Writing Fight Scenes

[slavandria]

Robin, I struggled with the same problem as you until I read the novels by Raymond Feist, and then it all became too clear what I'd been doing wrong. I don't know what sort of stories you write, but I'm sure you can look at what he does, draw inspiration from it and incorporate your own style and version into your story. I won a small prize in a writers group once for having the best fight scene (not that it means a whole lot in the scheme of things except this group is cut-throat and ruthless). I know I have a lot to still learn and I'm no expert by any means but I'd like to share what I wrote (since I can't copy Raymond Feist's works without breaking some copyright law) and see if you can pull anything from it that you can find beneficial. I find the more you access all the senses, the better your scene will be. Discarding directional tags is also difficult but very important.

Anyway, here's a portion of a fight scene I have in my novel. I hope you can find something to use as far as getting information across without 'directing' your characters.

***

Trog dove into the throng of men. “No!” he wailed. He elbowed a soldier in the face and caught the discarded weapon in mid-air. With a sword in both hands, he swung around and landed a blow to the two soldiers closest to Eric. One blade removed an arm. The second blow sheared straight through flesh, gristle and bone; the man's head fell forward and bounced hideously across the floor. The hiss of an arrow from a crossbow sang through the air, catching Trog in the shoulder. The force of it threw him backward. Two more arrows struck him in the chest.

Eric yelled. Mustering what little strength he could, he grasped his own sword and swung, but missed his targets. Arms twice the size of his lifted him from the floor. A fist drove deep into his gut. He crumpled in two. At his feet, Trog sat against the wall like a discarded rag doll, his face beaten, his wounds bleeding profusely.

Bainesworth knelt down and grappled Trog’s head from his chest. “You have twenty-four hours to hand-deliver the paladin to Einar. Do so, I'll give you your squire back in one piece. If you don’t, there won't be enough left of him to feed to the dogs. Understood?” He smashed Trog’s head against the cold stone.

The soldiers dragged Eric from the cottage, his hands held tight behind his back. The frigid rain hammered like needles against his naked skin. Blood ran in rivulets down his arms and chest; the drops pooled at his feet. He swallowed the metallic taste in his mouth. Bainesworth approached and grasped Eric's hair, forcing his head backwards.

"So you're Trog's prodigy," he said, cupping Eric's chin in the crook of his fingers. His breath smelled rank like rotten meat. "Pitiful. Perhaps I should keep you as my own pupil for awhile." His forefinger brushed Eric's cheek. "Toughen you up a bit, hmm?"

A wad of blood and phlegm smacked Bainesworth's face. "Go to hell," Eric said.

Bainesworth sneered. "And so I shall." He nodded at the two soldiers holding Eric's arms. "Finish him."

***

I hope this helps some.

jen

http://jennykellerford.wordpress.com