Anatomy of an Action Scene

[Rascal]

What do you look for in an action scene? How do you write an action scene and make it memorable? How do you stab the other guy with a pointy metal stick and make it interesting?

Like different types of Kungfu, there are many ways to write action into a story. No one way is absolutely correct or wrong so everyone is more than welcome to contribute to this thread.

How do YOU make a writing scene work?

[The Grey Coincidence]

In my time reading and writing on/for the Kung Fu Panda fanfiction archive I have picked up on quite a few 'action tropes'. I'm not going to say exactly how I write a fight scene because the answer to that is 'depends on the scene' so I'll just list a few writing styles/ tonal things I've noticed.

The tone of the action piece can easily be manipulated by the amount of dialogue and the setting. Now the setting part is probably obvious, but I think it's just safe to say that (imnsho) an epic duel over a field of flowing, firey magma wouldn't evoke the same emotion as a fight over a calm, tranquil river. Also remember that fight scenes are a great way to show character growth. The setting can really come into that and can serve as a metaphor. For example, say your character has just found Inner Peace. Suddenly, the waves seem less tumultous, the wind stops, etc etc Or maybe as your berserker is about to start berserking the flame of a candle spreads towards the curtains, or perhaps a flash of lightning streaks across the sky.

So my first note for anyone writing a fight scene to keep in mind/ignore completely, is to keep an eye on the background. You're painting a picture with words. I want to see what's happening around the characters, how their fight is impacting the environment. Perhaps there is no background? If so, what does this serve.

TLDR, Setting is important.

Now, earlier on I mentioned dialogue. I'm going to get into that after apologizing for the way I write. I ramble, I go off on tangents, none of this is very clear. Sorry about that.

Now, if your characters are trading one-liners and quipping more than a Marvel character you... probably don't have a very 'serious' action scene. Obviously it can still work, but I think the more dialogue there is the less the characters care about the actual fight. You can use this in a variety of ways. Perhaps character A just won't shut up and keeps talking, and talking and talking, while character B is giving it their all and trying harder and harder to block out the constant barrage of verbiage. Such a scenario is another example of character development through action. Character A comes off as confident, sure of themselves and a little bit careless. Character B is probably quick-tempered, maybe a little desperate, determined etc etc

I guess my point is something along the lines of 'the more dialogue there is, the less focus there is on the action'. A more intense fight would have less talking, a more lighthearted fight would have more.

Final point I can think of is describing individual motions in the action vs being more broad in your descriptions. But I think a lot of that comes down to writing style and I think you should always use a mix of both.

[Rascal]

I'm not an expert by any means, but here are my two cents.

My own style of writing tends to stay out of the character's heads. You see the world, not through their eyes, but a little camera hovering just over their shoulder. I don't like 'telling' emotion like an anime cartoon where the character takes five minutes to over-analyze to the audience what they are doing and why, and how they feel about it. The audience should be able to easily see this through their actions.

Facial expressions, changes in banter, how far they are willing to go to win all speak louder than internal dialog.

How a character fights can show off your character's personality. How well they adapt to the situation. Are they disciplined, are they just flailing their weapon at the enemy? What enemy do they rush into, what enemy do they shy away from. Avatar the Last Air Bender, Legend of Kora, First two seasons of Rwby are all great examples of how to show off personality through combat.

Don't be afraid to weaponize the environment. How does it get in the way? Cramped hallways, cluttered rooms, slippery mud slopes near the river can add an unexpected twist to a story. How does the legendary warrior handle fighting in a market place crowded with innocent civilians against a common thief who just doesn't care?

I like to keep action fluid. Short, simple, stupid. From simple fistfights to detailed scenes of armies trying to outflank each other, the reader should be able to follow it easily. I like to keep words short and too the point. It's like a cannon. When you fire off an action scene it should just GO. If the reader has to backtrack even for a moment to understand what is going on, then you just lost the impact of the fight.

Lastly, make it a spectacle. Make it fun. An action scene should be more than ordinary, even if it's realistic. My character Elliot was a pure experiment in expressing personality only through combat with no dialog. He had ... mixed results, some hit home, some didn't. For me, the fight scene did not start until all three hares attacked him. The fight was ordinary until the game got flipped upside down and now his life is in danger.

