Pruning one's self into a corner

From a letter to a friend, 28 August 2008

I wish I could conjure up a novel, but I don't seem to have that quality of imagination. I started to write one a few years ago, and my plot ran aground. The romantic lead, a gardener at a botanical estate, fell out of an apple tree and I couldn't figure out how to pick him back up.

Note: In a subsequent draft I didn't have him prune the orchard.