A Labrador, a Shoe, and a Dead End
Things rarely go according to plan. Neither in life nor in novels. Right now, my protagonists Severin and Bernd are pinned down in a pretty tight spot: an old factory hall, nervous security forces outside, and inside, the people the system has chewed up and spat out.
I know exactly what needs to happen next: Severin has to get back to the Zone, to his laptop, to publish the truth about the Insolvency Administrator. The “What” is crystal clear. The “How,” however, is my major glitch. I’m staring at the screen, suffering from a classic plot blackout.