I am constantly amazed at how inanimate objects have a life of their own. Glasses will leap out your hand to commit suicide on the kitchen floor. Metal door handles develop an evil side in winter and will zap you as you try to open them - for no discernible reason, except that they can. Experts will tell you that computers will only do what you tell them. This is patently untrue, certainly as far as mine is concerned. It has a life of it's own, and it's not one always filled with good intentions.
Books have an even stronger life force. "Harcourt's Mountain" was a pleasant working partner. It allowed me to plot it before I started writing. I had ever chapter, every scene neatly pasted into a spread sheet and could pick and choose whichever scene I felt like writing that day.
Book 2 - "The Device Hunter" is an entirely different beast. It won't play nicely. It stands there glaring at me like one of those children in the playground who have their arms firmly folded over their chests, bottom lips sticking out, muttering, "I won't and you can't make me," whenever you approach! Bizarre as this might seem to non-writers, it's true nevertheless. I have the overall story in my head, but the book will simply not let me plot more than 2 chapters in advance.
This has consequences. One of which is, as hard as I try, I'm not getting very far, very quickly. Terribly frustrating. The other is my timings in "The Device Hunter" have become a tad screwy. And THAT means I have to stop writing and get it sorted out. I can see another spreadsheet in my immediate future.
It certainly is an adventure. And despite the frustration, one I am thoroughly enjoying. I love writing.