Big Hero 6: A Review

Big Hero 6: A Review

Today, I decided to treat myself and took off to see Big Hero 6 at the local theater. And it was alright - decent action, gorgeous animation and creative character designs - Baymax was fun to watch and the villain did look scary, with that creepy mask and an army of nanobots under his command.

However, the film had its drawbacks and unfortunately, I feel that they're kind of big drawbacks: a lackluster script and underdeveloped characters. A lot of things happen in the first third that feel really forced - there 's no buildup to a lot of stuff that happens and, to me, it felt kind of phoned in. Also, I was struggling to make sense of the timeline (but I'll get to that.)

Take, for example, the opening scenes of the film, our character establishing moment: Hiro, our central lead, is in a bot-fighting competition, waging money and winning robot fights. He, of course, has a robot that doesn't look like it's going to win - a David vs. Goliath if you will. But of course the robot is tiny and harmless, but actually extremely lethal and destroys the other bot, which angers the guy on the other end of the arena. 

It looks like he's about to get his butt kicked, when his brother comes in, saves him and they both get arrested and thrown in jail for the night and saved by their aunt (because, in true Disney fashion, their parents are dead. I say to myself : 'Aha, so this is going to be a Spiderman-type story where he loses his brother and learns responsibility or something.' Nope. An interesting story arc that could have spanned the course of the movie was instead resolved in about ten minutes, with his brother convincing him to ditch the illegal underground world of bot-fighting and go to college (because this super-genius kid graduated high school when he was 13.). 

So, to get into college he has to impress this professor, which he does with these microbots he builds because now he's all responsible and stuff. And then he gets two offers: one to sell the bots to a corporation for a lot of money or go to school and develop them further. A clear choice between right and wrong - maybe he'll take the wrong path? Nope. He chooses the school and the corporate executive seems to threaten him. (Which, as it turns out, was nothing more than a red herring - said executive turned to actually be a reasonable authority figure. Literally the only reason he said that line was to provide a red herring for the villain).

So they go off to celebrate - and the building is on fire despite the fact they were out of it for literally less than a minute. This goes back to the movie's very odd sense of time, but we'll get to that. So his brother goes in to save people, gets killed - and yeah. Hiro doesn't really have an arc after that. He grieves for his brother, discovers the supervillain threat (who is using these microbots that he invented), and from there character development is pretty much pushed aside to make room for the superheroics and the plot takes center stage.

To the movie's credit, however, Hiro in the later portions of the movie is blinded by rage at how callous the villain was (No, I won't say who, but his motivation felt weak and involved a random piece thrown into the third act with no mention or buildup in advance) and tries to have him killed, only to be calmed down later. It's only for a scene or two, however, and feels tacked on. Nonetheless, it's still an effective scene. 

The side characters are, well, underdeveloped. You have OCD Nerd, Nice Girl Nerd, Rebellious Punk Girl Nerd and Rich Slacker Nerd. That's...really all the personality and development that they get. They're touted regularly as Hiro's friends, but he barely knows these people - he meets them in the first third, and doesn't spend a lot of time with them. He doesn't know them, and neither do we. They have no backstories (well, I shouldn't say that. Slacker Nerd is established as being extremely rich, but that's about it). We don't learn about them beyond their character design (for the females) or their singular quirk and character design (for the males.). 

The villain, as I stated earlier, has a cool, menacing design but a weak backstory. He effectively was involved in some sort of research project for an unrelated bit of tech (basically: Stargates) that's never mentioned in the story until the last third. Basically, the experiment went wrong, he lost a loved one and now he wants revenge on this corporate executive. My major questions were, effectively, how long ago did this happen (going by the site of this experiment, it looks like a while) and why is he waiting until now to take his revenge? 

What was stopping him before? Was he just too lazy to invent the microbots himself? And the fire. Why did he decide to set the entire robotics building on fire? Wouldn't it have made more sense to steal just a few microbots to study so you could duplicate them yourself? And then maybe have a mole in the school to keep stealing more bots as Hiro makes improvements and the villain wrecks havoc? That would have allowed for actual character growth among all of our leads and more chances for them to actually interact with each other.

