One thing that I can say for sure is that writing never becomes easy. I have been plugging and unplugging, on and off, in relation to my book in progress, The Girl Who Could Not Love. This never happened before. On the contrary, most books have been a flowing delight to write. I have never experienced a certain distance or disconnection from a story before. It truly puzzles me. I have made some progress, more like the progress of a tortoise on a ten-mile run. I am not sure of what it is holding my pen hostage, but it feels like I am missing in writing, as if a degree of the angle is missing. And that is mostly why I have pulled the plug a few times, give it a rest, and try to restart the engine.
If I were to compare it to an engine, I would say that my pen is misfiring (my husband is a mechanic; terminology just sticks with me). Right now, I have ended a sabbatical in relation to my novel, with the hope that the pieces have come together at the right angle, at least in my head, and that my focus has sharpen. It was my intention to have a release by the end of the year, but good intentions do not fill the inkwell, neither do they publish a book.
The missing link is out there inside my head, and I just have to find it and make the connection. Because I am no James Patterson, prolific and able to work on several stories at a time, a well-oiled writing machine in my opinion, I will have to approach the story from several angles until I find the right one, the one that fits. Scrapping it would be too painful to bare at this point. May Parker be with me.