS EYES SHARP, TRYING TO
SEE THROUGH THE RAIN.
CUT TO AN OWL IN A TREE.
The owl looks down at Valan. Launching out from the tree, she
flies away
A flash of lightning and its loud CRACK - closer, this time;
it struck the eastern side of the woods - is followed by a
frightened MEW from the vicinity of Valan's chest.
CU of Valan's astonished face.
Opening his cloak a little, looks down.
CU: Inside his cloak, a WHISPER-WYRM (Large Caterpillar),
clinging across his chest to keep dry.
VALAN
(To Whisp)
Almost there, Whisp. Don’t worry. At
least you’re dry.
WHISP
Mew
VALAN
Yes, you’re keeping me warm too. Thank you.
Novel
-One Hundred years later in the country Borg, near the small village of Helmfilth-
Valan should have known the storm was coming. He had hunted in these woods almost every day that he had drawn breath, and he knew their moods better than his own. His grandfather, Telon, had taught him the Ways of the Wind, and Valan himself could feel the electricity in the air whenever lightning approached. He should have been home in plenty of time, but he wasn’t.
Perhaps he had known instinctively that the rain was coming, and had ignored it - he’d been feeling bouts of recklessness more and more lately. Or perhaps, as he told himself, he was just too worried about his mother, and too preoccupied with anticipation for his approaching Quickening, to concern himself with the natural forces around him.
The hunt itself required no conscious thought. It was pure instinct; tracking the two Bannogs, and taking both out with an arrow from his bow, then directing their energy into the small carved talisman that protected his mind from their memories. He had done it all in a meditative state, and had willingly forgotten himself and time.
Now it had grown dark, and the rain was falling in earnest. A white owl perched in a tall tree watched with its huge curious golden eyes as Valan below struggled through the thick of the storm. A flash of lightning and its loud crack - closer, this time; it may have even struck the eastern side of the woods - was followed by a frightened “squeak” from the vicinity of his chest.
Valan looked inside his cloak at his Whisper-Wyrm, clinging across his chest to keep herself dry.
“Almost there, Whisp. Don’t worry. At least you’re dry.”
“Squeak”
“Yes, you’re keeping me warm, too. Thank you.”
All the chapters published so far on Tapas have been written from these scripts.