And that brings me at long last to the time scale of this movie. This is something that continues to bug me. At one point , Baymax contacts his friends to cheer Hiro up. Hiro, in the meantime, decides that he needs to take action against the villain. So he naturally builds Baymax an entire suit of armor, programs a new computer chip to teach him karate, take him out to the docks, find the supervillain - and then his friends arrive to Baymax's summons. (How they knew he was at the docks, I'll never know.). Did they just...stand around for a long time before going? Are they aware they're in a movie and waiting for the end of the montage?

Or did Hiro really just program a chip, build a suit of armor and engage a supervillain in the space of only a few minutes in-universe? Similarly, he has Tony Stark levels of tech in his basement. Why and how? He's established as being middle class, and I can't imagine the school would allow that kind of tech to be taken from their campus.

All in all, however, I think I would say I'd check it out once - it's a fun superhero romp. Fantastic animation, like what I'd expect from Disney, fun character designs but weak writing and flat characters don't really make this all that memorable of a flick. It's definitely more of a rental instead of an outright purchase.

Final rating: 6.5/10.

Stuff, Things and a Chapter!

I was digging around on the Documents on my computer and I found this sitting there. I don't recall writing it, but I continue to go back and look on old ideas and stuff, and continue to surprise myself. I particularly like the mysterious fortune teller woman and I like the setup for the overall plot.

Chapter One

Traios headed down the broad street, whistling absently, weaving his way through the crowds of people and paying them no mind. Passing a fruit stand, he flipped a copper coin in the merchant’s hand and grabbed a piece of fruit, continuing on his way. Tall buildings of brown stone rose high above his head, in the distance he could see the edges of the enormous church that dominated the town and beside it, the somewhat less impressive houses of government. 

He turned down a side street, looking for a particular house. Overhead, the sun was setting and the tall lights began to flicker on, one by one. 

He rapped at the door and a man answered, looking at him warily.

“Yes? What do you want?”

“Greetings. I’m Traios and, ah, I was told to come here and wait.” The man surveyed him skeptically – Traios was painfully aware that he didn’t look like much: he was still young – barely twenty – with a mess of dark hair and eyes, in somewhat frayed clothing worn from long travel. 

“Wait here.” 

            The man disappeared and the door shut again. Traios let out a long breath of annoyance, prowling the narrow alleyway. Well. At least it was clean. A brown and white cat eyed him, before prowling away up the street and out of sight. The door swung open again and the man reemerged. 

“You’re clear. Come on in.” 

He entered into a wide room with a wooden floor and golden lights placed at intervals alongside the walls. It was sparsely furnished, paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. A woman floated in the middle of the room, her eyes closed. 

“Traios, of the Akuar,” she murmured. “I saw you knock at my door twenty years ago. I know what it is you seek.” 

“I…uh, I thought you would,” Traios said. “My father said you were good at predicting the future.”

“Your father is a fine man and I was pleased to know him,” the woman opened her eyes and gently lowered herself to the ground. “However, what you seek is likely to get you slain.”

“I have to do it,” Traios replied. 

“I knew you would say that too,” the woman said simply. “Come.” She left the empty room behind, for another one. Like before, it was spartanly furnished, with a severe looking desk, clear of clutter but for a small bedraggled journal. She pressed it into his hands.

“This is what you’re looking for, I think,” she said. “I went to great lengths to recover that in time for your visit, you know.” 

“This is the journal of the last expedition?” Traios’s eyes went wide. “How did you get this?” 

“A tradeswoman never reveals her secrets,” the woman said, sitting down. “So. Have a look through it, why don’t you?” Traios obeyed while she watched, his heart beating faster and faster in his chest.

“June 17^th. We have found the remains of the old city. Not much to see here – lots of sand, some old foundations. Nothing meaningful. We will keep looking, however. Jules insists that the secret is here somewhere. So much for gods!”

“June 24^th. Digging has turned up an interesting temple – partly preserved. We’ve found corpses buried inside – they were mummified, presumably from the heat. Unpleasant business, this. We will continue to press on with the excavation.”

