 The first short story I published, "Faces of Stone," went on to win $500 in a writing competition. Even by today's rates, that's a respectable haul for a 3300-word short story. It was published back in 2002, in a now largely abandoned E-Zine called Bygone Days. Out of curiosity, I ran the story through a workshop group in 2011. Like any workshop, there were those who liked it and gave some advice on where and how it might be improved, and there were those who didn't like it and gave their opinion on what and why they didn't like it. I didn't learn much about improving my writing that day, but it was an "aha" moment in my knowledge of workshops. It was also the day I stopped rowing...read on and you'll understand what I mean.
At some point, I think most writers move beyond workshops. For them, workshops have become repetitive, they've learned their own strengths and weaknesses, and the gain no longer outweighs the effort. Writers tend to move on and settle down into a long-term writing group, develop a corps of beta readers, or rely on a single trusted agent to be their sanity check. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying workshops are unimportant—quite the opposite. They are invaluable for learning the craft of writing and developing the skills needed to be proficient in any genre. Writing classes and workshops are simply time in the boat. In other words, if becoming a halfway decent writer is your journey, you have to spend some time at the oars rowing the boat to get there. You have to build up callouses, feel the frustration of battling waves that set your progress back, and you have to get lost a few times trying to figure out where the hell it is you're going. There is no shortcut. Eventually, you'll realize that you've done enough rowing. That doesn't mean you'll stop learning...only that you've wrung out all you are going to get from classes and workshops. So, here are some tips I hope will shorten your time rowing. Oh, and if you are interested in the story, "Faces of Stone," you can find it here. Tips to get the most out of writing workshops: 1) Garbage In = Garbage Out. In other words, don't go into a workshop with your first draft. I'm not saying you have to go in with polished prose ready to be sent off on submission, but it should be as close to submission ready as you can get it on your own. If you hand in a story (or chapter) full of typos, misspellings, grammar errors, characters that change gender or name halfway through, comments mid-piece that say "insert description here later," or my favorite—characters whose only actions are smiling, nodding, and letting out breaths they didn't know they were holding—guess what you’ll receive feedback on? Yep. Your few precious minutes of feedback will be wasted on crap you already knew was wrong. Take your craft seriously and don’t put garbage into the workshop. 2) Do your part. This goes right back to the last topic. Take the time to do an honest, thoughtful critique of your peers’ works. Read every submission twice. During the first read, don’t writing anything down…just read. In the long run, it will save you some time going back and deleting comments that are answered later in the writing. Your critique will always be better when you have an understanding of the whole piece and know where the author is trying to go (or what they are trying to do). Also, don’t take the easy way out and focus on the “garbage in.” Just because the other writer didn’t put the effort in doesn’t mean you should take the easy way out. 3) Shut up and listen. Now is not the time to guard your precious work from attack. The best workshops I’ve been involved in don’t allow the author to speak until everyone else has provided feedback. If the rule isn’t in place, follow it anyway. There is nothing worse than a defensive author interrupting feedback with rebuttals and excuses on why the reader didn’t get it or didn’t understand what they were attempting. Listen to what people say, write it down, and nod along. At some point it’ll make sense…or it won’t, and you can discard the feedback. The best response to feedback and criticism is always “thank you.” 4) Don't drink the Kool-Aid. On the opposite side of the coin, don’t put too much stock in praise. You never know when it’s honest or someone just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. Yes, I know, we all secretly need the praise. We are writers. Being insecure and needing validation come with the job description. Take the praise in, savor the moment, do a happy dance inside, and again, say “thank you” and move on. These moments are not why writers attend workshops. 5) The group isn't writing "your" story. Sometimes a workshop group will throw out ideas that make you cringe. An example: “I think your male protagonist should be a police officer, not a teacher, then he would have a reason for investigating the crime.” In your head, you think, but my story is about a teacher! From jobs to morality, people want to turn your story into their story. Focus instead on why the reader didn’t believe in your character. The simplest way to remember this is that it’s not the workshop’s job to decide anything about what your characters do and don’t do in the course of the story. It’s up to the workshop to tell you if they believed your characters would do the things they did. 6) Use a timer. While you can’t enforce this if you’re not the moderator, if you have any say at all, make everyone provide his or her feedback in a set amount of time. About a minute per person is enough time to give feedback and not overwhelm the writer. After that, people begin to sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Keeping critiques to a set time limit also forces people to be more focused in their critiques. 