I had a job interview this morning - an acting-up position at the university where I work (in a very lowly spot indeed.)  I knew before going in that I had no chance - there were at least three other candidates that I knew of that had WAY more experience than I did (why would they bother to train me when the others came pre-prepared, like ready meals) so I decided that I would use the interview as an exercise of experience.  I would be brilliant even though I knew it was impossible to get the job.  Without that pressure, I thought, I would be relaxed, intelligible and cheerful.  They wouldn't chose me but it wouldn't matter because I had done well.  
Ha fucking ha.  My brains fell out my head the moment I sat down and three sets of eyes landed on me.  My advanced years fell away and once again I was six years and being glared at by an ice-cold teacher/parent/school yard bully.  I gabbled away at every answer, knowing full well that I wasn't answering anything properly.  I could barely remember the beginning of each question, let alone find the required examples.  I screwed up just like you do in those nightmares where you have to write an exam you haven't studied for, you're naked and you need to pee.  
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day eating chocolate, listening to the soundtrack of Only Lovers Left Alive over and over again and taking copious painkillers for my fucking sore foot that never seems to get better.
I am a writer.  I write because I can't speak.  Trying to live in the Real World and sounding intelligent in job interviews is nigh on impossible.  I'm going to be putting books back on shelves for the rest of my goddamn life.  Although it could be worse.  It could be Tesco.

I've been working on Chapter Sixteen for two whole weeks now.  And with half term getting in the way, it's not likely that I'll finish it for another two weeks.  It has a huge long conversation in it which is vital for everything that happens afterwards and I've already worked on it at great length before.  Each time I think I've got it right and each time I realise it's lame.  You'd think that a bit of talking and information exchange would be easy to write but every tiny nuance of emotion has to be precisely correct.  Keeping out of clichéd waters is immensely difficult too and steering clear of those nasty adverbs (she said angrily) a constant threat.  The conversation is pages long in what appears will be the longest chapter too.  I'm starting to wonder if I'm ever going to get it right.

The orcs are back.  They're up the trees with their chainsaws attacking the trees, destroying their beauty, laughing as the leaves of autumn are crushed underfoot and branches are minced to sawdust.   I wish their chainsaws would turn on them and cut off their heads.  I wish the trees would drop them from their branches and swallow them up in their roots.  I wish the trees would fight back.  I wish they would take their poor pollarded stumps and smash them like fists into the faces of every orc alive and keep smashing them until they were dead.  I wish the spirit of the Whomping Willow would come alive in all the trees - but there's no such thing as an evil tree.  Tree spirits are benevolent creatures and are more likely to fade away into sadness than fight back.  The only way they can talk to us is through their magnificence and the Plane trees of London are particularly wonderful - huge and sprawling and shady in summer, with a spectacular autumnal display and impressive winter silhouettes.  These are the trees that orcs love to destroy best of all.  When they're not chopping down flowering trees and leaving the stumps to bleed, they're pollarding the planes and the limes, always when their leaves are about to turn.  A huge lime in autumn is a stunning display of molten gold - but never seen in London when the orcs are out.  The only tree an orc might like is a skinny new one with no branches and a 98% chance of dying in the summer-long drought that is central London.  Nothing gives them greater joy than to plant a new tree and watch it die.  
I wish the tree spirits would fight back.  I wish every tree that had ever been cut down on every square, in every park, in every wood and in every forest around the world WOULD GROW BACK.  This planet is near the end of a mass extinction event - millions of creatures are about to go extinct.  And when they're dead, then it'll be the turn of the trees.  When this planet is nothing but ash and landfill sites, I hope people will wake up and kill all the orcs.  Starting with the ones in Bloomsbury.

I recently guest blogged on Page to Pixels about the complexities of a second draft - to read the blog, follow this link:

http://pagetopixels.co.uk/writing-tips/the-complexities-of-your-second-draft-and-how-to-cope-with-it/