“June 26^th. Jules has uncovered a simply enormous door of gold and written in the language of the people of the land – or, an older form thereof. The best we can decipher is this the remains of the Great Temple and the gods dwelled here. Beyond these doors are the entrance to their realm and under no circumstances should mortals attempt to open it. Pah on that I say! I care not for silly superstitions.” 

The journal ended there. Traios finished it, feeling odd. The woman watched him, apparently wanting to see the expression on his face. 

“Well?” she asked. 

“I – I don’t know what to think,” he said. “Do you if I’ll succeed or not?” she smiled at him gently.

“Yes. But I can’t tell you that,” she said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned is that people can’t get caught up in worrying about the future. Then the future doesn’t happen. No, best if you don’t know your own fate.” 

“Okay, so do you know where I should start with planning on this expedition?” the woman considered for a moment.

“You should consult Dr. Halucros, over in Hacel. He’s an expert on the writings of the ancients and might be able to pull a team together.”

“I don’t have any money, though,” Traios said. “Well – okay, a little. But not enough to fund something on this scale.”

“That’s your problem, my dear,” the woman said. She had now taken out a long pipe and begun to smoke it. Red, blue and green smoke puffed out of the end. “I’ve done my part for you – largely for the great friendship I share with your father, but all the same you should be grateful.”

“Oh, I am. You have no idea,” Traios said, rising. “Thank you for all of your help.” He turned, ready to leave. The woman smiled thinly. 

“One last thing,” she called. Traios turned, surprised.

“Good luck on your quest.”

Villain Backstory

So, I decided to actually post and share a little something I worked on for a project I've started (yes, another one.). This was the backstory for one of the villains for this story and I really liked how it turned out. Lemme know what you think.

Ansed Hoharas Manivel Teziord Malthuas, is the Crown Prince of Caeruland, Heir to the Choice of Fate. 

Morbid in his youth, he took an interest in tragedies and death customs, often spending a great deal of time reading on his book. However, his parents gently attempted to put their son on a path to becoming a good monarch, schooling him in useful subjects that he nevertheless cared all that much for. He eventually took to wearing somber clothing and became known for cheerfully discussing morbid facts about tragedies and death to the nobles - which was interpreted on more than one occasion as a threat that his parents were forced to defuse. They ultimately attributed his morbidness to a phase and agreed to let him continue read about the lost wars and the deaths and the gruesome details of the ancient sacrifices and cultures, provided he kept it to himself. He reluctantly agreed to this, recognizing that as a royal he must be prepared to don a mask. 

His relationship with his parents was an odd one - though they loved one another, he nevertheless kept his distance from them, preferring solitude and the company of his horse, Swiftmane. His parents, in turn, ultimately took a hands off approach with their only child, fearing that they didn’t know him anymore. On his seventeenth birthday, he received a book from the newly appointed court philosopher, Vel Segeras, from Auferag, regarding a powerful and once widely coveted relic, called the Scepter of Dominion, an item left from the lost time, when the angels roamed the earth. Though the book was largely a theoretical book and contained no knowledge of how to find the scepter, his imagination was sparked.

In Vel Segeras, he found the closest thing he had to a friend, confiding his interest in finding the scepter. And Vel Segeras helped the boy find what he sought, sparking his imagination on what the scepter could do, its long, storied and twisted history in the hands of man. He encouraged him to act upon his interests, shape the histories - for Vel Segeras led him to believe that he was invincible and in the manner of youth, Ansed believed him.

And on one night, Ansed departed for the Lost Tomb, said to be the resting place of one of the mighty Archangels. He descended into it, and survived the traps, for the first time finding the combat training required thanks to his royal blood useful and pried the scepter from the bones of the angel. And as he did so, a terrible curse fell upon him and he soon discovered that he could no longer tell any sort of lie and what was more, he must always tell the complete truth if asked. And, both terrible and useful, he could tell if someone lied in his presence, either to him or to another.