7) Be prepared for the stupid. In every workshop I’ve ever attended, from my undergraduate days to my MFA, there’s always been that one person who just didn’t get it. It can be the “my opinion is better than everyone else’s” guy who starts with saying all the other feedback is wrong, or the woman who doesn’t understand it’s a historical fiction piece and there are actions the protagonist must do keep the story historically accurate. The best thing to do is to simply smile and nod. It’s all you can do. Trust me, you’re not the only one in the room who’ll figure out who to listen to and who to ignore. 8) All workshops are not created equal. There are differences between college workshops, convention workshops, and online workshops. There’s a reason why so many genre writers apply for places like Odyssey Workshop and Clarion. Knowing yourself, your audience, and where you are on your writer’s journey will help you decide where you need to be. Don’t go to a convention workshop thinking you are going to dive into theme and symbolism, and sadly, don’t go into most collegiate workshops focused on the plot and tropes of your favorite genre. Also, you have to understand that most continuing workshops have their own philosophy and culture, with expected norms and techniques. What one group tells you can be the exact opposite of the next workshop group.
0 Comments
The “Martial Arts” fight scene: This form of fight scene focuses on the mechanics of the combat. Typically, the combat is explained blow-by-blow, action-by-counter action (or action/reaction/counter-action). Most often the protagonist uses a form of martial arts and often the training in this art is included in the storyline or backstory. The art does not have to be hand-to-hand. It can be swordsmanship, archery or any other form of martial training. Off the top of my head, some authors who use this technique well are Steve Perry, Eric Van Lustbader, and Jenifer Roberson.
Example: The Musashi Flex (2006) by Steve Perry Mourn fired his right elbow, caught Weems on the left ear, staggered him, but when he tried to follow up, Weems ducked the next punch and slammed his fist into Mourn’s solar plexus, knocking his wind out-- Mourn dropped to the ground and swept with his left leg. Caught Weems on the left calf and knocked him off-balance, but Weems dived away, hit in a shoulder roll, and came up-- Before Mourn could get to his feet, Weems jumped in—Jesu, he was fast!—and snapped a front kick. He blew through Mourn’s block, caught him under the left armpit, broke a couple more ribs, and lifted him with the force of it-- Mourn went with the kick, rolled away, barely avoided the stomp to his head, and managed to get into a siloh squat. Weems recognized the danger, circled to get behind him... What makes this work: More than proficient at martial arts himself, Perry uses a lot of references to techniques, but does not overdo the details of the form. The action can be very vague at times, like in this example: “Harnet darted in, threw a quick slash, and jumped back." The bottom line is that actual, vivid details are used sparingly, but when they are used, they are graphic, violent and precise. Perry’s detail lets the reader recreate the fight in their own minds step-by-step, but he doesn't micromanage the fight so much that the reading gets bogged down, except when he wants them to have precise details. Why it doesn’t always work: The writing is very cerebral and the fight scenes can lack emotion. The technique is used more to establish the expertise level of the characters, but at times it prevents the reader from getting any thrill from the fight. While some fight scenes have emotion, the emotion tends to be focused on something other than the fight or they center on the events leading up to or surrounding the fight. This technique can sometimes feel forced because a professional fighter should be able to clear his mind and focus on the fight, unless, of course, it is intended to be an event so important that it prevents the character from focusing. This method can sometimes use a lot of words to write a little action, dedicating pages to describe just a few moments of fighting. If not careful, the fight scene can literally turn into detailed stage direction. Neutral observations: Notice in the above excerpt, Perry uses a lot of action verbs that are analogous to weapons, tools and machines. The fighters “fire” punches, “wrench” things, fists “shoot” out or forward, men “launch” attacks, etc. This is a science fiction piece, so it is acceptable, but writers need to watch the terms they use in fantasy or period pieces. We don’t want to “fire” or things before gunpowder is invented because the term would not exist. Perry also uses a lot of vague, nondescript action verbs: Fighters “angle,” “circle,” “dodge,” “dart” and “lunge” quite a bit. The “Here’s What I’m Thinking” fight scene: This form of fight scene is a stop-and-go approach, pausing the action to examine what the character is thinking or feeling. Balance is extremely important in this method. Too much focus on the internal thoughts and feelings slows the action and kills all the excitement. Most authors tend to use this in some form or another, but the martial art fight scene writers tend to use it the least, opting instead for describing the mechanics of the fight.
