turkey pot pie

Oh my god, you guys.  Leftovers, that's all I got to say.  Leftovers ftw.  I am so full right now, full and sleepy.  It's a righteous sort of full, all is right with the world right now, right here and now.
Anyway, I'm stuck.  My latest story is moving along at a snail's pace, I only log maybe a sentence a day and that's pretty...sad.  Especially since I was doing four-five chapters a week, sometimes that many a day.  Oh fickle muse, come back!  Momma needs some inspiration.  Please please come back, I have candy!
/sigh, that never works....
It's more like I've reached a choke point in my story, not that I'm really stuck per say.  I got lots of ideas for after this one critical point, but they all depend on this one area of story coming out just like I want it to, exactly the way I want it to.  It's delicate and fragile work, this house of cards I'm building.  This really shouldn't surprise me, it happened with all the other ones too.  Climaxes, turning points are hard to get past but once you do, it's a downhill roller coaster ride and you just hold on for dear life and jot down the ideas as they sweep past, trying not to let them bludgeon your brain to death on the way by.  
I wonder if other writers feel the same, if this involuntary reluctance has anything to do with not wanting the story to end.  I felt an inkling of that, well, more than an inkling of that while I was writing Transcendence, right around chapters 13 and 14, like I just wanted to let it die right there so I wouldn't have to end it ever, but then my silly heart said, 'don't be so damn selfish, the story has to end.  the story has to end so another can begin.' and then I said, 'you silly old bastard, what do you know, you're just a one pound chunk of meat and tubes.'  And it replied, rather snidely I thought, 'stories are alive, and once you're done writing them, they don't belong to you any more.'  I sneered and said back, 'i did the writing, they're mine if i say they're mine.'  At which point, the damned thing had the nerve to laugh at me and I said, 'what's so damn funny?'  'you are. you breathed life and truth into a lie and it wasn't even a lie of your own crafting and now you wanna keep it in a box in the closet.  how stupid, how stupid and cruel.'  So then I felt shame and finished the story, so I could finally get the story out of my head and make space for new stories, like the one currently vexing me.  And you know what, even if it weren't a fanfic, even if it was all original, I do feel that I might have done the writing, but they don't belong to me any more.  I only borrowed the dream for a time, gave it shape so other people could see it and dream too.  At least that's what I hope happened.