So yeah, that. Don't be afraid to turn the tables on the reader. After all, an action scene is like a roller coaster ride. Once you get used to the ups and downs, it does an sideways loop through a ring of fire.

[multiplemint]

I definitely like punctuating the action with shorter, choppier diction (it's why I liked Antonia's fight so much). Probably the best action I've personally written was Solgrim's death in MM2 -- written from first-person like all of Jinck's posts were: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6706973/45/Midnight-Mossflower-2-Fire-and-Brimstone

[spoiler]"Must be one of the mottles getting into something," Viv had said. Now, just a few moments later, I was stuck wrestling a chubby ratling to the ground, pinning him down no matter what he outweighed me.

"'Ey, Kap! Get on over -"

That's right, Kap was still off with the Doctor. And Ma was in the kitchen. Which left -

"Burrley! Dip into that ol' haversack I brought down. Git 'em somethin' t' quiet their stomachs an' fill their gobs!" I called out.

Then, I wrestled a paw free and gave the brat below me a firm shake by his neck. It made his head flop about like Marigold's old dolly. "Calm down, ye idjit."

"Burr, who'm be-a wantin' som o' this hurr fruit'n'nutters?" Her naturally deep voice was pitched high; her affected "mother tones" grated on me, the pale imitation of Ma that they were.

It was the work of a moment - a few wriggles through the throng of beasts in Great Hall - and I made it to the kitchen's doorway. An angry screech called out from within.

Ma! I barreled through the door, gritting my teeth at the impact.

Carnage. I stood, frozen to the cool stone as my eyes ran across a pair of feathered figures cloaked in dark liquid. The buzzard was laying prone with mother above him, shooting me a worried glance.

Wait a second... that's not blood. I allowed myself to exhale, then inhale. I took in the scents of the room: fear, old smoke, and a deep, velvety berry. Jam.

Viv's voice came in a "Jinck, I don't know what happened. He just -"

She was cut off by a gurgle from Solgrim. Mother and I took a step back from the great mottled mass as he began to stir himself to waking. My eyes drifted down to his talons, which were flexing on the remains of a mass of green fabric and frayed white fluff - some kind of doll.

"Kahh." The buzzard exhaled the harsh exclamation, his head rising to glare at the threesome before him: me, Viv, and the ruined doll. They settled on the doll, then went wide, his beak curling up into a familiar snarl. "What did you do!"

The screech pushed both of us back a pace. Ma's wing smacked my paw as we both tried to shield the other from the buzzard. She spoke up: "Now, Solgrim, it was an accident. When you fell..."

"Shut up!" Solgrim began working himself into a fit, rending the cloth at his feet. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!"

Viv let me win out and inched her way to the door. I kept my gaze on the bird, but flared my nostrils, sniffing for yesterday's lunch and its cutting board - there to my left.

The buzzard's voice was thick with rage. "I'm finished with this. If I'm no mercenary, I have no treaty. You destroyed my property, you maggot. You attacked me outside. Your very existence mocks me. If I've no treaty, then I'll exact my revenge."

"Go on, Ma. Go see t' th' mottles. Burrley's tryin' t' keep 'em in line by herself." My voice came out slower than I expected. My heart was having none of it, though, and was beating furiously.

"Jinck..." She sounded unsure.

"Go on. I'll meet ye in there. 'S a fight that he wants."

"An' that's why I'm not -"

"Dammit, Ma!" I half-turned and gave her a shove. "Out! Don't argue, fer once. If it's with me, he'll have a scrap an' go. If it's you, he'll kill you."

Then he'll probably eat you, the savage.

"Weasel, you've not got a peck of sense if you think I'm going any-"

"Enough talk!" Solgrim cut our conversation short by lunging forward. We split, dodging in either direction. His talons gouged into the counter between us. I raced toward the fish-scent, snatching the carving knife as I ran by.

When I didn't feel the breeze of a set of wings at my tail, my heart hammered faster. I caught the edge of a table and spun.

Solgrim was pursuing Viv. She darted along the pot racks that dangled from the ceiling, always keeping a cast-iron shield between her and the buzzard. His beak snaked between the cookware, snapping at her tailfeathers. As she reached the end of the rack, he pecked one of the pans hard, sending it end over end into her.

