Monday Musings(30.07.18)– Cycle of Life and Profession

Hello everyone.

I have been lost for a long time. But then this is the place I always intended to return too. Apologies for vanishing and for not being able to fulfill the promises to myself and to my readers.

Recently, I was talking to my office colleague when I told him, “Sometimes the life just gets too real.” We all poked and made fun of the statement, but that is what really happened. I was in some weird funk– I had no will to read, no will to write, no will to watch anything worthwhile. All that I have done in past few months is browsing of Netflix and watching the things which call for no-brain and which I probably won’t even think of watching otherwise. But then few weeks back, this all changed. I have a diary full of words (not good ones though). I had my will to read and write again. My life is still a mess — personally and professionally, but I have an idea of “Plan B”, and I guess that is what really matters for now.

Today’s musing is about the cycle of “life” and “profession”. I have been reading a book called Magpie Murders which is a murder mystery. There is one thing that I want to discuss which is triggered by the book. The book mentions Agatha Christie and how she did not like Poirot. I remember reading one article in Guardian about something like this. I could not find the right article, but here is the link of something similar. The article mentions how she was bored to tears by her own creation of Hercules Poirot. She goes ahead and gives advice which speaks volumes about her “love” for the character.

I would give one piece of advice to young detective writers. Be very careful what central character you create – you may have him with you for a very long time!

In one interview, her grandson had confessed that she wanted to create more characters but was never allowed because Poirot sold the best.

And this made me wonder– how our own actions end up creating a cage for us? Agatha Christie has Poirot as her own cage which does not allow her to move beyond to other characters. Arthur Conan Doyle had Sherlock which overshadowed his other works and ambitions. I do remember reading something similar about Milne who wrote Winnie-The-Pooh.

This just set the series of thoughts on how we all end up imprisoning ourselves in the stories we write. I am in somewhat a similar situation, and perhaps, that is why these thoughts are plaguing me. I have not created a character, but I have created an illusion of comfortable life which is obstructing me from moving to other passions of life. I don’t have agents and publishers to fight with, but I do carry the burden of some expectations. How does one end this cycle of “profession” ? Is it like the cycle of “life” which ends only after the death? Or is there a way to get out of this cycle?

Do you also have some “characters”–fictional or real– which have imprisoned you in the life that you have?

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