Screw this, I’m leaving for Japan in a couple of weeks anyways…

ZERRROOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

I think the best thing about writing visual novels is that you get to play around with the concept of moe. It’s now been over a year since I wrote my original joking essay on moe. Now, with nearly four years of studying moe (that’s what I call all my anime binges) and a year of contemplating on the various responses people have given me in response to my previous essay, I am finally ready to write the serious version of that essay. So here it is: On MoeMoe Revisited!

My original proposition that the definition of moe is indeterminable in my previous essay has been changed to that the definition of moe is variable, or that what people think is moe is different for different people. Some people like glasses girls, while people like me honestly don’t understand what’s so good about them. Some people are addicted to shrine maidens and little sisters, while others like genki girls and dojikko. Well, that’s a pretty obvious statement, isn’t it? But if moe is different for different people, then how do we understand anything about it?

I propose that there is, in fact, a single theory of moe that binds everything together. We’ll test that statement by applying that theory to three anime shows (case studies, if you will) and see how well the theory does in explaining how moe can be used to immerse the viewer and to create engaging and gripping stories.

How do I create moe?
So, I bet you’re reading this because you want to write your own cute visual novel story, right? Or god forbid, you don’t even like moe and you’re rolling your eyes through all of this. Well, I have good news for both of you: we will learn how to write moe, and we’ll get to deconstruct moe to pieces too. If you ever want to disprove moe, then feel free to use any of this as material.

First, Moe is an image. Let’s say that you’re a painter who’s been commissioned to draw an ugly Italian lord during the Renaissance. You know that you can be paid a lot of money if the lord likes your painting, but if he doesn’t, then you’ll most likely be thrown into the dungeon and tortured for three weeks. So obviously, you embellish the painting and make the Italian lord look a lot better than what he actually is, right? Moe is like that painting. Whatever real life may be for you, moe is a painting, or image, of life that has been embellished and made beautiful.

Moe works the best on people whose lives are ugly. The blacker the reality, the more stark the contrast between the world and the image. But then, that’s not to say that only depressed people can enjoy moe, of course. (I wouldn’t venture to call you depressed, my dear reader!) Some people simply like beautiful, extravagant images, and I’m sure everyone has had bad experiences against which to compare the idealized image of moe against.

In order to write moe, first take reality. Then take out all the looming rain clouds, remove the irritating relationship problems, and throw out the annoying people you don’t like. Moe is all about meeting people’s extravagant expectations. Like the aforementioned Italian lord, take out all the stuff that’s ugly about him, and add in a few details that make him look more handsome. It’s a colourful make-belief world designed to get us as far away from the real world as possible by pretending to be the real world.

But caution must be taken here! If you over do it, then you risk the possibility of making the image too remote from the real world. At that point, it becomes too obvious that you’re making a lie and immersion is lost. There shall be more on this later.

But that’s pretty one dimensional…
Yes, you are exactly right if you think that is too simple. I’m trying to tell you how to write good stories here, and simply having moe is not going to help you much. Simply idealizing the world is not enough to be a good writer. To properly wield moe, you have to know how to both create and to destroy moe.

What do I mean by this? Well, now the game gets a little bit more complicating. There are two ways to use moe. The first is to use absolute moe, and the second is to use relative moe. When you use absolute moe, the level of immersion is directly proportional to the amount of moe you create. Using this system, it’s the most beneficial to just maximize moe to the fullest degree. This can be a pretty successful method of writing, but I know that I suck at it and I don’t know how to pull it off. But if you happen to like it and if you know you can do it, then go ahead and use it. Just be forewarned that absolute moe creates nowhere the same amount of immersion as relative moe.

The second way, and the method that I favor, is relative moe. In this system, the level of immersion is proportional to the change in moe level over time. Your goal is not just to create moe, but to destroy and remake it at opportune moments to maximize the plot drama and so grip the viewer. After giving the viewer a glimpse of the image of the idealized world, nothing is more horrible than shattering the image and plunging him back into reality. And nothing is more relieving for the viewer than to return him to the image after dipping him in reality. You are the story writer who has the power to give moe and to take it away. This is about creating drama here, not creating happyland.

