On the pains and pangs and pissiness of putting pen to word processor

Sometimes I hate my characters. They can lead me places that make absolutely no sense or are so simplistic and ludicrous, it's like they're trying to sabotage the work they want me to write. Jake's fucking me around like that, right now. "Let's go here, now let's go here, now let's have this confrontation, and never mind it changes everything you've already written; you can rewrite, right?"

What infuriating about this is, I've only got one bridge, the rest of this chapter and one more chapter to do, and that will be a first draft.

So what's he done? He's gone and changed who the killer is, on me. Again! Like he's slapping paint on a canvas just to see what happens and thinking, "Naw, instead of purple I'll have puce...or maybe persimmon." Pissant.

And now he's got me alliterating Ps.