Example: Fall of Angels (1996) by LE Modesitt, Jr. At the scream, Nylan blinked, then lifted his blade as a bearded armsman bore down. The engineer wanted to turn and flee, but he'd just get himself cut down from behind. Nylan barely managed to get the blade up to deflect the smashing blow, and his entire arm ached. He urged the mare sideways, raising his own weapon again, and hacking the bearded man, who caught Nylan's blade with the big crowbar. Again, Nylan's arm shivered, but he actually gouged a chunk of iron from the huge sword. He wished he had had the time to try his shield idea, but the armsman brought the huge blade around in a sweeping, screaming arc, and the engineer was forced back in the saddle. He could no longer see what else was happening, though he could feel the lines of white-red force flying toward and around Ryba. Almost automatically, as the attacking armsman overbalanced, Nylan felt the moves that Saryn and Ryba had drilled into him taking over, and his blade flashed-once ... twice. What makes it work: The writer takes the time to tell the reader what the protagonist is feeling and thinking, and what the protagonist extrapolates from events as they happen, giving insight to the character and making the protagonist more sympathetic to the reader. Notice above that Modesitt uses a balanced mixture of long and short sentences, and that the sentences are also balanced between the protagonist's thoughts and action of the fight. If this is the style you're going for, this balance is crucial. Why it doesn’t always work: A lack of details in the fight can sometimes create confusion that pulls the reader out of the story in order to puzzle-out exactly what is happening. When the scenes have too much internal focus, the reader loses the pacing of the fight--in other words, the fight gets boring. Neutral observations: Modesitt uses several “as X did this, Y did this” constructions per fight scene--many include actions that are not really happening at the same time and could have been written in the order they naturally occurred; however, Modesitt never uses them so much that they become distracting. When in doubt, get rid of the "as X." We authors think that "as X" constructions speed the writing up, when in fact they actually slow it down. Notice that no technical descriptions where given to any of the movements that would imply formal training, but there are references to acting without thought due to hours of practicing. If your more inclined to get into the mechanics of the fight, read entry #1 on "The Martial Arts" fight scene. The “Weapons do the Fighting” scene: In this technique, the weapons appear to do the fighting most of the time, not the people. This is pretty much self explanatory, but to make it simple, weapons take on a life of their own and sometimes display human characteristics.
