Monday, August 31, 2009

Start with a Promise
by mariaschneider on August 25, 2009:

By Jessica Page Morrell

Story openings are like job interviews, and if the words on the page entertain, you get the job. If they don’t, somebody who writes better gets the job.

The best openings of a story, novel, or memoir are contagious—they make the reader yearn for more because you chose the best words at the best moment to launch the events that follow while raising questions that demand answers. After all, you’re writing for an editor, a highly discerning reader. Editors are word people. They are connoisseurs who love the written word and appreciate delicate language, carefully crafted sentences, and refinement.

Along with a knack for crafting beautiful language, your first paragraphs need to set the tone for the story to come. Especially in these days of blogging, dashed-off e-mails, and self-publishing, it’s important to strive for perfection. As in strutting-the-red-carpet-at-the-Academy-Awards first impression. And your opening needs to have the impact of a starlet draped in a strapless gown and diamonds or a debonair actor in a crisp and oh-so-sexy tux. It needs to dazzle and assure the reader that you can handle what follows. It needs to make a promise about the kind of story that follows.


Promises, Promises

So your opening words contain a promise to your reader: Read these pages, and I’ll transport you to a world based on your expectations, where the story events deliver an emotionally satisfying experience. And the unfolding events in your novel must be appropriate for the genre or type of story that you’re writing.

This works for memoir, also. When a reader opens the first page of a memoir, he wants to read the truth about the author’s dramatic experiences. Your opening promises that the true events of a life are fascinating and possibly horrifying.

Now, your story might be a bare-assed exposé of squalor and debauchery with your skinny-necked stepfather starring as the true-life villain. Or it might be a luminous and uplifting tale of endurance, or a life story that lies somewhere in between. No matter your approach, your first words telegraph that this story will make a reader laugh, cry, and ponder truths about the human experience.

On the other hand, when a reader opens a novel, he’s signing up for a pack of lies. You, the writer, are the liar and your reader is the sucker who is going to buy all these lies, hook, line, and sinker, as the old saying goes. It’s part of the contract that you and the reader are agreeing to. Your opening promises that you are going to tell the sort of lies that the reader specifically wants to hear. This logic is fairly simple because each genre has a built-in audience and your opening winks a come-on at that audience like a saloon girl in the Old West.

If a reader plunks down $24.95 for a fantasy or science fiction novel, he expects fantastical elements and interesting explorations of themes that perhaps cannot be explored in a story that’s based strictly on realistic elements. Of course some sci-fi stories are set in today’s world because lots of chilling truths can be told about this world, especially about ecological nightmares or technology unleashed. So your opening can start in a galaxy far away or just down the street, but it promises that imaginative ideas will be explored.

Likewise, suspense novels are always about a crime and a criminal who needs to be caught. Besides the classic detective story, there are subgenres such as espionage, psychological suspense, romantic suspense, police procedural, courtroom procedural, whodunit, and cozies. Each type has varying degrees of violence and grit, but all are a thrill ride. And the opening must present a world in which all hell is about to break loose.

If you’re writing a romance, in the opening pages love will be in the air, as the lovers collide, usually appearing at an inconvenient time. In a romance, readers expect to delve deeply into the hero’s and heroine’s psyches, want to watch the blossoming romance falter and fizzle before it finally blooms, and want all other aspects of the plot—even if it is set on another planet in the distant future—to rank secondary to the romance.

But all this is promised in an opening that unfolds with just the right note. An emotional opening prepares the reader for a heart-rattling journey, just as a philosophical opening promises a thoughtful exploration of themes, an action-packed opening promises a bronco-breaking ride, and a quiet beginning usually promises an intense exploration of characters’ lives. So start with a specific promise about the story that follows and then, drumroll, please, keep the promise.

~ Jessica Page Morrell is a veteran writing coach who has written several books for writers including Between the Lines: Master the Subtle Elements of Fiction Writing and Bullies, Bastards and Bitches: How to Write the Bad Guys of Fiction. This excerpt is from her latest book Thanks, But This Isn’t For Us (Tarcher/Penguin paperback).
18 Things I've Learnt in My 18 Years of Life:

1. That sometimes, hard work can only get you so far. The rest is just luck.

2. That every child has a right to be loved.

3. That there will be one person who doesn't like you very much. And that's just how it is. Nothing we say or do can change it, so

4. We can't please everyone, so we just have to please ourselves.

5. That we should live every moment they way it is meant to be lived.

6. That if we don't, we'll look back and wonder why we'd wasted all that time being less than happy.

7. That everyone is built differently. No point desiring what you can never have.

8. That the person(s) you look up to have their own insecurities and flaws.

9. That some people can stay in your life as long as you keep them there.

10. That the nice guys are those whom babies like.

11. That writing and swimming give me the most joy I can ever hope to find.

12. That material possessions and retail therapy don't come close to giving me that much joy and direction in life.

13. That people are not inherently bad or evil; they are just misguided.

14. That we can only experience the good when we experience the bad.

15. That we all try too hard to be like each other so that we don't stand to be different (and therefore weird).

16. That there are all sorts of people in the world. And sometimes, you're just another statistic.

17. That there are other things that define our worth.

18. That girls should have a good cry once in a while, just to cleanse our systems.

Now. Your turn. Sound off in the Comment Box.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

SC2210: Sociology of Pop Culture
Forum Topic 4:


Q: Post modern pop is perhaps best manifested through the cut n paste culture of the DJ who reassembles and reproduces, instead of assembling and producing. If pop culture is essentially in the realm of the postmodern, how does it reflect on the society that consumes postmodernism? Are we looking at the greater acceptance of hybridity, diversity and dissonance on an increasingly more cynically informed populace?

A: Considering how pervasive pop culture has proven to be in our lives now, I would say there is a greater acceptance of this 'cut-and-paste' culture. Not necessarily because we like it; rather, it might be due to an ingrained mentality, a notion that this sort of culture is the norm and there is nothing wrong with reproducing (or repackaging) old ideas into new, shinier ones. Indeed, we of the MTV generation have been brought up to believe this is innovation, this is creativity and imagination. We might be wrong - this may actually be the dearth of creativity - but we won't know that. After all, many hail Andy Warhol's Campbell Soup Cans as the movement to usher in the new era of pop art, lauding him as an avant-garde artist who satirised our culture of consumerism. Yet, others question his credibility as a true artist, because all he did was portray an old item (one that's been around for some time) in a new way.

Therefore, I don't think it's a greater acceptance of hybridisation in our society (although it could be seen that way too, to a certain extent), but more of the formation of a social axiom. Mix-and-match has become a new way of life for the new generation.

