the backspace bar

​Even though I identify fully as a grown woman I suspect there are at least two teenaged males rambling around in my brain. And I believe this because 15 pages in to my new novel project I realize that one or two paragraphs are story line and the rest is purile banter punctuated by inappropriate body noises and scene shifts.
As though all the moments I've held my tongue in the presence of idiocy come spilling out on the page - sans outright vulgarity. 24 grit writing when I want subtle, refined.
This wouldn't be the first sojourn through hostile sidekick takeover land. And I'm no stranger to the smartass effect wherein I open a vein, bleed a litany into the ether and crickets....But rant about stepping on a cat toenail on the way to the throne of power in the predawn hours and er'body loves it. This is why I do not adhere to a persona.
I'm not complaining and for the moment I will allow the shenanigans to proliferate until such time as I feel I have reached that pinnacle of "first rough draft" Editing at this stage only irks the Banshee and she has enough fuel in real life. The only intentional difference this go round is that I am writing because I am a writer. I have no monetary agenda, no focus group no pending platform.
I'm just along for the ride - unless those teenaged males devolve to anarchy. Then we breakout the almighty red pen and the backspace bar.
Peace.