Yes,
I think that sometimes there is a creative journey. It starts like a western, where one rides ones narrative steed -( that is to say ones story), onto the prairies of inspiration. All is sweet water and following breeze until the prairie starts to change. That is when authors start to say that their characters have gone awol, that they no longer know where the story is headed, or whether inspiration will return again. They are by turns frustrated, angry, hurt and desperate. At last they wake up in a desert. It is like the night of the soul - it is a silent furnace where the ego falls from its horse and lies like a fish, gasping in terror, suddenly aware that it will surely die. But then perhaps something else comes striding across the burning floor and stands shimmering against the sky, it is able to take that instrument, that gasping soul which now hopes only for transcendance - and here is the deal - those characters are not my characters any more, that ending will be whatever ending emerges, the journey continues on foot and now its us - sometimes the prairie, sometimes the desert....
OK too many movies....