Example: The Last of the Renshai (1992) by Mickey Zucker Reichert Another arrow cleaved air. Garn dodged, but not far enough. The point drew a gash along his arm, flaring pain that only fueled his rage. Nantel's men closed in to protect their leader as Garn fell upon them like a wounded wolf. His sword slashed a red line through one's chest. Unprepared for the complete commitment of Garn to battle, the first fell dead without a return stroke. Another twisted, escaping Garn's savage swipe more from luck than skill. Nantel tossed aside his useless bow, and it skittered off behind him, clattering on cobble. Drawing his sword, he elbowed for a position among his men. Garn jabbed a knee into an attacker's groin. The guard doubled over, baring his head to a hilt stroke that shattered his skull. Spots swam before Garn's vision. One step closer to Nantel, he gave himself fully over to battle lust. From another section: Rache's sword flashed in offense only once; it licked across Garn's neck. What makes it work: When used sparingly, the focus on the weapons and instruments make for a nice break from the protagonist stabbing, cutting, hacking and swinging sharp metal objects all the time. The writer just has to be careful that there are not a bunch of “ghost weapons” fighting the battle. Remember that the book or story is about a person, not their weapons, and that this technique weakens the character when overused. Basically, the weapons are doing all the work, and therefore the reader consciously or unconsciously does not credit the protagonist with the fighting skill. This is not always a bad thing, which is why it is included in the “makes it work” section. It's a good technique to use with a novice swordsman/fighter. In this way, the writer can have the protagonist win the fight, but create a hollow victory that doesn’t make the character such a “badass” in the reader’s mind. Why it doesn’t always work: While these two examples are not indicative of the whole book, Reichert uses it much of the time. The arrow cleaves the air, the point gashes the protagonist, the sword slashes a red line, and the sword licks across a neck. There is a palpable separation between the protagonist and the weapons, and besides weakening the character, it can become quite distracting to the reader when overused. The “Story Teller” fight scene: In my mind, this is strongest form of fight scene writing, and it's been used by many recent successful novels. This form is all about the writing style of the author and the authenticity of the viewpoint character, meaning that for the technique to work, the writer must capture the personality of the viewpoint character perfectly.
Example: The Blade Itself (2006) by Joe Abercrombie It wasn’t ’til the Dogman was hid behind a bush with his bow in his hand and a shaft at the ready that he realised. He’d no idea what the signal was. He looked down at the Shanka, still sat there all unwary, grunting and shouting and banging about. By the dead he needed to piss. Always needed to piss before a fight. Had anyone said the signal? He couldn’t remember. “Shit,” he whispered, and just then Dow came hurtling out from the trees, axe in one hand, sword in the other. “Fucking Flatheads!” he screamed, giving the nearest a fearsome big blow in the head and splattering blood across the clearing. In so far as you could tell what a Shanka was thinking, these ones looked greatly surprised. Dogman reckoned that would have to do for a signal. He let loose his shaft at the nearest Flathead, just reaching for a big club and watched it catch it through the armpit with a satisfying thunk. “Hah!” he shouted. He saw Dow spit another through the back with his sword, but there was a big Shanka now with a spear ready to throw. An arrow came looping out of the trees and stuck it through the neck, and it let go a squeal and sprawled out backwards. That Grim was a damn good shot. Now Threetrees came roaring from the scrub on the other side of the clearing, catching them off guard. He barged one Flathead in the back with his shield and it sprawled face-first into the fire, he hacked at another with his sword. The Dogman let go a shaft and it stuck a Shanka in its gut. It dropped down on its knees and a moment later Tul took its head off with a great swing of his sword. The fight was joined and moving quick—chop, grunt, scrape, rattle. There was blood flying and weapons swinging and bodies dropping too fast for the Dogman to try an arrow at. The three of them had the last few hemmed in, squawking and gibbering. Tul Duru was swinging his big sword around, keeping them at bay. Threetrees darted in and chopped the legs out from under one, and Dow cut another down as it looked round. The last one squawked and made a run for the trees. Dogman shot at it, but he was hurrying and he missed. The arrow almost hit Dow in the leg, but luckily he didn’t notice. It had almost got away into the bushes, then it squealed and fell back, thrashing. Forley had stabbed it, hiding in the scrub. “I got one!” he yelled. What makes it work: Abercrombie has a gift for creating vivid, unique characters, each with a powerful voice. In the example above, the protagonist is a lowborn, somewhat wild, Northman who has spent his whole life fighting. The reader can almost ascertain all of this just from the voice of the character, and the rhythm and flow feel as if a great storyteller is telling the story in a hall or at a campfire. There is also a “grittiness” to the fight above, and to most of Abercrombie’s fight scenes, but Abercrombie does change the style enough from character to character to keep the feelings and descriptions authentic to the POV characters. Why it doesn’t always work: Not all writers are great “storytellers.” When the writer fails to capture the voice of the character well, the fighting becomes distant and feels like the author is telling the reader about the fight third hand (as in the dreaded workshop words: you are telling vs. showing). Neutral observations: There are a lot of action verbs. Keeping these verbs in the tone of the viewpoint character is vital to maintaining excitement and tension, keeping the description authentic to the character, and moving the scene along at a rolling, fast pace. The “Professional” fight scene: While this technique is similar to the “Martial Art” technique, there are some differences that make it a superior. Like the “Martial Art” technique, there are some play-by-play moments, but they are done purposefully to show how efficient the character fights, not for the sake of showing the technique and moves. There is a subtle difference. To really get a sense of this method, think of it as watching a fight scene under a strobe light, with the author choosing which moments are lit and which are dark.