Friday, August 28, 2009

One thing I've noticed about uni students is that they love to use BIG words and present their points in a HUGE circle, so as to make themselves sound incredibly intelligent. They do sound intelligent, but when it comes down to it, all they're presenting is one point that can be summarised in one sentence. In simple English.

Just an observation.
Philosophy Forum Topic, August 28, 2009:

Open Thread

Say anything. (So long as it's reasonably polite.)

Discuss my lecture.

Or, if you prefer, discuss the mystery of where 'cool' comes from: if it is only cool because the cool people love it, what causes the cool people to love it in the first place? (Are they better at noticing beauty? Or are they merely following some higher trend of cool-ness? Or is it all a trick so that fashion designers can earn more money? Defend your answer!)



Okay, this will not be a long, rambly response. Coolness is, of course, measured and defined contextually. I think what makes something cool is the novelty of it. That is why people are always so fascinated with technological gadgets, and the IPhone (and the likes) is so coveted for. We are constantly on the search for something new to fulfil us, to be the final answer to all our earthly desires. Hence our rabid craze to hop on the bandwagon and be in the inner circle.

Something could have been there all along, like 80's fashion. It is now seeing a revival and pronounced as cool because top-notch designers like Frida Giannini from Gucci are leading the pack in a re-vamping of the 80's trend. Who would have thought ripped band t-shirts, acid wash jeans and neon colours would ever see the light of day again? But now, they are the latest fashion and one would be considered fashion-forward for dressing up this way.

Coolness has always been inside of us. It is a state of mind that we can only hope to reach once we are comfortable in our own skins, corny as that might sound. However, I do feel that the trendsetters who declare something as cool are those who have attained that state of contentment and are able to push the boundaries of convention to try out new things. Therefore, they have the authority to say something is cool because to them, it just is, never mind what others think.

To apply Plato's Theory of Forms, our attempts to be cool is just a feeble imitation of Coolness. We are not being cool because coolness is an ever-changing phenomenon. What makes something cool is exactly because it never stays stagnant, because it changes constantly. Therefore, to truly be cool, we should stick our heads out of the Cave and see for ourselves Coolness for what it really is.

~ Posted by: Joyce at Aug 28, 2009 10:40:40 PM


My goodness. And I promised it wouldn't be a long, rambly post.

~ Posted by: Joyce at Aug 28, 2009 10:41:04 PM

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Posted by Erica Orloff, Wednesday, November 08, 2006:


The Critical Beast

One reason I think I can tap in and write YA novels is I was the outsider girl. Too brainy to be cool, too skinny, with a very strict father (never went on a date until I was 16), with just the most lifeless hair (four kids later, something about giving birth has evolved it into a thick, somewhat unruly but presentable thing of its own--but back then . . . limp and BLAH!). In HIGH SCHOOL BITES, Lucy's heartaches mirrored the way I felt. She lived in the creepy house, where all was not quite as it seemed, and I suppose I felt a little like that. I didn't have a creepy house, but I had my secrets and my loneliness, and some of the things Lucy speaks about.

And sometimes . . . if my day isn't going well . . . if I run into snobby moms at school, whatever . . . I can hear those adolescent voices in my brain. I think shrinks call it "playing old tapes." You know, the voice of someone who once said you weren't good enough or pretty enough or strong enough or . . . fill in the blank.

And writers are probably more prone than most to replaying criticisms because we live in a world inherent with rejection. We live in a world in which people can bash our work on blogs or Amazon or in gossip overheard at conferences. We need acceptance in order to succeed. We need acceptance by an agent, then by an editor, then by the book-buying public.

We also have to self-edit and critique ourselves and this can feed that Critical Beast. I have known more than one writer over the last twenty years who has never, ever finished anything because the Critical Beast just keeps brutally bashing every word, every scene until the delete key is their new best friend.

We all have very specific things, though, that we tend to fret about. Our Critical Beast knows EXACTLY where our insecurities lie. Our personal minefield is full of hidden traps laid since childhood. Give me a room full of kids to talk to any day. Stick me in front of five adults and I want to run and hide. I force myself to do signing, but I don't love them. In my work, I think my dialogue rocks . . . but my Critical Beast rolls its eyes at my attempts at getting across my "Big Idea" in verbal pitches. I do it. But I feel as if I fumble, and do so much better at the written proposal. Something about that face-to-face thing taps into my Outsider Girl status. My agent will tell me I nailed the meeting. And from the offers I've gotten or events that followed, I think he's right and not just flattering me. BUT . . . the Critical Beast? Still roars.

How about you? Take your Critical Beast out . . . and maybe when we see them all in the light of day, they won't seem so beastly after all.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

I'm just going to talk about the synonymy of pop culture and low culture from a man-on-the-street perspective, not as someone studying Sociology of Pop Culture, all right. Don't quote me on anything.

So the (past semester exam) question is: to what extent is pop culture synonymous with low culture? We're supposed to explain with regard to "mass society" and "progressive evolution" theories, but I'm not going to pretend like I know a hell lot about all that, so I'll just say whatever I have to say regarding this.

Based on what I know, low culture is the sort that panders to the general audience, the Philistines, to use a derogatory term. It's mainstream culture. My kind of culture. Because, really, who doesn't like pop culture? Who doesn't like infectious hits like 'Love Games' by Lady Gaga, or the easy singalongs by Taylor Swift? Who doesn't enjoy action-packed movies with cars exploding and hot bods splayed everywhere? It's POPULAR culture for a reason.

But for some reason, that said culture is now given a rather unkind name. Just because it is generally accepted by the middle class, it has become something to turn up your nose at? In terms of film, are the only ones worth watching the international ones or the Oscar-worthy ones like Revolutionary Road? Entertainment used to be Shakespeare, until the elites decided to act like the snobs they are and close it off to the general public or those who are unable to adhere to more restrictive code of conduct. Now, Shakespeare has become high culture. To think Shakespeare used to be pop culture! Maybe that's one way in which pop culture is linked to low culture. Because of how palatable something is, it becomes known as pop culture. But because of how generally popular it has become, the elites decide that this is below them, and denounce it low culture. Maybe everything started off as high culture in the first place. For example, not many people liked indie films when it first took to the silver screen. It just seemed too stagnant, where characters went about their business in life and then went on an INCREDIBLE road to self-discovery blah blah blah. Now, though, shows like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Little Miss Sunshine (what's with the sunshine theme?) win critical acclaim.

So who's to say pop music is low culture?