Hiding the scepter was impossible. For his parents discovered his absence in the night and demanded to know what he had done. And he confessed all unwillingly. They were horrified, demanding that Vel Segeras come forward to answer to this blasphemy. And Vel Segeras answered, allowing himself to be chained and held in the dungeon to await trial. Ansed despaired at this. His life shattered around him, as he realized just how much everyone around him lied to his face, to each other. He could no longer hide behind a royal mask and pretend to be someone else, now all would see him as he truly was and he in turn saw the petty cruelties and misery that made up the palace life. As for the Scepter itself, it remained inert for he had no great skill at magic. All of its fabled powers for naught, and yet he was the only person who could pick it up. All others who tried were scarred with burns that would not heal. 

But the damage had been done, for word soon spread that Ansed had been cursed. And many nobles approached the Crown Prince, asking for answers. Word spread swiftly among the nations that the Scepter had been found again, and the clouds of war loomed for both West and East claimed that the angels had left the Scepter for them, thus forming the Alliance and the Coalition. And even among the nobility and the nations of the Alliance, united behind Caeruland lusted for the scepter and the untold powers that the legends claimed. 

Thus an assassin arrived in the castle, intending to slay Ansed and take the scepter. He slew the guards and entered Ansed’s chambers, but the King, by stroke of luck, was passing on his way to bed and stopped the assassin, fighting him in a swift, but terrible struggle. The assassin was slain but not before the King received a fatal wound from a poisoned dagger. and Ansed cradled his dying father in his arms, who told him to be strong and that he loved him - his last words the only true thing that Ansed had heard since receiving the curse. He stayed a long while in the chambers grieving, until Vel Segeras approached, finally having left the dungeons and revealing himself as a powerful Wizard. 

He proposed to Ansed to find the three pieces of the Scroll of Fate and Death, the mightiest of artifacts left by the angels, a relic that when read would cause the Apocalypse, allowing for a fresh start. The scepter would allow them to find the missing pieces. Grieving over the loss of his father, Ansed agreed and allowed himself to be led away, to a hidden location where Vel Segeras’s drake waited. 

It was a short time later - a matter of days - for action to be taken on the death of the King. The Alliance blamed the Coalition, declaring war and preparing to invade. The Coalition denied involvement, and immediately embarked on an aggressive course of action before the Alliance could marshal its forces, declaring to avenge the insult and to reclaim what was rightfully theirs - the Scepter. They invaded Caeruland, marching on the capital city, even as the Alliance marshaled their troops and rushed to defend it. The battle lasted for the days, the city was destroyed and most of its inhabitants fled or slain. War had begun. 

Seeing what his actions had wrought, Ansed’s spirit finally broke. Gone was the cheerfully morbid boy. Instead was a gloomy young man who took comfort in nothing, who no longer knew joy, only pain and misery. He aided Vel Segeras because he felt there was nothing left for him, nothing at all. His actions had caused untold destruction and countless deaths, and his hands were bloodied. As for Vel Segeras, he discovered that he had befriended a madman, but strangely a madman who did care about him, for not even the most powerful of Wizards could lie to him. 

He learned a little magic, enough to use the scepter to track the scroll fragments and became deadly with a sword, serving as Vel Segeras’s bodyguard, on top of his pupil. But even with the scepter, they were not easy to find or get to. It took a full three years to find the first piece, all the while the war raged on in the background. Ansed came to share his mentor’s beliefs that the only true way out was a fresh start - and that meant ending everything else…

Chapter Two

Meant to post this a while ago, but forgot. Better late than never, I reckon. =) It's a continuation of the story I posted earlier.

The Apocalypse Thief

Chapter Two

“Chain him,” the Captain snapped, guards approached, holding heavy shackles in their hands. Gareth unsheathed his knife, waving in front of the guards. 

“Stay back,” he warned. “It’s enchanted to explode on my mark.” A complete bluff, of course. The guards hesitated for a second, all he needed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small toy, a little bronze rat with wings and chips of diamonds for eyes. His last hope. His only hope. He threw it into the river, where it disappeared with a splash. 

Hurry, he thought. If you really want to help me, now would be a good time.