Properly wielding moe can create gut wrenching dramas and tragedies, hysterically funny comedies, and heart warming romances. Let’s look at some examples and see how moe was wielded by the writer in each of these stories.

Kanon
Kanon provides the most traditional use of the relative moe method. It was actually such a successful system that it’s now been done to death and I would honestly half advise people to try to find some way to re-invent the formula now that it’s become too predictable.

Kanon uses the straight relative moe structure. In the beginning, Yuichi arrives at his old town, and his friends have random fun adventures. This is when the moe levels gradually get built up, and the player believes that he is safe. But just when things are looking good, various accidents begin to happen. The moe level takes a precipitous dip at the moment when it is revealed that Ayu is dead. Then, once it is revealed that she is, in fact, not dead but in a coma, the moe levels begin to rise again, pretty much sky rocketing once she comes out of the coma and happiness is restored. All of the emotional immersion is centered around the two massive changes in moe level near the end of the graph. Once again, I reiterate – emotional immersion happens when the moe levels change quickly. You don’t even have to be a fan of moe to have been emotionally engaged when young Ayu falls off the tree and dies in Yuichi’s arms. The only reason that this structure now fails is that it has been overused and now people already know that all will be well again in the end anyways, thus breaking immersion. However, I think that with some minor variations, this structure is still one of the best that you can use.

Other examples of this structure: Higurashi no Naku Koro ni Kai, Clannad, Bamboo Blade, Kannagi, Mai-HIME

K-On

K-On is the best example of the absolute moe structure. No attention is paid to actually varying the amount of moe, and instead the goal is just to maximize it. This is a successful structure, but with a few conditions. First, it creates nowhere the same amount of immersion as the relative moe structure (nobody’s hearts were pounding and were on the verge of tears during K-On, right?), and second, the person watching it must actually like moe in the first place to get enjoyment out of it.

Other examples of this structure: Lucky Star, Minami-ke, Hidamari Sketch

School Days

School Days is the best example of relative moe used to create a tragedy. At first, there are signs that things are going well – Makoto begins to go out with Kotonoha and Sekai and Kotonoha become friends. However, things begin to take a sinister twist when Makoto begins to cheat on Kotonoha. Finally, the moe level plummets with the final murder of Makoto and Sekai. Once again however, the emotional immersion is greatest when the moe level changes abruptly. I’m sure just about everyone felt something when Makoto gets stabbed, whether it be horror or euphoria.

Other examples of this structure: Higurashi no Naku Koro ni, Jigoku Shoujo Futakomori, Toradora!

So you’re telling me that Kanon and School Days basically uses the same system?
Yes, that’s exactly right. Moe can be used to create the happiest or the most horrifying of endings. It all depends how you use it. Story immersion doesn’t just come from making happy, idealized images by itself. It comes from varying the amount of moe skillfully at the right moments.

But isn’t moe formulaic then?
In terms of the story structure, it can be as formulaic or original as you wish. After all, it’s your choice when to vary the moe level and at what amount. Just remember that varying the moe level has consequences. If you do it at non-plot pivotal moments, that’s a lot of emotional immersion that you’ve sacrificed for no reason.

But why do all moe stories have set character archetypes like tsunderes, genki girls, dojikko, little sisters, and childhood friends? Isn’t that too formulaic?
Remember what I said back here?

But caution must be taken here! If you over do it, then you risk the possibility of making the image too remote from the real world. At that point, it becomes too obvious that you’re making a lie and immersion is lost. There shall be more on this later.

This is actually a very good time to return to this point. Moe is an image designed to get us away from the real world, so it is a deception. You need to get the viewer to accept that the world you have created is real, or else you don’t ever have a hope of creating immersion.