His cry of victory drowned out her own squawk of distress. Both went silent; she lay still, knocked out from the blow. My vision blurred, except for Solgrim, who stood over her sharper and more colorful than ever. He smirked. "Come on then, whelp. Try to protect the maggot-loving wretch you call mother."

I growled low in my throat and moved around the table to the center of the kitchen. Solgrim stood his ground, and even placed a talon on mother's leg. "I could just squeeze, lad. Imagine her hopping about on one foot like a drunken heron."

"Stoppit!" My voice broke, now. "Leave 'er alone!"

He smiled. I remembered Viv saying that he savored this part most. He relished the moment before... "If you're going to stop me with that feeble knife, you'd best do it fast."

I charged. It was a stupid move and I knew it, but my vision had closed in on his talon on hers. I rushed forward, paws battling stones, and was met by a hard, feathered wall.

The world spun; red stone and brown feathers meshed into a sienna swirl as light blows knocked my head from side to side. My ears rang and my mouth ran dry. Still, I struck out with the knife, whipping it in front of me at the offending wings.

They paused mid-buffet, giving me enough of a reprieve to scrabble back, away from the buzzard. Mocking laughter followed me, as Solgrim settled back in to his position above ma. "Again, little mite?"

I got to my feet and shook my head, trying to clear out the fog that was trying to settle in there. I felt flushed, but my paw was cold on the knife's grip.

This time I didn't charge, but slid inside the range of his wings, keeping myself crouched low. When no attacks came from above, I hop-skipped forward and thrust at the great belly before me. A hiss punctuated my thrust.

The hiss turned to a gasp. I missed - Solgrim danced backward. A burning flare spread across my head, and I clapped a paw there.

I didn't need to see the white tuft to know what happened. A throb built up where my ear had been, matching my own pulse in intensity. The stink of the room melted away as I felt my focus sharpen.

I'm never gonna get 'im. He sees it every time. And then he'll... I heard a rushing in my ears. My limbs went numb, and a smoldering coal burnt in my belly. I stopped thinking. I moved.

My body leapt to the tabletop and shifted my weight to one side. Solgrim gave a squawk of surprise and stepped back. A clicking, guttural hiss worked its way out of me and I leapt again, twisting in midair and slashing out at the bird. The smell of blood exploded onto my senses, turning brown down into a bright orange - a vibrant target. I slithered low this time, almost along the ground. A talon struck near me; I felt a tightness in my side, but it was a trifle. I hopped toward the limb, not away. I lashed out again, was rewarded with more blood, more colors dancing before me - it shifted to a hazy pink, now. His worried shriek was a delight.

The pain in my side was nagging, like the kits inside trying to get my attention. I ignored it. I rose tall and rocked back and forth, willing the buzzard to move with me. He was most obliging, trying to peck wildly at me. My collar and bib burned now, too, but they still moved when I commanded.

He reared back, wings flapping at me, readying himself for a final blow.

I dove at him, at the hard muscles of his chest. The knife was too short to kill, and it stuck in his ribs. The heat and noise and blood finally made the world run red. My eyes narrowed and focused on his neck. I pushed off of the floor with my paws. I levered myself with the knife. He screamed in my ear and scratched at my back and tried to toss himself backwards.

But I found my mark. Through down and flesh, my teeth dug into his neck. Salt and sinew and pain all battered my mouth, but it knew better. It clenched. It tore. It clung to the struggling form beneath it.

Soon enough, the struggling stopped.

The struggling stopped.

Then, the world rushed back, hot and noisome, and the rushing in my ear quieted until I heard only two beasts breathing. The fountained pulse that had played on my tongue slowed to a trickle.

Oh Fates. Fates fates fates fates.

My claws clicked against the flagstones as I scrabbled away from the mangled body. My eyes darted to Viv's form, which was still, but breathing.

They were all right. They were right. I'm a vermin. I'm a killer. I'm - she won't want me, now.

I was sick, then.

I ran.

end of week four.[/spoiler]

Now, looking back, there were a few times when I got a little wordy in the midst of the action, and there are a few cliches in there. But, overall, I like it when an action scene "brings the camera in closer". Focus tightly on the action and the characters. Feel free to go a little stream-of-consciousness to punctuate the hectic nature and flow of it. Mostly, I want to be swept along with the action.