 

“It’s not enchanted,” the mage called. “It’s just an ordinary dagger!” 

“Then seize him!” 

Guards slapped heavy manacles on his wrist. 

“What did you throw overboard?” the Captain’s face was inches from him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gareth said coolly. “If I did throw something, I’m reasonably confident you won’t find it now, not in the dark and not if it didn’t want to be found.” The Captain looked irritated. 

“They told me all about your tricks,” he snapped. 

“Not all of them,” Gareth said. “There’s one you haven’t heard about yet.” the Captain’s eyes narrowed. “See, if I have this friend…” 

At that moment, the river promptly exploded, an enormous wave of water sending the ship crashing into the riverbanks. Wood splintered, guards yelled, he heard the sound of crossbow bolts whizzing through the air. He risked a glance backwards and saw a giant mechanical river snake, rising from the water, its teeth whirring like drills, schematic diagrams drawn on its eyes. 

“Kill it!” the Captain yelled, and then grabbed Gareth by the shirt. “You think your little snake changes anything, Mr. Calistone? It doesn’t. Not by a long shot.” 

“Not my snake,” Gareth corrected. “A friend’s. Give credit where credit is due. And by the way? You’ve been eating way too much garlic. Your breath stinks.” 

He pushed the Captain away, into the shallows and started scrambling up the riverbank and to the city. As if on cue, the mechanical serpent bellowed, and the two jets of high pressure water fired from cannons hidden in the creature’s nostrils, forcing the guards back. There was a commotion now, people running out in astonishment at the giant metal serpent, which promptly leapt into the air, its sleek body curled into an O-shape, and then it disappeared back into the water with a loud splash. Ragged cheers and shouts rang up from the commoners and sightseers who had come out to watch all of the commotion.

Dan had always been a showman. The guards were now mostly unconscious. The patrol boat laid a splintered wreck at the bottom. That had been a bit too close for comfort. And they had a mystery on their hands: who had set him up like that? The why he could guess – he’d irritated enough of the noble families in the area, but the who eluded him. 

Another mystery for another day.

He swung by the keysmith’s shop, closed and dark now, and hammered on the door. A heavyset man answered it, a cranky look on his face.

“Gareth?” he asked, and then saw the shackles. “Oh. A night of fun, then?”

“Got out of hand,” Gareth said. “Can you get these off?” 

“Come in, then. Anything for a friend.” Gareth stepped inside, and sat down, holding his wrists up while, the keysmith began tinkering with the lock. 

“You been keeping up with the war?” the smith asked, while he tinkered with the locks on the manacles. 

“Not really, no. I lost track after we took Vargaze. I’m not much into politics.”

“Oh, I do. I debate it all the time at the inn. You should too. People should know about what’s going on.” 

“Well, enlighten me while you get those off.”

“Hmm. Nothing specific since Vargaze – lots of skirmishes. Our boys are dying, those Kaldonians aren’t giving up.” 

“Mmm.” 

“If you ask me, the best thing the Kaldonians could do is admit they’re part of Drynghelm now and get on with their lives. Kaldonia’s been conquered for what – ten years? Fifteen years? They’re just making things miserable on themselves and on us.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Gareth said. “I make things pretty miserable on myself – and the government – doing what I do best.” 

“Oh – right,” the keysmith said. “They decided they’d had enough of you, then?” 

Gareth laughed. “I guess. It’s only thanks to Dan I got away.” One of the shackles fell open. He rubbed his wrist, already red from where it had been pushed into his flesh. 

“They won’t give up,” the keysmith warned, unlocking the second shackle and pulling the whole thing away from Gareth. “That new Captain of theirs is determined to reign in what he sees as rampant immorality and detractors from the war effort.” 

“And of course he goes after the most famous thief in the city.” 

“And the fact you’ve been stealing magical artifacts,” the keysmith noted dryly. 

“Oh, please. I doubt anything called ‘the Pendent of Seven Lovers’ is going to help anybody in the war effort,” Gareth snorted. “Or anyone else for that matter. Thanks for the warning, though.” 