There are two ways of deceiving someone. The first way is to use your skills at persuasion to make another skeptical person accept what you are saying as true. The second way is when the other person has no skepticism about what you are saying in the first place and simply accepts whatever you say as true. The key difference between the two methods is that in the first one, the action happens with the deceiver – it is he who has to do all the work of tricking someone, but in the second, the action happens with the deceived – he purposefully stopped doubting the other person, and at this point, the deceiver doesn’t need to do anything at all to trick him.

How do you make the second method occur? The best way is if the deceived tells the lie to himself. In most circumstances, there’s going to be a certain level of skepticism in believing something that somebody else tells you. But almost always, nobody ever doubts the veracity of one’s own thoughts, even if they are obviously false. And this is where character archetypes come in.

Consider the following scene. A visual novel begins with a girl waking the player up. She complains about him being lazy ever since they were little kids and goes downstairs to cook him breakfast.

The player instantly recognizes this character as the childhood friend archetype. And once he has done that, he practically tells the story to himself. The player tells himself that she must have lived next door since they were born, and that she has had secret feelings for the player character for awhile now but has not said anything because they’re “like brothers and sisters.” And the player knows that that one day, she may confess to the player character and they may live happily ever after, but this will require a lot of work.

All of that are lies of course. Obviously, the chances of such a scenario occurring in real life are slim to none. What the visual novel is presenting is just an idealized image of the real world designed to trick the player into accepting it as true. Perhaps had it been the writer that tried to tell the player that all of this was actually happening without the help of the archetype, the player would have rejected it. But the pivotal point here is that the writer didn’t tell the player that – the player told himself that just by identifying the archetype. The player practically wrote her entire character by himself using his own expectations of the archetype. The player has accepted as true a lie created by the writer because he already accepted the lie even before it was spoken.

Consider the next example. After the player character wakes up, he walks down the stairs and bumps into a younger girl. She falls down and shyly covers her exposed underwear with a blush. She ruefully smiles and tells the player character that “big brother is always such a ditz! He should really watch where he’s stepping.”

And already, without the writer having to say a word, the player already tells himself that this is his little sister. She’s a cheerful young girl who looks after her older brother. She’s had a girlish crush on him for awhile now, but she knows that he’s family and that it’s not allowed. Once again, all of this is absolute fabrication. Have you ever seen a little sister who behaved like this? If any self respecting writer actually tried to convince a reader that this was all true, he would be laughed out of his career. But it all works and it accepted whole heartedly by the reader because the writer never actually tells the reader this, but the reader tells himself the lie just by identifying the archetype.

And that is the power of character archetypes. If used skillfully, a good writer can get readers to accept just about every ridiculous fabrication imaginable using these archetypes just because all the lies are told by the reader to himself instead of by the writer to the reader. Since the reader has expectations from the characters, he practically writes their characters by himself. And once he has done that, you have perfect immersion.

Does that mean I can’t develop my characters?
And here, you have the moe dilemma. The more you develop your characters, the more difficult it will be for you to keep up the illusion. In most absolute moe stories, where the purpose is to maximize the moe, most characters remain relatively undefined for this reason. You don’t really know much about Tsukasa, other than that she’s a shy, caring, clumsy girl. You don’t really know if she’s ever had a boyfriend, or if she has an interesting back story. If the writer says a single word outside of the player’s expectations, moe is broken.

However, in relative moe stories, the writer has much more opportunities to be creative, since the purpose is to vary moe rather than maximize it. Exposing more and more of a character leads to interesting changes in the moe level. Nothing will destroy a reader’s heart more than if the aforementioned childhood friend, who he thought to have known her entire life, has a tragic back story. And that is where your skill as a writer is put to its test.

Wrapping it up
Playing around with moe is a pretty enjoyable exercise for me. If properly wielded, moe is a great way to get the reader to laugh, cry, and most importantly, to believe that your fiction is happening right in front of them. Of course, enjoying moe and writing moe are two different things. The former doesn’t take much. All you have to do is just watch. In order to create, you need skill and practice. Hopefully, this reader was of help in giving you some of that.

BAD END.

