Today, I face the same demon I faced several years ago. The demon is depression and he keeps dragging me down with doubt.
Several years ago, while writing the Chronicles of Mark Johnson, I hit a dark week and was prepared to kill my hero to appease the darkness in my soul; I got talked out of it by some close friends who were fans of the series, so I wrote a darker Mark for the second book (shown here).
He was still alive but his soul had been turned into an evil man's soul through betrayal.
I face a similar situation tonight, I have several stories ongoing on Disqus that I could end in a gruesome manner. At the time of Wharfemere Finale, I sat staring at the blank screen for days as if something was blocking me from writing the end of Mark Johnson, not that it mattered as nobody has read the book since I wrote it.