M.P. Sharma's Blog, page 25

The absolute worst reason to do something is because ever...

The absolute worst reason to do something is because everyone else is doing it – individuality is not a curse, it’s a boon, and don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Should I be worried that my character is getting more interview requests than I am?

Paranormal Cravings just published an interview with one of my character’s, Adrinius [for those of you regular (EXTREMELY valued) visitors, you may have already read excerpts of this on my blog a couple of days ago] here: Paranormal Cravings – Interview with Adrinius O’Domhnaill.

Maybe this is what everyone means when they say you lose yourself when you write?

Why are there 2 sides to a coin?

Public Holidays seriously sux when you open your work email after a long weekend :(

“Talentless” Writers?

I have been fortunate enough to meet and work with a wide variety of writers, some more “conventionally lucrative” than their peers, others more “emotionally successful” than their counterparts. But what seems to hold true for all of us are our many “talents”.

I think writers are among a select few who have had the unique “opportunity” to have worked in a wide variety of fields, and when I say wide, I mean mind-bogglingly, monstrously mother “you know what” massive!

You name it, and we’ve done it – from newspaper rounds, waitressing, checkout chicks or dudes and drum roll, the one job ALL of us seem to use as a fall back option – dog walkers. What amazes me is that I even managed to find “viable” university degrees to stretch as thin a layer as I could on the possible opportunities out there. As an Indian, not studying was not an option, that is if I wanted to keep my head (often useless) firmly on my shoulders, but I still managed to juxtapose as many unrelated, often detrimental roles together into one.

So much so, that one of the first recruitment consultant experiences I had (you know the type, the ones that instil so much confidence in yourself to face the obstacles life and a first job is going to offer) told me that my resume looked like a dog’s breakfast. I must admit to taking offence to that one. Sure, maybe I am a Jack of all trades and a master of none but let’s not kid ourselves – my dog’s breakfast looks better than my CV.

So what? We’re obviously a very talented bunch of people … or hopeless unfortunates, it depends really on whether you’re a half glass full or empty type of optimist. When anyone raised their eyebrow condescendingly at me as their snickered questioningly as to why I was bothering to study/do what I was, I would retaliate with a “how many people do you know who would labour away their lives doing what they can’t stand just so they can spend a few moments a day doing what they love?”

I’m fine with the blank looks and stares until some smart-aleck goes Vincent Van Gogh on me, call me vain – but I like my ear. And for that matter, my many careers, because I’m actually grateful to anything or anyone that allows me to write. So here’s raising a drink to our many collective talents – whether we make it in the literary world or not, you know your dogs are thanking us everywhere.

Writers and our many “talents”?

I have been fortunate enough to meet and work with a wide variety of writers, some more “conventionally lucrative” than their peers, others more “emotionally successful” than their counterparts. But what seems to hold true for all of us are our many “talents”.

I think writers are among a select few who have had the unique “opportunity” to have worked in a wide variety of fields, and when I say wide, I mean mind-bogglingly, monstrously mother “you know what” massive!

You name it, and we’ve done it – from newspaper rounds, waitressing, checkout chicks or dudes and drum roll, the one job ALL of us seem to use as a fall back option – dog walkers. What amazes me is that I even managed to find “viable” university degrees to stretch as thin a layer as I could on the possible opportunities out there. As an Indian, not studying was not an option, that is if I wanted to keep my head (often useless) firmly on my shoulders, but I still managed to juxtapose as many unrelated, often detrimental roles together into one.

So much so, that one of the first recruitment consultant experiences I had (you know the type, the ones that instil so much confidence in yourself to face the obstacles life and a first job is going to offer) told me that my resume looked like a dog’s breakfast. I must admit to taking offence to that one. Sure, maybe I am a Jack of all trades and a master of none but let’s not kid ourselves – my dog’s breakfast looks better than my CV.

So what? We’re obviously a very talented bunch of people … or hopeless unfortunates, it depends really on whether you’re a half glass full or empty type of optimist. When anyone raised their eyebrow condescendingly at me as their snickered questioningly as to why I was bothering to study/do what I was, I would retaliate with a “how many people do you know who would labour away their lives doing what they can’t stand just so they can spend a few moments a day doing what they love?”

I’m fine with the blank looks and stares until some smart-aleck goes Vincent Van Gogh on me, call me vain – but I like my ear. And for that matter, my many careers, because I’m actually grateful to anything or anyone that allows me to write. So here’s raising a drink to our many collective talents – whether we make it in the literary world or not, you know your dogs are thanking us everywhere.