How did Sunrider end? Ah, that is the one thousand dollar question. Objectively, it was an obvious outcome. Nobody has ever released the visual novel yet, and the reason why was made even more obvious with the collapse of Sunrider. Making a project that was anything more than an hour long with amateur level art took years to complete, practically begging real life to intervene at some point during that time and kill the project. I had put nearly three years of my life into making the project, and in the end, we had less than the first 30 seconds of the game finished by the time the project went under. Not only that, but it was the closest moment I ever had to ever completing the project, and it was just about snatched away so close to my face that I could feel it brush against my eye lashes as it flew away. But the good news is that even though I don’t have a game, I’m much more skilled now than I was three years ago. In the six months that I worked with Sixten, I probably learned more than in the past two and a half years combined.

This is the story of the final day of Sunrider. Just what happened the day when the project collapsed? Here’s the full story.

This is exactly how far we got. Act 1 – Scene 1: Kaito and Sora arrive on the planet of Cera and begin their adventures through space.

Just getting to this point was an tale in of itself. Sixten really wanted Kaito to have a little sister, when the story never mentioned anything about a little sister, and I wasn’t even a siscon in the first place. I didn’t want Sora to be there, since the first girl that the protagonist sees in a dating sim has to be one of the possible end girls, and I didn’t want to rewrite the story anyways. But then, Sixten had just joined the project, and I didn’t want to displease him since I needed him as an artist, so I decided to concede that issue.

Ah, but it did not end there. Sixten then insisted that Kaito’s personality be rewritten. And this point, I pretty much refused to accept, since doing that would require the entire story to be rewritten from the beginning to end. What followed as an epic six hour long argument where in the end, we were both too exhausted to continue and decided to just leave the story as it was because we were too tired to do anything about it at that point.

And then, there were the stunning art arguments. My impression of Sixten’s art gradually went from “OMG, this is amazing!” to “Ah gawd, can’t you do better than this?” in about two weeks. I know that we both came close to popping blood veins more than a couple of times because I would be exasperated about the art and then Sixten would get equally exasperated that somebody who sucked a lot more than him was exasperated in the first place.

But all that seemed to have passed by the time the final day of Sunrider arrived. I was 60 000 words into the story already, and all of the major story points had already been decided. When it came into making creative decisions, Sixten and I gradually developed a give and take system where we trade concessions with each other, preventing anything like the epic six hour long argument from happening again.

Our first scene was completed. The text was appearing as it should, the right song was selected for the scene, and all those little buttons you see below the message box were functional, thanks to help from renpytom. And when everything came together and the scene was fully functional, I believed that we could actually do this. Despite all the arguments we had, we were finally beginning to work together on the project. And despite the enormous odds stacked against us, there was hope that somehow, we would actually complete this grand project.

And the next day, Sixten informed me that he would have to quit the project in six months to return to school because his green card was revoked. In the end, it was a damned green card, the US immigration office, that killed Sunrider. We tried everything to save the project – tried to calculate what we would have to cut to finish the project in six months (too much – we would be able to make only maybe the first two chapters), thought about making a manga adaptation (would take as long as the visual novel to make), hell, I even thought about emailing the White House and the US Congress to make them grant Sixten amnesty. In the end though, nothing we could have done would have saved the project. The end had arrived for Sunrider.

Well, I admit, my first impulse was to punch Sixten in the face and shove my laptop out the window. But then, it wasn’t his fault his green card was revoked, and if anything, all I lost was Sunrider, while he lost both Sunrider and potentially his job and home. If anything, we were partners. Despite my sky high expectations from him, he still stayed with the project until the very end. As both a man and a director, there was honestly no way to blame him for anything.

In the end, it was my fault the project failed. I knew that with each extra word I add to the script, the possibility of the project being completed will drop. I knew that if I hired an artist to work on it, then the chances of it failing would double. But I did both, fully aware of the risks. In the end, I wanted to tell a grand story that would span across the galaxy, and I was willing to take an enormous gamble to tell it. And this time, my luck was above average, but still nowhere near the celestial levels required to have succeeded.