Example: The Way of Shadows (2008) by Brent Weeks The young Khalidoran’s sword had barely cleared its scabbard when Kylar disemboweled him. Then he danced past the man, throwing a knife with his left hand, parting hardened leather armor and ribs with an upward cut, and guiding a sword hand past his side and the sword into another soldier’s body in a smooth motion. Kylar jerked his head forward into a highlander’s face and spun with the man quickly. The man’s back absorbed the captain’s halberd with a meaty crunch. Kylar dropped under a slash and stabbed up into a highlander’s groin with his wakizashi. On his back, he knocked the man backward with a kick, and used the force of the kick to spring to his feet. Six men were dead or down. Four remained. The first was impetuous. He charged with a yell, something about Kylar killing his brother. A parry and riposte, and brother joined brother. The last three moved forward together. What makes it work: The fight scene moves quickly and efficiently, not lingering on a lot of back-and-forth attacks and parries. This works very well when we want to display a protagonist that is an expert...well in Kylar's case above, a master. There is little feeling in the fight scene. In the third paragraph above, the protagonist’s nonchalance subtly gives some insight into how he feels, but as a whole, this type of fight scene does not have time for emotion and feeling. Fighting is a time of action; feelings come later. This is obviously a generalization and not the rule for every fight in the book. A first kill, for instance, has more insight into the character’s emotional state, but still an insignificant amount in comparison to the “Here’s What I’m Thinking” style. Why it doesn’t always work: Blink and you miss something! While you can often skim paragraphs in a “Martial Arts” fight scene, you can’t do this while reading the “professional” method because the writing sacrifices clarity for speed. In the three small paragraphs above, the protagonist dispatches six attackers. At times, this technique can feel rushed and leave the reader breathless and confused. In the section above, I personally had to pause at the line “On his back...” because I didn’t know how or who had ended up on the ground. It wasn’t clear. Neutral observations: As the scene above shows, there is as much, if not more, focus on the damage that results from the attacks than on the fight itself. While not as bloody and gruesome as the “carnage” technique, there is generally the same amount of death and damage. The difference is in the shorter, cleaner descriptions. The author does not spend his or her time focusing on the damage. The “Vengeance Driven” fight scene: This technique is like a mini Mel Gibson revenge thriller and the scene is generally superfluous to the primary plot-line. It is a direct, no-nonsense fight, usually for the side of good, or at least to destroy evil, that is cathartic for the reader. This fight has no real benefit to the plot, but it shows the protagonist accomplishing something that is beneficial for himself or humanity as a whole and establishes his prowess in battle.
