The writing path is riddled with potholes and washed-out bridges and fallen trees, that's for sure. But the Sinkhole of All for me seems to be the propensity I have for wandering around in the labyrinth of my mind -- without my heart. Thinking too much, abandoning my heart. I get caught up in craft: how to write great dialogue, narrative arcs, character development. The mechanics of flying instead of just flying.
And I know why it happens, I do. It's easier to focus on mechanics. It's safer. Those Ego! Perfectionism! Fear! Jealousy! jumping beans, they can take a nap when I focus on mechanics.