I found a manuscript over the weekend I forgot about, a short story called "Turning Day."
I wrote it the normal way, then realized the story was really about the spiral thinking of the narrator, who really didn't understand what was going on at the end of the story any better than she did at the beginning of the story. She thought she found clarity at the end of the story, but to me, the story was about being lost in confusion, how we start with the physical reality of our days and spend most of our time trying to make sense of it.
Rather than have a narrator find clarity, I figured I would take the story in a direction that more closely mirrors the haze we call living.
I rewrote it, backwards.
I took the last sentence in the story and put it first, then went through, back to front, rewriting. Some paragraphs went in more or less as written, but others were rearranged internally.
Now the story reads from the least confused moment in the narrator's mind, to the most confused moment, at the end. Once she reflects on what she sees, she understands less than ever.
I had utterly forgotten that story, and have brought it out for more revisions to see what happens.