Example: The Complete Chronicles Of The Jerusalem Man (1996) by David Gemmell Shannow fought to hold the surging anger, but it engulfed him and he pushed himself to his feet, his hands curling around the butts of his pistols. He stepped into sight and the men scrambled to their feet, dragging knives and hatchets from their belts of rope and hide. Shannow's guns came up and then he spoke. "Thou shall be visited by the Lord of Hosts with thunder and with earthquake and great noise . . ." He triggered the pistols and two men flew backwards. The other five screamed and charged. One went down with a bullet in the brain, a second fell clutching his belly. A third reached Shannow and the man's hatchet flashed for his head, but Shannow blocked the blow with his right arm and thrust the left-hand pistol under the attacker's chin. The top of his head flowered like a scarlet bloom. A club caught Shannow on the side of the head and he fell awkwardly; his pistol fired, shattering a man's knee. As a knife-blade rose above his face, Shannow rolled and shot the wielder in the chest. The man fell across him, but Shannow pushed the body clear and lurched to his feet. The man with the shattered knee was crawling backwards. ". . . and great noise, with storm and tempest and the flame of devouring fire." The cannibal raised his arms against the pistols, covering his eyes. Shannow fired twice, the shells smashing through the outstretched hands and into the face beyond, and the man pitched back. Shannow staggered and fell to his knees; his head was pounding and his vision blurred and swam. He took a deep breath, pushing back the nausea that threatened to swamp him. A movement to his right! He pointed his pistol and a child screamed. "It's all right." said Shannow groggily. "I'll not harm you. 'Suffer little children to come unto me.' Just give me a moment." He sat back and felt his head. The skin was split at the temple and blood was drenching his face and shirt. He sheathed his guns and crawled to the children, cutting them free. What makes it work: This type of scene helps establish the protagonist’s character. In the example above we see that humans who have become cannibals in Gemmel’s post-apocalyptic world create a righteous anger in the protagonist, and that the protagonist is driven to destroy them without mercy for their evil. In other words, the quick fight serves as a form of character description, not as part of a plot movement. David Gemmel used this technique in several of his works. Why it doesn’t always work: Because it is not central to the plotline, the reader knows with 100% confidence that the protagonist will survive and win, so there is no risk for the reader. While this is generally true of all fight scenes involving the protagonist, it is especially true on a “random encounter” that the reader knows the author will not use to sacrifice his king or queen. Neutral observations: The protagonist almost always suffers a minor wound that will have no bearing later. This is an attempt heighten the low stakes of the battle. The “Clever Hero” fight scene: This technique is less about the fighting and more about the clever trick that will defeat the enemy. The battle, therefore, is staged so that this can happen. The most well known book that uses this technique consistently throughout the story is probably Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. In Ender’s Game, battles effectively become puzzles that are won, and I am not speaking just about the gambit at the finale that wins the war, but the earlier battles in the war room. Numerous books use this technique in fight scenes to establish a clever hero.
Example: Prince of Thorns (2011) Mark Lawrence “If I die, the succession will be clear,” I said. “Your Scorron whore will give you a new son, and you’ll be rid of me. Gone for good, like Mother and William. And you won’t have to send dear old Father Gomst trawling the mire to prove it.” I took a moment to bow toward the Queen. “No offence, your majesty.” “Galen!” Father’s voice was a roar. “Kill this devil, for he’s no son of mine!” I ran then, crunching emerald leaves under hard leather. Sir Galen charged from the centre star, trailing his black sword behind him, shouting for my blood. He came fast enough, but the fight with Makin had taken some of his wind. I knocked an old woman from my path, she went down spitting teeth, pearls spilling from her broken necklace. I won free of the courtiers and kept on running, angled away from Galen. He’d given up the shouting but I could hear him behind me, the thud of his boots and the rasp of his breath. He must have been a hand above six foot, but lighter armour and fresher wind made up for my shorter legs. As we ran, I pulled out my sword. There were charms enough in its edge to put a notch in that Turkman blade. I threw it away. I didn’t need the weight. Little space remained to me. The left