I'm actually suffering from a brain-block at the moment. It's a result of a long, long lapse in studying. My above argument (more like a rant - it has no structure WHATSOEVER, much less both sides of the coin, which guarantees a fail in jc) doesn't only make no sense; it also doesn't really answer the question.

I'd delete this post and go on with the self-flagellation in private, but I want to publish this for posterity's sake. I'm tempted to say I'm not cut out for this (I've always viewed my place in uni with no little amount of scepticism), but it's early days yet and I have to keep my spirits up. Or I'd just go nuts later on.
I had my first tutorial today for PH1101E (Philosophy - Reason and Persuasion). And I must say, it's quite - if you'll pardon the cliche - an eye-opener. Or mind-opener, should I say.

It wasn't the content that we went through. Liling (our tutor, who isn't very much older than us, and is studying for her Masters in Ethical Philosophy now) didn't try to explain what Euthyphro (one of Plato's dialogues) was about because, duh, we're expected to know that, apparently. What she did instead was teach us a logical method of thinking. Apparently, philosophy is sort of like the uncovering of basic assumptions of the things we think we know, but don't actually quite know, until we finally know that we don't know. And what Socrates does is establish people's arguments, put them together in a logical, coherent trend, and then point out the fallacies or false premises of their arguments. Which is why they call him the gadfly of Athenian society, since that's apparently what a gadfly does (and yes, I realise I've used the word 'apparently' thrice so far, but it's the only word I know that conveys a tinge of sarcasm).

So we were presented with this argument in Euthyphro:

Premise 1: Nothing can be both holy and unholy. (So claimed Euthyphro.)
P2: What the gods love is holy (by the way, 'holy' here means unviolated and pure, not you know, the holy that we know); what the gods hate is unholy.
P3: In some cases, some gods may love holiness and some gods may hate holiness.
P4: Given P2 and P3, some things are both holy and unholy.
P5: P4 (which is supported by P2 and P3) contradicts P1. Therefore, either P1, P2, or P3 is false.
P6: Assuming P1 and P3 are true (following Euthyphro's argument), P2 is false.

I know. It's crazily logical. And for a completely illogical person like me, who therefore find it tough to follow a LOGICAL (the horror!) line of reasoning, it takes some getting used to. It also doesn't help that my classmates are the LOGICAL sort and are able to hop on the trend of thought easily. Still, at least they're nice, and we can all engage in a healthy, friendly discussion.

Hopefully, tomorrow's NM1101E and EL1101E tutorials will be just as rewarding.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

I just borrowed this book on Philosophy (The Everything Philosophy Book, by James Mannion) from the library yesterday (and jl, I didn’t see any Sarah Dessen on the shelves! Guess I’m not the only fan). Some of Plato’s ideas are starting to make sense to me now. Also, I read up about some other philosophers and their ideas.

One of those who appealed to me is Nietzsche, the most famous – or should I say infamous – German philosopher, who is also the most misunderstood. Most people think of a Nazi when they think of Nietzsche. But Nietzsche has never been an advocate of Nazism. It was his sister who was anti-Semitic and pro-Nazi, and who went about promoting her brother’s works, that people tend to associate Nietzsche’s ideas with Nazi propaganda. It also didn’t help that the Nazis seized Nietzsche’s principles and corrupted it, making it suit their quest for absolute power over the state.

You see, Nietzsche had this Superman principle: he believed that we are enslaved by the moralities that society and religion impose upon us, and that we should strive to break out of these confinements and achieve our greatest human potential, thereby rising above the ‘herd’ (as he called unwashed masses). He believed the Superman does not bow to the power of religion or other authority figures, or conform to the throng of humanity. The Superman makes his own ethical decisions based on his own morality, not one imposed by society and religion.

Nietzsche was advocating mastering yourself and achieving your personal potential without allowing yourself to be inhibited by a repressive society. However, the Nazis distorted his principle so as to gain absolute control over Germany. Thus the bad rep for Nietzsche.

Nietzsche’s most famous work is called Thus Spoke Zarathustra, which begins with a fable that sums up his views on the objective of the individual in society. In the fable, a camel morphs into a lion, the lion slays a dragon named ‘Thou Shalt’, and then the lion morphs into a child.

In youth, we are all camels (why camels and not giraffes or hippos, I don’t know). Born into blank slates, we have the weight of the world heaped upon us. We are ‘beasts of burden’, carrying all that society and religion have imposed on our innocent souls, preventing us from achieving our full potential and finding true contentment in our lives. In adulthood, we become lions and venture out into the world. The more crap we face from the diabolical forces of society and religion, the stronger we become. (It was, in fact, Nietzsche who uttered the famous aphorism: That which does not kill us makes us stronger.)

So then the lion is confronted by a dragon named ‘Thou Shalt’, which symbolises all the do’s and don’ts of society and religion that have stifled us in our lifetimes. The lion slays the dragon and is then transformed into an innocent, uncorrupted child. Paradoxically, this childlike state should be the goal of the fully matured adult who has survived the slings and arrows, remained broken but unbowed, and slayed the dragon to emerge the triumphant Superman.

That is Nietzsche’s philosophy in a nutshell. Which kind of makes sense.

Now, don’t start thinking I’m some kind of anarchist or irreverent Atheist (although I do reject the idea of a higher power – but I shall leave it at that, since the topic of religion makes me uneasy). I just think that what Nietzsche said about mastering yourself and not conforming to the ideas imposed upon you so as to achieve your highest potential makes complete sense. His philosophy is one that encourages seizing life by the reins with gusto and being all that you can be.

The problem is, some Nietzsche-philes misinterpret his idea. They think that since Nietzsche said other people may get hurt along the way as you exert your will to power, and you may get hurt by another’s rampaging will, but hey, that’s life, that they are justified in tyrannical means to emerge as the victorious and the powerful. That’s why many people think Nietzsche’s a trouble-maker for coming up with those ideas of his.

I say, you fear what you don’t know.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

I've just found a new way to SEE my modules. That is, I've just found a way to interlink what I'm learning in a few of my modules, so that they complement each other's arguments.

For instance, in Cultural Studies, we're learning about the symbolic significance of objects. What is significant about comic books? Their plot. The lessons they claim to impart, the notions they say they purport, despite being criticised for corrupting the youth with their repetitive narrative and stereotypes. Comic books are a medium through which we are told how to behave as social animals. We are taught moral lessons (eg. With great power comes great responsibility) and, in commercial fiction, are led to believe in the 'norms' of social custom (eg. a woman needs a man to complete her). We are told what to expect, what to believe, what is right and generally accepted - to the extent that we don't see anything wrong with that anymore. And that is when the impact of pop culture is most keenly felt.

