nothing is sacred (until all the words are written and even then)

Lesson of the workweek thus far being that no component is sacred until the whole story/project/whatever is done (and, as the title would suggest, even then): I've (again) committed the cardinal sin of letting a passage languish in Mississippi a day too long (as Bob Dylan would say) and attached to it too permanent a responsibility before the whole was even close to revealing the totality of its narrative and rhythmic needs / permutations. Answer to problem of lack of forward motion lay, of course, in the spaces between the passage I was treating as holy and, as such, the scalpel has come out, the delete key (or copy/paste into a "Cut" file, as is my usual method) is working at full functionality and the words are flowing again – at least until the next time I decide to ignore my own advice which will probably be sooner rather than later.