wall loomed just yards ahead, Galen moments behind. I’d been aiming for one guardsman in particular, a younger fellow with fair sideburns and an open mouth. By the time he realized I wasn’t veering away, it was too late. I hit him with the vambrace over my right forearm. The blow hammered his head back against the wall and he slid down it with no further interest in the proceedings. I caught the crossbow in my left hand, turned, and shot Galen through the bridge of the nose. The bolt barely made it through his skull. It’s one of the drawbacks in keeping them loaded, but still it should have been tightened only hours before. In any event, most of the Teuton’s brain left by the back of his head and he fell down very dead. What makes it work: This technique is by far the best way to create tension in a fight scene. The reason for this is that it places the protagonist in combat situations the reader knows cannot be won through sheer prowess, heightening the belief that maybe the protagonist will not escape the danger. The fight scene also works to show that the protagonist is smarter than those around him or her. Nobody likes to root for an average person. The ability to use both the brain and the brawn in combat makes the protagonist stand out and be admired. Why it doesn’t always work: This technique fails when the writer overuses it or creates an unbelievable solution to the fight. The key is to create a solution for the protagonist that is clever enough to win the fight, but not so clever as to seem staged or ridiculous. The writer also needs to make sure that the solution to winning the fight is not found by “pulling a rabbit out of a hat.” Anything used in the fight should be well established in previous chapters or at least early in the chapter well before the fight. Neutral observations: The trivial fact about crossbows losing their pull after sitting too long at the end of this fight scene ads authenticity to the story, and it is a great example of using well-researched and useful knowledge without info-dumping. The “Carnage" fight scene: As mentioned in the “Professional” fight scene, the "Carnage" fight scene focuses on the death and damage created by the fight more than the fight itself. The action verbs match the tone; both attacks and movements “tear,” “rip,” “burn,” etc.
Example: Empress (2007) by Karen Miller A spear thrust took his stallion through its throat, it plunged to the sloppy ground and sent him flying. He struck, he rolled, and found his feet. The dead and dying clogged the plain beneath him, he had no choice but to tread upon them as he fought for his life. A glancing knife slash opened his cheek, he felt the blow but not its pain. An arrow struck him in the thigh; he snapped it off and kept on fighting. He knew the faces of the warriors beside him, but he couldn’t remember their names. They lived, they died, they fell or they fought on. Names no longer mattered. All that mattered was victory for Et-Raklion. Thrust—slash—stab—scream—over and over and over again. Breath seared and tearing, lungs in flames, muscles over-reached and burning, blood from his breached body slicking flesh, pumping hot. Kill. Kill. Kill. He caught a glimpse of Bajadek through the madness, painted in blood and wielding a broad axe. The warlord looked demonstruck, he was weeping, laughing. Four arrows jutted from his leather breastplate and two from his arm; if he felt them his pain did not show. Raklion shouted as a Bajadek warrior rose before him. Half her face was cut away, peeled from the skull like the skin of a peach. As he lifted his spear to skewer her like goat-meat her head was shattered by an Et-Raklion slingshotter’s stone. He leapt her body and stabbed a warrior striking for Dokoy Spear-leader’s back. What makes it work: The carnage fight scene heightens the severity of the stakes of the battle by focusing the reader on the brutal outcomes of men and women hacking each other to pieces. Why it doesn’t always work: It is easy for this method to turn into a gore-fest if the writer isn’t careful. Moderation is the key to using this technique successfully. If every fight is "Carnage" fight, the reader will simply become acclimatized to the violence and the technique will lose its effectiveness. Neutral observations: In the four paragraphs above, none of the attacks or moves are described in detail. They aren't needed. There is no place for finesse in this type of fight. The “Magic” fight scene: The magical fight scene is a story specific fight scene that can’t be understood without knowledge of the way the created world operates. In this technique the author must invent his or her own rules for how battles are fought. As such, consistency and logical progression/extrapolation are the most important rules for writing these scenes. In other words, the world and the fight must make sense and follow the established rules of the story.
