The last three weeks I've been stuck on chapter seven of my burlesque novel. It's been less a not-knowing what to write problem as being interrupted problem. I only have a two hour block but in the last few weeks something has conspired to creep in each time. And it's never something I feel comfortable blowing off. Like the school occupational therapist calling to discuss Alex's program. Or a charity who gives us money asking about receipts.
But this time, I made it through. And I wrote the final sentence for chapter 7: "Taking a deep breath, he descended into Hell." (Catchy hook but we'll see if it survives rewrites.)
It's slowly coming together. But I'm still on target for my March 1st deadline.