Which brings us to pop culture, and its pervasiveness. And why are we so susceptible to all these messages? Because of the media. Of course it's because of the media. It's become the scapegoat for everything, hasn't it? Nonetheless, it is still the barrier between us and reality (or whatever reality is, since it is nothing but an imitation of all true Forms, according to Plato). Our perception of reality and society has been distorted even more so now because of how the media has become so easily accessible to us. Because of the gamut of entertainment sources (eg. TV, film, music, literature, etc), we have allowed the cultural zeigeist to take over and cast shadows over our eyes. Are reality TV shows really a reflection - or even a depiction - of reality? What is reality? Isn't it just one person's view of the world against another's? How could you tell what is the absolute reality, anyway, since we invariably go through the same experiences in a different way? Could we all possibly see the same reality? Are we all just seeing shadows on the Cave wall? Are we really to conform to the dictates of the media? Which version of the Truth is right?

So. In the teachings of Plato, we are to cast off our shackles and see the Light. Let us not be deceived by the shadows in the Cave that we think is reality; instead, see the fire that casts those shadows.


Well. That's what I make of it. I've managed to draw a debatable connection amongst four of the five modules I'm taking. The only module I can't find a link with the others is my Nature of Language module (duh).

And please don't think I'm actually that impassioned about casting off my shackles and see the Light. I'm happy listening to my American Top 40 and reading my commercial lit, thank you very much. All I was doing was string everything up so that it makes a modicum of sense to me. I can stay in that Cave, for all I care.

Obviously, university education hasn't done much good for me so far. I'm still a passive little conformist. But really, why wait for rain when there are no clouds, right? Well, not much, anyway.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Just learnt that the guy in the You Belong With Me video is Lucas Till. He acted in the Hannah Montana show (bleh), which I'm willing to overlook, because he's HOT.

Taylor Swift - You Belong With Me - Official Music Video

I'm posting this because I think the guy is friggin cute. And also the ending's really sweet :) I'm growing to like Taylor Swift.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Dear Joyce,

Thank you for sending me these sample pages of WHEN THE LILIES TURN ORANGE. I shared this with a colleague, and while we both really liked your characters and enjoyed the backdrop of the flower shop, we felt that it took too long for the story to really get started. I wanted to know, earlier, what the mystery about Connell was (or at least to get more significant clues).

So, please think of us with your future work. And best of luck finding the right home for this one.

Warmest,
Kelly

Kelly D. Sonnack
Andrea Brown Literary Agency
kelly@andreabrownlit.com

Friday, August 14, 2009

Just got back from school. It was a long day today. My first lecture started at 2pm (and the last would end at 6pm), so I woke up, went for my swim, had some fruits at home before I took 147 to school. I figured I'd go there earlier and explore the school a little, and also to buy my course packs. And since I had so much time prior to my lectures, I decided to try the bus and see how long it would take. My estimation wasn't far off: the 147 journey took an hour, while the 95 one took about 20 minutes. Of course, the bus journey takes longer than the train one.

So, moving on from dry topics such as journeys, I got off at the Central Library and visited the bookstore. There was some kind of event going on, and leaflets were thrust at me. I finally emerged from the mire and slipped into the bookstore. They sell textbooks - of course - and (gasp!) chick-lit fiction novels, NUS paraphernalia such as the stuffed teddy bear (some kind of mascot, I suppose), notepads, sweatshirts, t-shirts, files, keychains, notebooks, etc, all emblazoned with the letters NUS in the school colours (orange and blue), and even car decals.

Later, I got my course-packs at the booth right outside the bookstore, and I must say, for how big the school is, it's very well-run, no chaos like at SA, where the queues were always long and there was general confusion in getting the reading packages. I got my NM1101E (Communications, New Media and Society) and SC2210 (Sociology of Pop Culture) packages, the latter twice as thick as the former, probably because it's level-2000 and therefore heavier.

So, that done, I tried to take the shortcut from the library to FASS, as I'd drawn out on my copy of the school map. But I guess I'm a walking stereotype of females. My map-reading skills are sorely lacking, and I couldn't make any sense of where I was going. Plus, I didn't have the sense to look up at the signposts for help. So I ended up walking to the Business Faculty (it's next to FASS, but along the road), and ended up at Kent Ridge Residences (one of the student dormitories). I could see the main road, for crying out loud. So I figured it would be best if I asked for directions. Thankfully, a senior pointed me in the right direction. Thank you, seniors, for aiding us freshies in our navigation around the vast and overwhelming world of varsity campus.

It was a looooooooooong trek up a slope to FASS, where I had to first pass by AlumNUS. By the time I reached The Deck (the foodcourt of FASS), I was sweating galleons and panting like I had just scaled one of those Himalayan mountains. (It certainly felt like it.) My hair was a mess, sticking to my neck due to my perspiration, and sticking out as well. Compounding that to a very flushed face, I must have looked a fright. Which is really too bad, because some of the guys who looked at me (and promptly turned away to shudder in fright, I'm sure) were cute. NUS is full of cute guys - guys just fresh out of NS and therefore still have The Body - and that's a fact.

Okay, so as for the lectures, my first lecture of the day, GEM1004 (Reason & Persuasion), was taught by Professor John Holbo, and he's an interesting orator, which made the lecture endurable, considering the fact that it was on Philosophy. He's sort of humorous, and was able to distill/condense the ideas and theories in a simpler manner. That said, Philosophy still seems rather meaningless to me, since all it does is ask questions in circles and not coming up with a concrete answer. Despite how good a lecturer Prof Holbo is, this is one lecture that I'm not quite looking forward to next week. Maybe it'll be better after I've read the textbook, which - get this - was written by Prof Holbo himself. How cool is that. Also, on a sidenote, I managed to talk to two girls in the lecture today, which took the boredom off slightly.

My second and last lecture of the day was Sociology of Pop Culture. Sounds fun, right? But it's level-2000, which makes it tougher for a freshie like me to handle. The good thing, though, is that there are no group projects and presentations ("No point having those when no-one listens to them anyway, right?" Dr Liew said, to which many of us sniggered). Instead, we have to submit 2 essays (one 500-800 word piece, which takes up 10% of our final grade, and another 2000-2500 word one, which takes up 20% - the remaining 60% comes from exams and the final 10% comes from class participation). Which is fine by me. Group projects are often a chore, anyway, unless, of course, I have a cute group-mate (although I wouldn't mind if that were in the plural form).