And so, the project died, with just the first 30 seconds completed. The biggest disappointment was that I failed Asaga and Chigara. I had known them for over three years by the time that the project ended – longer than any real girl that I have known. (No, I am not a hikkikomori, I just move a lot. >_>) I still remember originally making Asaga as just a side character in the very first draft of the script, but she disobeyed everything that I told her, and by the time the story was over, she had made herself into a heroine who saved the galaxy, completely displacing the other characters who were supposed to save it. And three years after that, she still didn’t listen to a word I said, although I had practically given up on trying to control her at that point anyways. Chigara on the other hand was a darling though. She completely followed everything I said, and always had a kind thing to say whenever the project hit a wall.

And that was how the project unraveled. I have no game, but I have skill and experience now. I’ve become a much better writer and artist thanks to the project, and it was actually a sample of the Sunrider script that got me hired for my current job as a video game writer.

Maybe next time, we’ll meet again.

By ruto

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for water. Why? Because the water piping in my house burst and now we don’t have any water any more. I don’t think we’ll be able to get it operational again today since everything is closed for the holidays. Yes, that means no operating toilets, no showers, no sinks, no drinking for an entire day.

Well, I guess it’s only for today though. But certainly, the water pipe chose a super day to break.

No comment, aside from no, this is not me in the video. (why would you ever think of such a thing?)

By Sixten

The bad news is that my sketches still are nowhere as good as the one above. The good news is that at least I’ve come a long way since Sixten left as my artist.

For comparison’s sake, here’s the first sketch I drew after Sixten left.

Mmm… Looks kinda like this, doesn’t it?

(Click to continue. Some nude pictures inside.)

So maybe that was kind of crappy example. Here’s the sketch of Marie I drew just a few weeks ago for Symphony instead.

It’s hell of a lot better than the one before it, but it’s still lacking in a lot of areas. The posture’s kind of stiff and doesn’t express much emotion, and the hands are still kind of iffy. To address these problems, I’ve embarked on a training exercise to fix the two problems. And after some time, here’s Marie 2.0.

This one seems to be a much more acceptable sketch. It’s much more expressive, and the hands don’t suck as much. The only problem is that I decided to draw a nude, and so Marie’s scars kind of detracted from how great it would have been had I drawn her with cloths. (There’s a reason she wears bandages…)

To continue my mission of practicing some more dynamic poses, I decided to make a sketch of this.

The end result isn’t that super, but I guess it might look better after I polish the line art and colour it on the computer.

And finally, I drew something to practice drawing hands.

I think this is the first picture I’ve ever made where the hands might actually be the best element. *sigh…* Improvement, improvement…

Now, it’s time to practice colouring.

I did say that I was going to re-decorate the blog, didn’t I?

The full logo picture, drawn by Sixten back in the days when the Sunrider project was still operating:

By Sixten

I will be taking a short break from all serious blogging operations and heading to the metaphoric mountains to train my art skills. Results of the training will be put up every now and then. Let’s hope that I gain a couple of levels from this experience…

Except I forgot what the hell I was going to write about. I vaguely remember planning to write something about Japanese visual novels, but that doesn’t sound that interesting any more.

Anyways, what’s more important is that I’m loosely wondering about making some changes to the blog.

First thing, I’m starting to dislike the overall look of the blog. It’s way too dark and difficult to read. Maybe it’s time for a new layout…

Second, I’m loosely pondering about changing my overall review strategy. In the past, I’ve reviewed only visual novels that I liked. I may change that and start reviewing all the visual novels that I play instead. Even though it won’t be that enjoyable to me to spend time writing 1000+ word reviews of games that I don’t even like, we’ll at least have some more reviews up here if I do that.

Third, I’m wondering whether if I should forget all that and go all in on turning this into a strictly art related blog. It would be nice for me to spend some more time improving my skills, and since I already work as a writer, if I manage to boast my art abilities, I’ll have the two most important aspects of visual novels covered.

Fourth, we need some more fun things here. The previous couple of text intensive essays have bored and depressed me, so no more of that for awhile. Maybe I should take up Tohou… I heard it improves your art skills.