This could be permanent. Time will tell.
It comes down to a fundamental flaw in my novel that I see no way to overcome. I’ve spun it around and looked at it a thousand ways, but the end result is the same: I can’t fix it.
I love the characters. I love the setting. I love the relationships and the intrigue. I love the slang, the culture, the clothing, the WORLD I’ve been living in for four years.
But I don’t believe the most basic building block of the plot. I don’t believe it is possible, even in a universe I’ve created. I’ve been writing this story for four years trying to figure out a way to suspend my own disbelief. It’s like I’ve been running toward a brick wall, determined that if I deny its existence with enough fervor it will magically vanish. Instead, I’ve hit the wall, and I have a goose egg to prove it.
I see two options:
1) Completely remove my favorite main character who is also responsible for the inciting moment of the plot and attempt to make the story happen without him.
I’m taking option number two.
I think I’d rather write about mermaids anyway.