Thus ends my first week in NUS. Here's to fun lectures and not getting lost anymore.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Due to a request to post up my mypaper NDP 09 essay, here it is:



My Most Memorable National Day


At the age of ten, I had no concept of what National Day was about, much less why it called for such a major celebration every year. I just loved belting out Stand Up for Singapore with my entire class, red-shirted and with our arms around each other. But that year, it turned out, I was about to learn what a national identity was, and why everyone wanted to claim it.

I was still a wide-eyed child then, a bumbling primary school kid just eager to go on a field-trip with my friends. An entire day without school? Plus, excursion buses and clappers from the goodie bag? Sign me on.

So, blithely, my friends and I trawled through our goodie bags, had fun with the clappers and finished the food we brought within the first couple of hours we were there. There was the video montage of Singapore’s history, the arrival of the President’s motorcade that had all of us craning our necks for a better look, the impressively flawless military parade and flypast, and aesthetic performances that leapt to life with vibrancy and vivacity, a glorious display of colours and movement.

I was enraptured. But little did I know that the climax lay in the finale. By then, the skylight had dimmed. Twilight soon settled in. There was magic in the air that night. Everyone was on their feet as they sang a medley of national songs, boldly waving their miniature flags. Meanwhile, the first fireworks shot into the sky and burst into a starry shower of colours. Our voices were loud and our love strong.

My little heart was bursting with pride. I was honoured to have been there, to be Singaporean. Because it isn’t just about clappers or wearing a red shirt. It is about belonging.
Today's lecture, Cultural Studies, is a lot more interesting than yesterday's. Partly due to the less dry topic, and partly due to the lecturers. They're a pair of Caucasians, except that one of them's American and the other's British. You can even tell by their dressing: the American lecturer (I shan't reveal the names on this blog) is in an untucked red plaid shirt and jeans, and the British one's in a tucked bluish-green shirt with floral prints, and jeans.

Okay, so I arrived about 20 minutes earlier today, since I was slightly late yesterday and so dad and I woke up earlier today. While waiting outside LT 12, this American (from Connecticut - yes, I eavesdropped, get off my case) plopped down on the table I was sitting at, next to a girl on her laptop. He was the geeky sort, the type whom girls would find easy to befriend. And he was relatively friendly, too, and receptive of Singapore.

So anyway, Charmaine took the same module I did, so at least I had someone to sit with during lecture. So, the lecturers tossed out interesting ideas and stuff to think about, in the midst of their banter. Something the American lecturer always says: "Any burning questions? Any answers? Everybody happy?" And everyone would nod or shake their head accordingly. He's a real funny guy, a live wire, intent on making everyone comfortable.

We skimmed through romance novels as a writing genre, questioned how it opens up feminist ideologies, and what it is about romance novels that make women go back to it every time despite the recurring plot. As is the case for superhero comics, like Superman. We then talked about the influence of superheroes on children, and its value as compared to Shakespeare, and the sort of stereotypes and morals it tries to instill. Really fun stuff. I'm totally looking forward to the next GEK1046 lecture.

Plus, the exam is open-book, because the lecturers don't believe in throwing us a bunch of information and then testing our memory. (I'm quoting verbatim here.) I think that's great. Not just because there's no memory work and stuff, but because look, I've been through 12 years of rigid memorising and regurgitation of information that I'm required to remember, and that I promptly forget right after the exam. This sort of curriculum would be a lot more productive, because for one thing, the topics are interesting (cultural hegemony, ideology and power, etc etc), so we'll all be motivated to do our own research and readings and won't drag our feet about it. And for another, making us memorise stuff like that doesn't make us learn. It should be a lively exchange of ideas, not just boring old imbibement of knowledge like in primary or secondary school or JC.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Cold Comforts


Watch how he goes
And sit
In cold, straight-backed chairs
That still smell
Of newly-varnished leather.

He surreptitiously
Checks his watch,
Sighs,
His feet tap, subdued,
On the carpet,
And his fingers buzz a beat of their own.

Time slips by.

Outside the room,
He hears
A jumble of words and beeps,
A white-collared Morse code.
He would learn it soon;
He wants
To be in on the secret.

Note his firm handshake,
Determined to impress.
It is the strong one-two
That he learnt
In etiquette school.

Later, he goes home
And kicks off his shoes,
Checks if it has lost its shine –
It hasn’t –
And retreats to his room.
Outside,
It is too noisy to think.
Outside,
They don’t understand
The Morse code.
All they hear
Are their angry sobs and petty screams.
They are weeping
For their lives
In ruin.
Lots to update today. That's the good news. The bad news is that Blogger has gone nuts. I can't upload pictures because the toolbar is gone. So for now, you're subjected to my wordy rambling.

1. My dad and I went to watch NDP 09 on Sunday! This year, it was held at Marina Bay, which, I must say, is a vast improvement from NDPs at the Stadium. It was next to the sea, so it was much more cooling and airy. They had nicer seats too, more spacious, and there was a nicer view of Shenton Way and Fullerton Hotel.

I wasn't expected to be wowed by the military display, to be honest. It all seems a little braggy, to showcase all your military might at one event. But now, at the hormonal age of 18, I find that army guys - and seamen, and pilots, and policemen, and practically any guy in a well-starched uniform - are hot. Artillery and ammunition don't hold my interest at all. The last time I watched it, I thought the parade was rather boring, because all they did was march around.

But, like I said, it was a lot more captivating this time around, maybe because I find that the uniforms look better on guys as I grow older (wink). All in all, it was an impressive display. And those boys are HOT. Wow, so that's where all the cute guys are hiding: in camp! All tanned and toned....

Moving on.

The spirit at Marina Bay was amazing. All through the Parade (and the one hour plus of waiting beforehand), I was close to tears and could cry at the drop of a hat. I just felt so proud to be there, to be Singaporean, amongst my own people, hearing pockets of conversation (littered with Singlish) around me. We were a sea of red, displaying national pride, rooting through our funpacks and exclaiming, "Wah! Got Khong Guan biscuits! And NeWater!" Me? I had fun waving the flag and watching it ripple in the late afternoon breeze, while my dad went shutter-crazy.

They played some National Day clips made by students. You know, the one where the bunch of kids are supposed to create an art-piece about National Day, and this special little boy made a collage of a hand, which the teacher initially didn't understand, until she looked in the mirror and realised it was a fist over her heart. Yeah, along with that were others. One was where this NS boy was tearing parking coupons in the car with his dad.

"Time? 2.21."

"2.30," said his dad.

The boy points at the carpark attendance, upon which his father gets out of the car and squabbles with the 'auntie'. And then he launched into his rendition of the pledge with regard to the coupon-parking system. And let me tell you, 2700 people laughing is really infectious.

