Mark Twain said he let the partial draft of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court sit in a pigeonhole on his desk for several years because he ran dry. The Maestro advocated stepping away from a book when you hit a wall like this and letting your mind do other things. Since I regard Twain as the Supreme Authority on All Things Authorial, I have been doing some housekeeping, gaming, and generally catching up on a few long neglected tv shows.
But I'm still spinning my wheels. Which is stupid. I know what's going to happen next. Recompense is in four parts. Parts 1-3 are complete except for editing. Part four is somewhere between three fourths and seven eighths done, and the final three scenes are already written and set in stone. All I have to do is put in the intermediate work and I already know what is supposed to go in there.
What is my subconscious trying to tell me? This is maddening. And there is not a drop of vodka in the house. Rum, we got. But no coke, so what good is that?