Dear diary,

I've started out on my novel. Now I just have to complete it.

Two paragraphs at the moment. I hadn't been so excited about the prospect of something as much as this for a long time.

I suddenly feel infinitely powerful. I could mould the story any way I wanted it. I could make it a tragedy or a comedy with a slight twist of my wit. I could quite simply kill off characters as I liked, or give them immortality, make them ugly or impossibly beautiful. It's hard to fault a writer for being egotistical really.

There are measures of control though. I believe most novelists still write to pander to the crowd. Everyone likes to be liked. So I wouldn't actually create a hideous protagonist, or snuff out the nice little girl scout that lives next door for no apparent reason, even though I could technically.

And I can throw in so many hidden agendas and influence my readers in such scary ways. I could throw in hate messages (something which I will not do), or I could make my cute protagonist watch bloomberg tv just to suck up to them so they might reconsider rejecting me. Yes, I got rejected, but that's another issue.

Dear diary,

Ok this is starting to get old: I'm sorry I hadn't been updating my blog. Lazy as always. As the story goes, drea insisted I update my blog today with CAPITAL LETTERS mind you, so I've decided I've finally procrastinated long enough.

What has happened to dear old sq for the past few months? Busy. Busy because I've bummed around for most of my term and all the deadlines lie in the last few weeks, not forgetting to mention the exams at the end of the line. Then again, I could have been busy thinking how busy I was going to be than how busy I actually was. Whether I was busy for a good reason or not, it doesn't really matter here does it.

So you must concede that I was busy. And now there's this added responsibility as Vie's EIC. I don't deal well with responsibilities frankly, and from my manners you should have already realised this long before. Of course, the idea of being responsible for more things makes you feel you're important. And everyone likes to feel important, one way or another (especially for someone as unimportant as me, or used to be).

Then comes all the expectations and performance issues that didn't really cross the mind of someone who can only think in hindsight. But I can't say I'm not loving it. Vie's drawn out the writer in me, and it makes me more and more aware of how inept I am at writing. You'll come to realise at this point that if love is blind, passion is the blind dog walking it, illogical and quite a funny sight to behold I might add. I can't imagine the day I give up writing. Wait, let me try harder. It's coming to me... Kate... Beckinsale... Keira... Knightley...

I have lofty plans drawn up for this four months break. I plan to start on my novel (again), play some piano (which probably won't materialise), do a website (lazy lazy lazy), and hopefully get this internship at Bloomberg. A dream come true if I do get it (the internship I mean). Think of all the exposure you get, writing about world issues, financial disasters, crappy governments, and works of a pmsing Mother Nature. Or maybe, it's just the world-class pantry that they have. http://newshub.nus.edu.sg/ke/0106/articles/bloomberg.htm But honestly, they have this excellent atmosphere there, and it's not coming from the air-conditioning or the beautiful aquariums they keep well-stocked. I think I'll enjoy working there. PLEASE LET ME GET IT!

Oh, and another thing before I sign off - I do solemnly probably, hopefully, if-it-doesn't-keep-me-from-my-favourite-tv-show swear that I will try, attempt, contemplate updating this blog on a regular basis. Hopefully this will placate you murderous lot. Then again, I could be imagining the notion of zealous fans of hungering every written nonsense that I sprout. Maybe no one bothers to read this blog besides the cheekopek janitor uncle who always hid in my pri school toilet peeking at little boys.