Example: Mistborn: The Final Empire (2006) by Brandon Sanderson Something’s wrong. Vin ducked and threw herself to the side as a handful of glittering coins—her coins, the ones her opponent had Pushed away—shot back down from the sky into her opponent’s hand. He turned and sprayed them in her direction. Vin dropped her daggers with a quiet yelp, thrusting her hands forward and Pushing on the coins. Immediately, she was thrown backward as her Push was matched by her opponent. One of the coins lurched in the air, hanging directly between the two of them. The rest of the coins disappeared into the mists, pushed sideways by conflicting forces. Vin flared her steel as she flew, and heard her opponent grunt as he was Pushed backward as well. Her opponent hit the wall. Vin slammed into a tree, but she flared pewter and ignored the pain. She used the wood to brace herself, continuing to Push. The coin quivered in the air, trapped between the amplified strength of two Allomancers. The pressure increased. Vin gritted her teeth, feeling the small aspen bend behind her. Her opponent’s Pushing was relentless. Will...not...be beaten! Vin thought, flaring both steel and pewter, grunting slightly as she threw the entire force of her strength at the coin What makes it work: Reading this without knowing the rules makes it impossible to understand, and this was a simple example chosen for its clarity. Most of the fight scenes in this book are much more complicated, being intertwined with rules for magic far outside the laws of our own reality, or the logic of most fantasy novels for that matter. That being said, if the author can create a logical, believable world that is something extraordinary, then the fight scenes will be something the reader never forgets, something far outside normal, run-of-the-mill battles. For the fight scenes in this book, the reader must know that by ingesting metal flakes the protagonist can “burn” them for magical powers, with different metals and different combinations creating different effects. Why it doesn’t always work: It is hard to pull this technique off and keep, as Samuel Coleridge would say, the reader’s willing suspension of disbelief. Neutral observations: Sanderson writes with a natural balance of action-counter action, inner thought and feeling, and description that flows beautifully across the page without pushing the reader too fast or slowing the action down. The “Final Duel” fight scene: This is not exactly a technique so much as the others on this list, but it’s still important enough to be discussed. The final duel (or fight) must give the reader more than just a battle victory. It must, at some point in the fight (or immediately after it), impart what the fight means to the protagonist. In other words, the results of the fight must create a final point of growth and bring closure to the story, or if it is the end of a book within a series, it should bring the realization of something greater as a result of the mayhem.
Example: The Black Company (1984) by Glen Cook I was on my feet in an instant, wobbling, slapping another arrow across my bow. Catcher’s horse was down with a broken leg. Catcher was beside her, on hands and knees, stunned. A silver arrowhead protruded from her waist, indicting me. I loosed my shaft. And another, and another, recalling the terrible vitality the Limper had shown in the Forest of Cloud, after Raven had felled him with an arrow bearing the power of his true name. Still in fear, I drew my sword once my final arrow was gone. I charged. I do not know how I retained the weapon through everything that had happened. I reached Catcher, raised the blade high, swung with a vicious two-handed stroke. It was the most fearful, violent blow I have ever struck. Soulcatcher’s head roiled away. The morion’s face guard popped open. A woman’s face stared at me with accusing eyes. A woman almost identical in appearance to the one with whom I had come. Catcher’s eyes focused upon me. Her lips tried to form words. I stood there frozen, wondering what the hell it all meant. And life faded from Catcher before I caught the message she tried to impart. I would return to that moment ten thousand times, trying to read those dying lips. What makes it work: While Cook’s final fight scene of the book does not provide his protagonist with the answers he is looking for, notice that the fight does turn away from the external battle to the internal struggle within the protagonist to find meaning. The answer here is that there is no meaning to the war and death--that it will continue. As shown here, the final fight doesn’t have to resolve all the conflicts within the character, just the external conflict. Why it doesn’t always work: I chose this book because it has a very overt example of the technique. Such an obvious message to the reader does not always work well because it can feel as if the author is telling the reader how they should feel. Even if you are tempted, don't do this. A good writer leads the reader to the conclusion, but doesn't dictate how the reader should fee. |
CategoriesArchives |
RSS Feed