Writing Action Sequences

Actions speak louder than words―until they don’t.

“Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say.” ― Alan Watts

When it comes to writing action sequences, many writers either find themselves at a loss for words, or they say so much that they inadvertently (and figuratively, we hope) punch themselves and their captive audience right in the face with all the oversharing.

Compared to exposition or even dialogue, action sections or “scenes” are temperamental as hell. Think of writing one in much the same way you would go about defusing a bomb. You can’t move too fast, but you’d better not take your sweet time, either. Manhandle it, and you’re not long for this world. Treat it too lightly, and you won’t figure out how it works and successfully avoid a rather big bang.

Because action can be so difficult to nail down on the page, it’s one of the areas I hear the most complaints about from my fellow writers: that and romantic stuff, physical or otherwise. And while I much prefer writing action to romance, but generally speaking, I can see where these writers are coming from. It’s a tricky balancing act, but if you keep a few simple rules in mind as you write―and definitely when you’re chugging through some self-edits―then I can promise that editors like yours truly won’t need that red pen as much in regards to your main character’s high-speed chases, duels, or rowdy bar fights.

Onomato-what-eia?

Boom. Whack. Clang. We’ve all heard of onomatopoeia, or words that, when pronounced aloud, mimic the sound of the action or thing they describe for rhetorical effect. If you ever read comics or watched early superhero shows and movies, these words pop up during every fist fight and every showdown with the big bad (“Holy overcompensation, Batman!”).

The thing is, you don’t have to confine yourself to these words, or even clunky adverbs, to get your point across in an action sequence. In fact, your readers will thank you for limiting their use in what should be quick, snappy parts of your story. Both of these devices certainly have their uses, but when a character is battling for his or her life, or throwing punches to win the title and get the girl/guy, or contending with Mother Nature on the open sea, stick to active verbs as much as possible. Kick. Grab. Throw. These will carry your action sequences forward and help keep your reader as invested in the outcome as you were when you wrote it. And above all, remember the wise words of English teacher John Keating in Dead Poets Society.

“So avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys―to woo women―and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do. It also won’t do in your essays.”

Pace yourself

Have you ever read a book that should have had you on the edge of your seat, but instead you found yourself drifting off or mentally adding things to your grocery list? On the other hand, maybe the author did all the right things to ramp the final confrontation up, but then it was over so quickly that you felt a tad cheated.

Both of these letdowns typically occur because of faulty pacing and poor sentence structure. Just like exposition and character backstory can drag on or leave much to be desired, so can action sequences. It’s all about finding that sweet spot, that perfect structural balance between too much and too little. Preferences will differ from one reader to the next, but that magical formula does exist and it does define a healthy range within which writers of fiction should operate if they want to truly hook their audience.

Whenever you finish writing an action-packed segment, stop, walk away, and do something else for a few minutes. When your mind is clear, come back and read what you wrote with fresh eyes. The idea is to approach it like a casual reader, not the writer who set the scene and pulled the characters’ strings. Are you bored? Are you so tense that you’re worried about the state of your nail beds? Does the execution and outcome of all that action make sense, set up the next plot point, and coincide with the level of intensity you need to convey in order to match the overall tone of the narrative? If your sentences are too long and winding, find a way to rephrase them and keep the same meaning, but achieve a better effect. “Short, sweet, and to the point” should be your mantra when you write action sequences. No one wants to read how your main character ran from one end of the hall to the other, then looked over his shoulder only to find that he was about to tumble down a partially concealed staircase that he never would have guessed was there, and…

See what I mean? And if this is where the process bogs you down, try getting up and mapping it out for yourself as best you can. You can even grab a friend and pretend you’re on the set of a movie, blocking out the scene before the cameras come into play. It works for dialogue and working to music as a guide, so it stands to reason that you can make action more authentic with a little real-world application. You might feel a little silly, but it’s for the art, right?

Sensory overload

If you’re reading this, you’re probably already familiar with the concept of showing rather than telling. When it comes to sensory details in action sequences, this is absolutely crucial. Your readers want to know what’s going on as well as what it all looks like, smells like, sounds like, etc., but not at the expense of the rising action or climax of the tale.

Again, it’s all about balance. As the knight scans the battlefield, he might internally compare enemy soldiers in the distance to an invading army of ants, note the smell of rain in the air, describe the sounds of his men murmuring like the buzzing of hornets anxious to burst out of the nest, or liken the color of the stone wall behind him to a stormy sea. But when he’s out kicking ass and taking names, our bold knight needs to focus on what’s going on. Mention the clanging of swords meeting armor, but don’t wax so poetic about it that readers speculate as to how he’s survived the battle when his head’s clearly not in the game. Take us through every thrust and parry, tell us how his foes fall with a flick of the wrist or a strategic lunge forward. Maybe he sustains a palpable hit and has to limp across the battlefield, leaving him vulnerable and open to further assault. Unless you mean for him to die in the fray and for the book to immediately end then, there will be time afterward to paint us a picture of the aftermath, to show us what his world looks like and how the battle changed things, and to detail his lasting impressions in whatever manner you see fit.

Most importantly, don’t overextend your words during action sequences. Often, less really is more. If you’re not sure you agree, recall what you can of the last high-stakes sequence of events you actually experienced. I’m willing to bet that, in the moment, you weren’t taking note of the changing fall leaves or mentally narrating what was unfolding in front of you using the fanciest words you could come up with, so you wouldn’t recount it that way to a friend or colleague. Chances are, you’d hit the key facts, maybe throw in a stray sensory detail here and there, and make use of colorful cuss words (the frequency of these will have depended on the severity of the situation, of course).

Ready to dive in? If you’ve given it all you’ve got, but you’re not sure your action sequences are quite up to par, it’s time to find yourself another set of eyes. Let a trusted reader tell you if your punches leave bruises, if the arrows hit their targets, and if the suggestion of physical exertion leaves them just as winded as if they’d run the damn marathon, too.