Another clip was where they asked kids what their aspirations were. There were the usual: lawyer, doctor, pilot, nurse, teacher, etc. And then this last boy was like, "When I grow up, I want to be the president of Singapore." And this bunch of aunties behind me went, "Wahhhh." I wonder how our leaders felt when they watched that. Hopeful? Assured?

Somehow, I teared up at that. Because it's promising, knowing how many youths out there love their country, and understand how much it has done for them. The country doesn't owe us a living, but it has given most of us Gen Y a comfortable life, thus far. It's just gratifying, knowing there are people my age out there who realise that, and know where their loyalties lie. And are proud of that. Like a journalist said in the Monday paper (Home section), patriotism is not uncool. Why should we be ashamed of what we root for? I love Singapore, and I'm not ashamed to proclaim it.

And watching those boys in the parade made me proud of them too, especially of those who constantly put their lives on the line to protect us, to protect our country, and the ones they love. They deserve our respect. Because they are driven to do that, why?

Following that was a clip of Singaporeans (students, etc) abroad, wishing Singapore a happy Independence Day. I teared up because they still call Singapore home. Those people who set their alarm clocks and woke up especially for the Pledge Moment, those people who picked up the phone so they could recite the pledge with their family at 8.22pm, those families that congregated on that day to place their hands over their hearts and meant what they said. They make me proud of them. Like they say, you can take the person out of Singapore, but you can never take the Singaporean out of the person. No point denying who we really are, Chinese, Singaporean... We are what we are, and nothing we do can change that; so we might as well embrace it. And be proud of our identity.

It was an honour being at NDP 09. I'd like to thank mypaper for giving me and my dad a chance to be there to celebrate our nation's 44 years of freedom, equality, justice and success. May Singapore continue to prosper in the years ahead, and be blessed with a non-corrupt, forward-looking government, as well as informed individuals who make the right decision in voting. Happy 44th Independence Day.

2. My entire family (well, apart from a few members, who were busy) came down on Saturday. And just looking at my cousin, Jasmine, made me feel bad about myself all over again. I think I've mentioned before how, since we were young, she's always been prettier and more outgoing than me, and all my aunts love her. She's in SMU now, taking a major in Accountancy. And she's just as pretty, just as confident, meshes just as well with my aunts, etc. I don't know why I'm bringing this up. Never mind. Moving on.

3. Went to the Bird Park with daddy on Monday, since there was this 1-for-1 promotion. I've always preferred the zoo to the Bird Park, if only because it is bigger, and offers more attractions. Birds are more boring than animals, in my humble opinion. The only ones worth seeing are the raptors and Birds of Paradise. And even then, they were all trapped in cages with grills so thick you can barely see anything. In the zoo, there are pumas and leopards and snakes and meerkats and tigers and HORSES! Lovely, graceful, beautiful, friendly horses. But it was still a good day, all in all. Dad and I later met his friend (they've been friends since secondary school) for steamboat dinner at Beach Road (YUM). And that concludes Monday.

4. Just came back from school. Lecture at 10 am, was slightly late for it, because a) jam in Orchard Rd, where my dad had to pass by on his way to work (he drops me off at Tiong Bahru Station, which is near his office at Havelock Rd), and b) I got off the bus at the wrong stop, and had to wait for the next bus. Thankfully, this senior directed me to LT 11, and when he found out I was a freshie, he said, 'Welcome to NUS.' Which was nice. Some seniors are lame enough to screw with you and direct you to the other end of where you're supposed to go.

So my very first lecture for this semester is Nature of Language, taught by this Japanese lecturer, Mie Hiramoto, who grew up in the city of Hiroshima, which explained why she was super-paranoid and went through the Civil Defence Emergency booklet with us for 15 minutes. Another half an hour was spent highlighting the bone of contention, punctuality. And another 15 minutes on administrative stuff, like grading, plagiarism, etc. We only began our lecture 1 hour later. It was all phonemes and morphemes. We skimmed through what we were about to learn. It is the first lecture of the semester, after all.

5. Went for my swim straight after I came back home. Saw the cute guy, and another one. I wonder how old they are. They seem perhaps a year older than me, but don't they have school or something? Anyway, why am I complaining? Thank you for being there today, eye candies!

Tomorrow's lecture will be Cultural Studies, which, hopefully, will be less dry than today's. Right now, I'm dying to have an orange.

Friday, August 07, 2009

I'm looking through the lecture notes and reading packages for my modules now. And I feel like vomitting.
An amusing post by Peter Cooper that does make good points:


Dear Mr. Tolkien,

Thank you for submitting a query for your children's novel, "The Hobbit". I regret to inform you that while the proposal shows merit, this agency may not be the best fit for your work.

If I might venture some feedback, your query letter needs to be improved if future submissions are to be met with success. Although well written, with some of the strongest grammar this agency has ever seen, your outline of the dilemma facing the main protagonist failed to engage me on an emotional level. You also spent far too much time talking about your professorship and expertise in Norse mythology and foreign languages. What has that got to do with anything? Tell me about your book!

On to the sample pages you supplied. From what I can see, most of your first chapter is taken up with back-story concerning "hobbits" and their unusual living arrangements. Indeed - by the end of this first chapter, the story still hasn't started. Might I suggest commencing at a different point in the narrative? Your best bet would be to open with Bilbo in the grip of the Trolls, and gradually, as the tale progresses, present the back-story of how he came to be there. This will grab your young reader's attention from the start, enticing them to read further while moving the story along at a much quicker pace.

As for the main protagonist - is it likely that children will relate to a fifty-something man with hairy feet who lives in a pit? Might I suggest making Bilbo younger and perhaps a tad less hairy? How about having him as a young tear-away living in his parent's attic, perhaps escaping one night by tying his bed-sheets together, that sort of thing. This demonstration of a rebellious attitude and a desire for personal empowerment will far better capture the imagination of a young reader than a middle-aged man running off without a pocket-handkerchief. Trust me.

This might be a good place to mention the apparent gender imbalance in the work. There would appear to be just a slight deficiency of female characters in the story. To put this another way, there are none - zilch - zero. There are men with hairy feet, men with long beards, men with pipes, men who can see in the dark - there are even men who can turn into bears. There are men of every size, shape and smoking habit imaginable, but the closest you come to a female character is the inclusion of several slightly effeminate elves. This just won't cut it in today's publishing world. If you want to attract a female audience, you must include strong female role-models. My suggestion would be to make the wizard a woman. Gandalina has a nice ring to it. But lose the beard.

A final comment - the conclusion of your story is far from satisfactory. Having brought Bilbo across miles of uncharted wilderness and ever-present danger, someone else kills the dragon! I can already hear the wails of your young readers, devastated at such a radical deviation from accepted norms of children's literature. I for one will not subject them to such a trial.

