I put it off; I hedged, I fudged and I fussed. But yesterday I could no longer find any reason not to write.
But I'm supposed to be a writer, you say. You're supposed to love it; which I do. Except that sometimes it's like going to the dentist and having a tooth pulled with no anaesthetic. And of that particular subject I'm well versed, being immune to local anaesthetic. Thus you can imagine how entertaining it was waking half way through the operation to extract my rotten appendix, after they already given me enough happy juice to sedate an entire army. And I'm still convinced that it smiled at me as they dropped it, wriggling, into a dish.
So back to the writing - or lack thereof. I've come to a halt. No creative inertia here. For the last few days my progress would make an inebriated tree Sloth seem positively energetic in comparison.
What do you do when your story comes to a dead end? Do you go back a few chapters and make your perps do something else? Tried that. Or how about introducing someone else, inject some fresh blood. Did that. He got killed off by a marauding meteor because I was bored. I could always go downstairs and annoy the cat. No good. She knows that look in my eye and always disappears into the garden with a velocity that would make your eyes water - hers too in the last case when the door happened to be shut at the time.
So I'm going to go back to the important part with a fresh eye. It begins a couple of spaces after the words Chapter One.