Oh You Sneaky Devil

This blog nonsense is difficult, I'm not going to lie. (I'll just confirm for you, I'll lie from time to time, but that's for your own good). I can't keep anything regular of these sorts, particularly because as much as I talk about myself, I can't do it to myself - which is what blogging is in essence unless others begin to read.

So I'll tell you - the reader, the spy, the possible giraffe - that I have been busy. I'll then contradict by saying I have been wasting time playing a certain video game. Now I'll stop stalling. Today has been another of those days that dwindles past yet something has told me that "You know what, this day achieved a little." And that little was in the form of narrative progression (Yes! I say. What? You ask).

I fear right now that my writing still has a manic sense of nonsense. An erratic frame of an aimless mind. I apologise in advance and I'm trying to fix this. The thoughts are coming and I'm trying to focus on the correct ones whilst allowing the others time to mature in the waiting room before setting them free to create havoc.

And so off the tangental road I tell you that where I left off was this idea of a new narrative. The whole set of books (starting at nine to create my great trilogy, don't ask) are all stand-alone stories and hold meaning and morals by themselves. As a whole they create an outlook on life as a whole, each holding onto aspects of humanity and each portraying different ups and downs. Now the first book originally was completely based around a character once only known as Optimism. He later became Christopher [Insert Surname]. Now he continues by this alias but more has developed. I know a lot about his backstory and his future, so much so as to think he is worthy of a novel. But I couldn't decide how to tell it. At first I wrote three chapters from his perspective, jumping straight into his mind and giving the reader first-class crazy, erratic, and verging on insane as he made comments on the simple things in life and flipped them on their insignificant heads. But my problem was that the reader thought his storytelling too unreal, that it was impossible to decide what was really happening and what he was prancing about in unreality. And so I was unsure how to keep the reader hooked apart from the strange sense of a new wave of surreal.
Today, after a series of thoughts jumping from my peanut bobbler postal worker to my newly-acquired (thank you, Albert!) 100 year diary, I decided that perhaps Christopher was not the main character in the traditional sense. Perhaps this was about someone else finding his life and learning it. I think what I see now is that his never-ending optimism (don't worry, it does all make sense, but I can't tell you why) would affect the character reading it. Possibly what I have here is the simple 'troubled man finds new meaning to his life' story. I suppose it's not a superb leap of storytelling, but I think for the project at hand (remember I said 9 books?) a simple start may not be such a bad idea.