I wish you all the very best for your future submissions. Remember, publication is a highly subjective business, and one person's trash may indeed be another person's gold.

Yours

Sincerely,
Herbert T. Agent
A much less hazy day today, which put me right in the mood to swim more than usual. Yesterday's weather was pretty darn horrible. I woke up to find everything outside the window blurry, and a distinct smell of burning trees in the air. I was ready to call it a day after 32 laps, but pressed on for 4 more, and ended up nursing a very dry throat afterwards.

Anyway, weather aside, I just got back from reading Gerlynn's blog, which was entertaining as usual. Her comment about my playing the national anthem as my wedding march (because, as you know, I'm more patriotic than the average Singaporean teenager - people just don't realise how lucky they are to be living in this country) reminded me of a random call I received yesterday afternoon. Because my essay entry won me a pair of tickets to NDP 09 in the competition held by mypaper, this journalist, Victoria Barker, called me up yesterday for a brief interview of sorts.

Here's how it went:

VB: Hi, Joyce. My name is Victoria Barker and I'm from mypaper. You are aware that you've won a pair of tickets to the NDP?

And blahdiddyblahblah.

VB: So who will you be going with?

Me: My dad.

VB: Is this your first time there with your dad?

Me: Yes, it is. (Wondered if I should elaborate, but could come up with nothing else.)

VB: So it'll be a sort of bonding session for you two?

Me: Totally. (Decided that I had to get over these short answers.)

VB: Do you know about the Pledge thing?

Me: Yes. (But wondering why 8:22pm)

VB: So what does the pledge mean to you?

Me: (paused for a moment while my brain scrambled for a coherent answer) well, mainly, I think it's a promise.

(static)

VB: Hello??

(problem resolved)

Me: Is this clearer now?

VB: Yes, it's much better. Go on.

Me: As I was saying, to me, the pledge is a promise. Because when I was younger, I didn't understand the significance of reciting the pledge everyday. But as I grew older and learnt about Singapore's history through Social Studies, despite what everyone says about it being propaganda, I, on the contrary, came to better appreciate everything our government has done for us. So to me, the pledge is a promise they make to us, and we to them.

And then she asked me for my age, occupation and where I was studying at the mo, and thanked me for my time.

It was a good thing it was a phone call and not a face-to-face interview, because I was going so red and sweating buckets like I always do when people pay close attention to what I say. I remember my Oral exams in school. I'd be trying to mop up my sweat discreetly and maintain eye contact with the examiner, hoping she would pass off my blushing as a reaction to the weather.

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Je suis tres triste.

I was outbidded in French 1, one of the modules I bidded for. It was the one I was most excited for, and I was outbidded with 180 at the minimum bid point while I bidded only 150. I totally could have bidded 180, dammit. Merde.

I'd already planned everything nicely. We're required to take 7 modules outside of our majors, so I'd planned to take French 1-4 and Creative Writing 1-3. Exactly 7 modules, see? Now I'd have to wait for next semester to take French 1. And take another module outside of my major (undeclared yet) for this semester. Dammit.

Now I have no choice but to bid for something that I never intended to take at all. I successfully bidded for:

1. EL1101E: The Nature of Language, Tues 1000-1200.
2. NM1101E: Communications, New Media and Society, Mon 1200-1400
3. GEK1046: Intro to Cultural Studies, Wed 1000-1200
4. GEM1004: Reason and Persuasion (Intro to Philosophy), Fri 1400-1600

I figured I might as well clear some of the uni requirements (2 Breadth modules, 2 General Education modules, and 1 Singapore Studies module), so I took 2 GEMs.

And since I was 1 module short of the 5 recommended, I just went to bid for Sociology of Popular Culture, Fri 1600-1800, which doesn't have anything to do with what I want to learn, but seems interesting, so I figured at least it was better than Intro to Politics or Intro to European History.

Sigh. Please let me get Sociology of Pop Culture, at the very least, gods of module assignment. Since you've already denied me of French.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Penned something for fun the other day, when I was getting all nostalgic.


Smashing Clocks

We dropped our swollen hearts
Today,
Into the box
With the toys that we used to play.
We glanced over our shoulders
Today,
And tried to count
Every second
That led us here,
Looking back
With something in our eyes
Shining like regret.
We smashed all the clocks
Today,
And grasped at loose sand,
Replayed that song,
Traced our fingers over old scars.
We took our time
Today;
We sat in silence,
Today;
We returned to that golden frame
Of yesterday
Today.


Not my best. A little contrived at some points, but whatever.
Okay. Tell me if you'd want to read on if you picked up a book with this opening:



When people die, they slip into another world.

When they lose consciousness, however, they reside – or are trapped in, depending on how you choose to look at it – in an in-between state, a limbo zone, sort of an intermediate holding room. In this zone, you can feel the worlds of the living and the dead both pulling at you, demanding a piece of you.

Dreams are just a step away from insanity, just like how the living is just a mere breath away from the kingdom of the dead.

In a way, dreaming is no different from being dead.

In both instances, you are robbed of your soul temporarily. In dreaming, you lose it until you wake up; in dying, you lose it until you move on to where you should go to.

And in both instances, you experience some form of freedom. It is only in death that your soul is set free from your earthly vessel. It is only in dreams that your mind is truly free.

So how would you know if you were dead or dreaming? Who can differentiate between the two?



Would you?? It's my opening for The Dreamcatchers, my third attempt at a fantasy/supernatural novel.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

From literary agent, Rachelle Gardner's blog:

Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Fiction Writing: Craft and Story

As I go through queries and partials, I'm often thinking about the two elements of a good novel: craft and story.

Craft refers to all the mechanics of fiction: plot, characterization, dialogue, pacing, flow, scene-crafting, dramatic structure, point-of-view, etc.

Story refers to the page-turning factor: how compelling is your story, how unique or original, does it connect with the reader, is there that certain spark that makes it jump off the page? Is it sufficiently suspenseful or romantic? Is the author's voice distinct and compelling? It's much harder to quantify than craft, and harder to teach.

Of course, the two elements are intertwined, but it's helpful to artificially separate them, in order to understand why a book is either working—or not.

Lately I've noticed amongst my stacks of rejected queries an increasing number of projects that show strong technique, but no originality or heart. In a way, this is good because it shows that writers are paying attention to their craft. They're taking the time and making the effort to learn to write, which is fantastic.

