As so often happens, inspiration struck in the strangest of places: the bathroom. Whereas yesterday--and what seems like most of last week--had left me confused and feeling battered, it was suddenly OK for me to take this story down a path that I was initially uncomfortable with, only to find, as I wrote, that I was quite comfortable with it. (Does that make any sense? It does to me.)
I decided to keep the story in the "world" I had intended to, and allowed myself to write badly, and invent schemes that seemed bafflingly ridiculous, because I know that I can go back and fix it. I forgot that lesson about going back and fixing things that don't work (it's called editing--and all good writing happens during editing, not the rough draft) but remember it now.
What was interesting was that the inspiration I was struck with put me in the frame of mind to write. But when I sat down, and read over some of what I had written, including text I struck out, I had a different idea, went with it, and it worked out better.