I spent part of the weekend working on Ghoulish Trappings. Or, more accurately, failing to do so, working out motivations and future plots, trying to connect where the story was to where it had to go. Wrote. Deleted. Wrote. Deleted.
Added bits to the untitlted thing, which also didn't work. Tried to think about that story, gave up. Wrote some small ficlets, let my brain drift back to Ghoulish Trappings.
Went to bed Sunday night. At 1:14 am, definitely when one should be sleeping since it is now Monday and the alarm is set for 6:30 to get up for work, my brain goes: 'Aha! I have it! Here are the next two scenes. This is how it should work ... why aren't you writing this down now?'
OTOH, I did write about ~1000 words this morning and the next two scenes are in my head. So there is that. But even so, I think my brain is engaged in a conspiracy against me. Or trying to see just how little sleep I can function on.