This weekend, I hit the largest wall that I’ve encountered while writing my novel, The Beast of Rose Valley. The plot had culminated in a single scene that just didn’t make sense the way I had it planned. There was no escaping it. I had written myself into a corner.
If I wrote what I had intended, readers would have surely thrown up their hands in disgust. It would have made no sense. It would have been illogical. It wouldn’t have been in keeping with the actions of one of the primary characters. All of the goodwill I might have garnered with my readers may well have been lost in a single chapter.