He turned to go. “Take care of yourself.” 

“You too. Don’t let the guards capture you.” The keysmith said. Gareth stepped into the cool night air, and headed down the street, making his way back to the river and across a different bridge. The news would be all over the city by morning – how Gareth had been captured and then escaped. He’d be better off keeping a low profile for a few days. 

He reached the riverbanks – a different part this time – and then headed down a short flight of steps into a large apartment: a neat rectangle of water jutted into the middle of the floor, where the mechanical serpent from earlier now rose from the water, its head opened and a man muttering to himself while examining various bits and pieces. The mechanical rat he’d thrown into the river sat on a table. A balcony circled the top of the room, with several doors. 

“Thanks, Dan,” he called. “You got to me awful fast.” Dan looked up, a heavyset man with black hair and a two day old beard. 

“You realize they’re going to find us,” he grumbled. “And those guards banged up the serpent pretty bad. It took me two years to get the inner workings right. Two years! It’ll be months before it’s ready to use again.” 

“Then I’m just lucky you had it ready to use now. And relax. They’ve never found us before. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“They catch us and cut off our heads and then take apart my machines,” Dan said promptly. “No, wait. They cut off our heads and then draft my machines for use in the war effort. That’s the worst that could happen.” 

“Way to be optimistic,” Gareth said, sitting down in a chair and fiddling with the rat. “I’m glad you thought of taking that rat tonight.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You were captured by the King’s soldiers, nearly dragged to prison, etc. etc. Typical for you, right?”

“Not really,” Gareth said. “They tricked me. The guy I was supposed to get the artifact for was in league with the government, I think. Anyway, the artifact was a fake – a magical item designed to catch thieves.”

“Like you,” Dan said.

“I can’t help that there’s a market for pretentiously named artifacts,” Gareth said, in the most dignified voice he could muster. He could see Dan smile slightly and shake his head. 

“So, anyway,” he said. “I’m thinking I’m going to lay low for a while, maybe disguise myself. And do some detective work.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Dan grunted, and then turned his attention back to the river serpent. “I still think we should find somewhere else to hide, though. I’m telling you, they’re going to be all over this place. The new Captain –”

“We’ve met,” Gareth said ruefully. 

“Well, he’s a piece of work. He’s not going to stop.” 

“We can move if you want,” Gareth said, shrugging. “But we’ve put every warding and hiding spell on this place we can afford. Besides that, it’s not like I’ve never been chased by guards before now. And even if they get through all those, there are still all of your defenses on top of that. We’re good here.” 

“I reckon you’re right,” Dan said, now looking at the brains of the sea serpent. “I just get paranoid.”

“Paranoid does keep you alive. But we’ve been doing this for now long how?” Gareth clapped him on the back. 

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll find another enchantment to throw on here. I’m going to bed. I need to think about how to approach this anyway.”  

Dan had pulled a pair of goggles over his head. “Good night.” He had already set to work again on the sea serpent’s brain.

Planning by...Not Planning? (Or: A Revelation)

Wow, it's been a long time since I've done something with the blog, hasn't it? Well, maybe that will change. Maybe. Assuming I don't get sidetracked with other things again. Actually, I think I'm getting sidetracked talking about a blogging schedule that doesn't actually exist instead of what I'm wanting to talk about. To the discussion!

I was musing over writing (yes, this is going to be another rambling post about my writing. Sorry.), and thinking about all of the different projects I've tackled over the years, trying to figure out what I wanted to write, and then something just hit me, like a punch to the face. I realized something that my earlier body of work (including attempted rewrites of earlier projects, revisions and etc. etc.): I planned all of these by...not planning. 

That sounds contradictory, but it's really not. When I started writing, I didn't waste time trying to work out the details of a plot or setting, I didn't waste time trying to figure out the nuances of my characters in advance and I didn't plan out anything about the setting. I just...wrote and let things happen as they happened. And every single time I did that, the projects went somewhere interesting (and led to countless rewrites, revisions, editing and resulting in really giant folders stuffed with all sorts of world-building notes I attempted to expand upon what I'd written in the text.