But it's heartbreaking to me at the same time. I hate that lifeless feeling of a boring (or derivative or unoriginal) story, perfectly executed. I get the feeling many people are so saturated with media (books, TV, movies) that they are writing not from life but from their perception of life as shown in media. They're writing stories I've seen and heard a hundred times before.

In fact, just this week I read some sample chapters from a newbie writer, and I was impressed with the technical excellence. Nice dialogue, perfect POVs, showing not telling... the craft elements were all there. But the story itself involved a hackneyed plot, a totally uninteresting protagonist, and major predictability. It felt like it was written by a computer program, and it made me sad. I want to teach writers to not only learn the craft, but to also write from their heart. Write with authenticity, write from the depths of personal experience.

I think some writers find craft easier, and others find story comes more naturally. It's up to you to understand where you stand as a writer, where your strengths and weaknesses are, and make the effort to keep working on both sides of the equation.

And when you read published books that don't seem to "follow the rules" of craft that you've worked so hard to learn, try to determine if maybe that book got published because of the story, rather than technical perfection. (Or it might just be that the author has established a loyal following who enjoys their particular style of storytelling.)

If your storytelling is powerful enough, readers will forgive an awful lot of flaws in technique... and so will agents and editors. On the other hand, all the perfect "craft" in the world can't make an unimaginative book shine.

If editors and agents are looking at your samples and immediately criticizing your craft, be aware this means they aren't able to see a fabulous story in there. Either it doesn't exist to begin with, or it's camouflaged by your lack of expertise in fiction technique.

So writers, speak up. Where do you stand? Which is harder for you? How do you approach both sides of this craft/story equation?



It's well-said by Rachelle. I think my stories are perceptions of life, instead of life through my own eyes. Craft is so much easier to work on; just keep reading quality writing, and then keep trying it out on your own. Story, on the other hand, is more difficult to come by. It has to come from within, and no amount of practice or drilling can ever forge something genuine and real. I wish I have that. Really good writers, like Sarah Dessen and Deb Caletti and Christie Hodgen, don't focus a lot of their plot, but make damn sure their characters are richly-painted, thereby moving the story forward with them, throwing in sub-plots along the way. My writing relies heavily on action, on plot. It isn't a bad thing, but it can also make the writer - and therefore the reader - seem detached from her story and her characters. In my opinin, to really connect with the characters - and therefore to make your readers relate and fall in love with them - a writer should have an opinion on everything, and do the same for her characters. Only then will they take their lives - and the story - by the reins, instead of letting things happen to them, as plot-driven stories often do.

Monday, August 03, 2009

This nice old man from the pool gave me a bag of fruits today. Did I mention that mainly expats and retirees go to the pool near my house? The expats are always sun-bathing, while the retirees are there everyday. This nice old man is one of them. I recognise a few regulars, because I see them there everyday too, and they go really early. To give you an idea of how early they're there, most of them are always out of the shower by the time I arrive at 10am for my swim. They're there so often that they chat with the lifeguards as though they're old friends. The lifeguards recognise me (we say hi and bye everyday) but we definitely don't chat like they do. Oh, also, there's this Caucasian lady - mid-twenties, maybe - who can speak Mandarin and always chat with the retirees when she's there. Which is think is pretty cool.

Anyway, so I guess the nice old man recognises me too, since this is the second time he gave me fruits. The first time he did, I thought he was just trying to get rid of them, so he shoved them to whomever he saw. But this time it isn't. I just think it's so sweet. People at the pool near my house are so nice. The lifeguards are nice too. There's this Indian one who has the brightest smile whenever he says good morning to me; and another Indian one who's always joking around with me ("Girl, you swim everyday until you become black like me already."); this other Chinese guy whom I secretly dub Papa Bear (because he looks like one) and who's so friendly; and another Chinese guy who looks like Kermit the Frog (in a cute way, that is); this girl in her early-20s who, strangely, reminds me of Ms Seow because they look tanned and sporty; and lastly, a couple of other young Chinese lifeguards and a Malay one.

I live in such a lovely neighbourhood. I love Singapore :)

Oh, and on a different note, I'm currently reading this children's fantasy story called The Mysterious Benedict Society, by Trenton Lee Stewart, which has proved to be a more enjoyable read than I'd expected. Now, I'm looking for the sequel. It was there in the library the last time I saw it, but now someone's borrowed it. Damn. Ah well. Better luck next time. Also, I'm re-reading the Jessica Darling series, by Megan McCafferty, and I have to say, I'm enjoying it more this time round. For me, this series will always remind me of my JC days, because I read them during that period. Jessica Darling is completely relatable in a neurotic, overanalysing way (she's a genius - who ends up going to Columbia after high school - who lives amongst her shallow 16-year-old peers out of the need to be normal after her soulmate-cum-best-friend Hope left New Jersey). I like that the writer doesn't make Jessica talk in a completely shallow way; through her writing, you can tell that Jessica is intelligent and misunderstood and a very observant individual. In some other YA books (I shan't name names), the writer writes in such a way that makes the reader feel as though she's talking down to us. In this other books that I read ... okay, I'll give you the title: Swoon. It's about a girl who falls in love with an errant ghost who possesses her friend to seek revenge against those who persecuted him. The plot sounds nice, doesn't it? But the writing style was so bad even the plot couldn't save it. I gave up halfway and returned the book. Such a shame. The premise of the story was promising. Remind me never to write like that.

Also, I'm currently in the midst of bidding for my modules for school. I bidded for 3 modules in Round 1c: The Nature of Language (which the seniors say is great fun, and which a hell lot of people bidded for: 392 bidders for 381 vacancies, just to give you an idea of how popular it is), Intro to Communications (also another popular module), and French 1.

In Round 2a, which began this morning, I learnt that I've successfully bidded for Nature of Language and Intro to Communications. I DIDN'T GET FRENCH!!!! *bawls* But I'm going to try bidding again. The lecture slot that I chose is a very popular one. Last I checked, there were 11 bidders for a lecture with only 6 vacancies. But I'm NOT going to be outbidded this time. I've been given more points for this round (while I was left with 220 points in the last round, I now have 592 points), so I'm going to throw in more bidding points. I am going to get into French 1, lecture group 8, no matter how many points it takes.

Also, we're required to take 2 General Education modules, 1 Singapore Studies module, and 2 Breadth modules throughout the course of our education in NUS. So I was thinking I'd get it over and done with. So I'm going to take 1 SS module and 1 GEM this semester, along with the 3 that I'd bidded for. Problem is, a lot of the exam and lecture timetables clash, between GEM/SS and the regular modules. Which is incredibly annoying. I can't take the more interesting SS modules because of the regular ones I'd bidded for. Ah well. Let's hope it all works out. Fingers crossed!