I'm beginning to wonder who is in control of my writing. I had believed the rational part of my mind organized plots, set my Window Calendar accordingly and agreed to the technical aspects of whichever story had caught my current fancy. I'm no longer convinced.
Mere hours ago an opening scene slammed insistently into my brain and demanded attention. It over-road any need--and yes, I use need here as the deadlines I have to keep are demanding for the monthly releases coming up--to proceed on my WIP (Work In Progress). She's Got Balls, I put aside temporarily, and succumbed to the demand to write the newer work. I'd like to say that one of the other pieces spoke loudly enough that I began work on one of them. Not so. There is no contract or scheduled date for yesterday's effort. That would be far too convenient.
The good news is, it became clear upon waking that She's Got already needs reworking. I'll be deleting at least a thousand words and returning to the beginning with the eye toward intensifying the relationship parameters.
This new one begun yesterday? Still pecking at me but not as sharply, thank God.
Note to self: "Mia, install road block on all new ideas. Haven't you plenty to keep you occupied?"