The trouble with Yoons is that they read your book and send you really fun detailed notes, and you read through and see their happy little smiley faces and the points where they thought something was really nifty, and you think, oh, hey, yeah, that did work. And you see the points where they spotted something to improve, and you think, I could do that. And then your brain starts going back to that world and those characters, and then you can hear the echoing voices, even the ones you haven't actually heard with your ears, asking about the sequel, and oh, oh, it starts to look so much better than what you're writing right now.
And you know that part of that is that what you're writing right now is real, is physical, is on the page and has to stand or fall on its own; it's not the glorious book-to-be in you
And then you start thinking, maybe just a little bit. Even though you know that it's stupid stupid stupid, that if you have the option between a stand-alone and a sequel to an unsold book, you should clearly write the stand-alone, obviously, of course, everybody knows that. Maybe just a bit of dialog. While it's fresh. Maybe a prequel; prequels are different, right? Shut up, brain, you're writing something else now.
Clearly this is all the Yoon's fault. Must be. Obviously. If she didn't go liking my books and making reasonable, interesting suggestions to improve them, none of this would have happened. Well. At least not tonight. Curse your reasonableness and interestingness, the Yoon! How dare you! I demand that you start being boring and irrational immediately!
Well. Maybe when you're done with just this one book.
Ahem. Right. I'm going back to writing something else now. Realio trulio. And not The Mark of the Sea Serpent at all. La la la, not not not.