An Open Letter to All Who Care …

Dear Friends, Family & Well Wishers,

Can we please all collectively understand that I don’t have a magic, cute elf like in the Elves and the Shoemaker (I even added a link for those who want some proof, and there’s my academia coming out, the last hard thump for any failing creative writer, resorting to mundane academic concepts) that comes and sits near my laptop every night waiting for me to awake and see this amazing piece of literature that makes me go “eat your heart out Charles Dickens”, flashing on my screen every morning?

Even penning this useless excerpt has been tormentingly torturous – see I am so tired I’m getting all tautological on you guys, I’m starting to repeat myself just to fill in blank space. Dammit, I did it again.

This is me signing off with a sigh (in case you need a picture to feel any sort of sympathy) …

Why do I put myself through this again?

Someone once told me exercise is good for me, that was 10 years ago. I’m still waiting for the “good” bit :/

A nation’s cult…

A nation’s culture resides in the hearts and in the soul of its people

A beautiful quote by Mohandas Chand Gandhi ji. Why do we so often forget that we make our society? Let’s look within before we start pointing the finger on how we should improve our surroundings.

What’s your pizza?

I absolutely LOVE pizza!

Now that I have that off my chest, I think it’s only fair, as I am strongly opposed to false advertising, that I let all of you know that this post is not about the type of product you can purchase at Dominos or Pizza Hut … sorry. You may, however, still want to use their services at the end of this little excerpt, that is of course, if you’re still interested in reading the rest of it, when no free pizza is on the menu.

No, this pizza is about the one we’re all made up of, the one some of us are a little more conscious about, the one we kind of carry around with us, some of us more evidently than others. I became aware of mine fairly early on, I’d say around about eight, when I first came to Australia and one that I am questioned about on a constant, continuous basis. The dialogue often travels the following journey:

Potential friend: “Hmm, so where do you come from?”

Me: With a slightly dumbfounded expression, “Um, what do you mean?”

Potential, nosy friend: “I mean, where were you born?”

Me: “Oh right, the UK”

Possibly a friend (odds are stacked high): “So, you’re British?”

Me: “Well, not really. I mean I was just born there”.

Tiring unlikely friend: “Okay, so you grew up somewhere else?”

Me: “Yeah, the Middle East”

Still unlikely friend (that ship seems to have sailed): “Okay, so you’re Arabic?”

Me: “Well, kind of, but I left the ME and moved to Australia when I was quite young”

Potential murdering acquaintance driven to their wits end: “So, you’re Australian then?”

Me: Shoulder shrug

Declared Idiot: “But you don’t look Australian?”

Me: “Well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place and ask me why I look the way I do, because clearly what you wanted to know is why I’m brown”

Though not all my discourses on my heritage follow this old worn out path, the intent is often there, sometimes clearly, sometimes bizarrely (I didn’t think it was possible to have so many ways to ask someone where they’re “from”), and sometimes downright rudely (the “so what boat did you come on?” enquiries).

My friends (yes I do have some) call me an International citizen which I honestly sort of like, but then, I think we all fall into this category. The fact is I am proud and gratefully thankful of all the little bits and pieces that make me up. My “international citizen” status has helped make me more (at least I hope so) open-minded, more respectful of cultural diversities and nuances, more willing to at least attempt to understand different perspectives, and most importantly, more sympathetic to being different and empathetic to all the trials and tribulations being “different” brings with it.

Some of my immigrant friends tend to look at being distinct from the norm, or part of the minority as somewhat of a handicap, but I have never seen it as such, in fact, what they often shied away from, I normally embraced. I didn’t see being different as a curse, I saw it (and continue to do so till today) as a glorifying unique novelty.

So where does pizza come into it?

Well, I like to view my heritage as a pizza, where the base is a thick, mouth-watering distinctly Indian crust, with a strong Aussie tomato sauce flavour, a British topping of olives and vegetables (I’m vegetarian , so no meat!) and a sprinkling of Middle Eastern, melted cheese. Take any ingredient away, and my pizza lacks that special oomph.

I like the fact that there are so many pizza varieties I can interact with on a daily basis, and I can honestly state that no one pizza is better than the other. Every single one of them brings with it a novel flamboyant flavour and a kaleidoscope of interesting perspectives, but the fact remains that at an organic level, the main ingredients are all the same basically. A pizza is just that – a pizza, and with the main constants being at the crux of any good pizza, I never stop being pleasantly amazed at how all pizzas’ similarities far outweigh their individual diversities.

So, what’s your pizza?

Keeping your ca…

Keeping your cards close to your chest doesn’t hold true for knowledge, because you learn a lot more by sharing it than you do by protecting it.