Occasionally, I feel like I need to cut Moffat a break. Granted, he has a lot to answer for lately; many of the narrative choices he’s made have been self-serving, at best. However, to a certain degree I feel a little sorry for him; I can empathize with the problems he has.

Before anyone goes jumping down my throat, here, let me clarify. I’m not talking about the “problems” he has with fans calling him out on questionable scripting decisions (whether they be with plot, characterization, or representation). I’m talking purely from a creative standpoint.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, as I struggle to complete the latest revision of my first novel. (As an aside, if anyone cares, I also blog under my pen name about that creative process, though less regularly.) But it occurred to me, as I’ve been fighting to pull all the newly-adjusted plot threads together in the final chapters, that the issues I’m facing must be very similar to those Moffat faces every series, and I found myself suffering a pang of sympathy for the poor bastard.