I'm 35214 words into the new book I'm writing. Every several chapters along I hit a brick wall. I'm trying to climb over one at the moment. For those who haven't attempted it, writing a story isn't easy all the time, there are gaps in storylines that need to be filled, holes that have to be addressed, roads that are re-routed. It's not always clear why something happens even though you're the one that made it happen, elements don't always connect.
As a writer you need to answer every question that crops up, you have to write as if you're reading and recognise what the reader will notice and make sure they react the way they're supposed to. If a reader asks a question that needs answering, it's your responsibility to provide the answer...the right answer.
In the process of drafting, I don't know all the answers. The story comes to me in dribbles most of the time. It's infuriating searching through my brain like a lost traveller looking for answers to questions I've written. Talking to yourself while making half a dozen cups of tea, desperately clawing over and under mountains of words and ink and paper that makes up the terrain of my mind. This is the half mad life of a writer.