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.