Then, as time progressed, I stopped doing this and instead was trying to do extensive planning, note-taking and world-building before I actually wrote a single word of the draft. My reasoning, of course, was that the things I started tended to evolve into giant mega-projects comprising multiple books, countless subplots, more characters than I could shake a stick at and a deep, detailed world - all of which I thought needed to be planned out in advance before penning a single word of actual story and substance. This, in hindsight, was a particularly treacherous trap.

None of the projects I attempted to construct like this went anywhere - there were a few that felt like they started to go somewhere, but all of the notes turned out to be dead ends. None of them went on for longer than a handful of pages and all of it was either really broad strokes of a plot without any of the specifics, or just general world-building, a good deal of which amounted to background stuff that would have been a minor part of the plot had I actually wrote a draft of it. 

None of these later projects lasted particularly long and while there was promise in some of them, I never really did anything with any of them. Though I maybe will at some point. 

Then compared to the old way of doing things, when I just wrote a draft, tied and gagged my internal editor (and then threw him in a closet for good measure. Actually...when I first started writing, I don't think I had one) - I had a plot that appeared, character development, world-building. Stuff I could actually use. Those projects spawned a world and hundreds upon hundreds of pages. A project that went somewhere for once. I had something to show for my efforts.

Just jumping headfirst into a draft, no real planning other than the vaguest of thoughts on where I'm taking this (and constantly adjusting things along the way) led to results. Meticulous note-taking sent me to a dead end in the middle of nowhere land. Just writing the draft and letting the words flow, without worries about whether its good or not (I can deal with that in subsequent rewrites and editing sessions) leads to much more interesting developments than planning everyone out in advance.

This method of planning, basically, is perpetual NaNoWriMos, only with no word count and no deadline.

So - then why does this method work for me? The main reason is, I think, that note-taking is dull. I can't get invested in just saying these things. World-building sounds exciting (and it is) but doing it the way I was doing it is boring. World-building while writing the draft is much more interesting, because it feels more like I'm actually interacting with the world and discovering it. Thinking on it, that's actually one of the most fundamental laws of writing, isn't it? Show, don't tell. Readers (and apparently the guy writing this stuff) are engaged when you show them the world you've built, they're (I'm?) not when it's just a detailed laundry list of things like political structures of various governments, a write-up of the history of a fictitious religion, imports and exports of the countries and why its significant - blah, blah, blah. Boring.

Writing stories, on the other hand, is about as far from dull as I can imagine. For a long time, I fell into a rut and despaired of ever actually finding the spark again, finding what I loved about writing in the first. Then I tried doing things the old way - taking one of the newer projects and just jumping into it. Was it planned? Not really. I had a loose idea of the world and of a general plot, but that was about it. That was all note-taking had given me. Writing those things I mentioned above in a draft: characters meet members of the government, who give them problems, priests conduct ceremonies in the streets and proselytize about their faith that leads to interesting details that wouldn't have made it into the notes. Or maybe characters debate their particular theology, which both does world-building and character-building, simultaneously. Merchants complain about prices of those imports and exports. It's a million times more interesting and fun.

I remembered, as I was writing today, why I love writing fantasy so much. The sheer joy of creating a world, of watching a story unfold from my fingertrips, from seeing people, with different views and thoughts than mine, appear born from the silvery clouds of my thoughts. Just seeing what they're up to, how they interact, cheering for their successes, crying for their failures - it's an extraordinarily beautiful, exciting thing to see, something no amount of note-taking can ever really achieve. 

And not planning - just jumping into the story, with no notion of careful preparation, no particular thoughts about the plot, except for the vaguest, broadest possible ideas and letting it evolve and develop organically - results in far more substance and more detailed plans than the most meticulous amount of note-taking. I'm five pages into the draft of this project and already I've established things about the world that never once cropped up in my notes and learned a few things about the characters that I wasn't expecting to learn. 

Is it good? No, but it's only a draft. A very rough draft at that, but one I'm going to follow all the way through. It's the planning process by not planning at all.

I feel like I'm back again. Time will tell.