If you want to write better action scenes, the key isn’t just what you include—it’s what you leave out. Nothing kills momentum faster than a poorly timed info dump or an overstuffed description that stops the action in its tracks. Pacing is everything, and knowing how to control it can mean the difference between a scene that crackles with energy and one that fizzles before it even gets started.
You want readers to be sucked into the conflict so entirely they forget to close their mouths and stop drooling. You do this by deftly structuring the length and variables of sentences and by trimming unnecessary info that might slam the brakes on your runaway freight train of action-packed excitement. This is true no matter what type of “action” your story includes—whether it’s a chase scene, a love scene, or just an intense conversation.
One of the quickest ways to destroy any scene’s pacing is by interrupting the action with large chunks of description.
For Example:
Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding (affiliate link)
Henry Fielding’s satire Joseph Andrews (usually considered one of the first examples of the novel) acknowledges this problem, tongue in cheek.
During a tense and furious scene in which the hero helps a friend fight off a pack of attacking dogs, Fielding breaks the third wall to cheekily tell readers he would like to include a simile about now, but that he dare not interrupt the action, which he says “should be rapid in this part.”
In so explaining his reasons for not interrupting the action, Fielding, of course, brought the action screeching to a halt just as surely as if he had actually stopped to impart his simile. He was writing a satire, so he could get away with it. Most writers, however, cannot.
Writers often trick themselves into thinking descriptions are vital, when they very often are not. Just as Fielding’s action scene survived admirably without his simile, much of the information writers want to explain to readers often turns out to be deadweight.
The next time you find yourself wanting to slow down for description or explanation, double-check whether this info is vital. If you determine it is necessary, your next step should be reevaluating whether the info can be moved so it doesn’t interfere with the action. For example, if readers need this info to understand the action, make sure they’re privy to it before the bullets ever flying, the dogs ever start barking, and the train ever starts rumbling.
Trimming unnecessary description doesn’t mean stripping your scenes of depth or detail. It just means being intentional about where and how you include them. If you want to write better action scenes, focus on maintaining momentum by weaving essential details seamlessly into the flow, rather than dropping them in like roadblocks. If you keep the pacing tight, the action clear, and your readers engaged, your scenes will hit with the impact they deserve!
Wordplayers tell me your opinions! What are your favorite techniques to write better action scenes? Tell me in the comments!
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About K.M. Weiland | @KMWeiland
Brandon Sanderson did the same thing as Joseph Andrews in his book, Alcatraz versus the evil librarians. It was also tongue in cheek. But yes, I have seen many authors do this unintentionally and it doesn’t work well for them. When I was working on the first book I ever published, I was very conscious about my pacing in the action scenes. I’ve had a lot of responses telling me I did a great job on the fight scenes, so it was a win!
(Slightly related to the topic here) I found Fielding’s “Tom Jones” incredibly slow and dull. I’ve never understood the subsequent hype about what a Lothario or Don Juan Tom is: He isn’t. Tom has sex twice only (in a novel that could say the same thing in 25 percent of the volume, and would be much more readable and interesting) and the first time, he has no clue what happened.
Just my take …
A snack yes, but a healthy one.
As usual, telling and not showing. Give me a piece of writing and tear it down for me. Show me what you say, and stop saying. Point to this sentence, these words, and show me how it slows the action.
Everything above just says leave out description. Which description, and why? A short sentence? You haven’t given me one, much less the fight scene you have in mind!
A long sentence? About what? Why short this, and long that? Show me a bad example and rewrite it!
And don’t just tell me how marvelous Fielding was in his satire . . . give me the text, showing me how cheeky he was, and let me discover it!
Right on. I hate when they don’t give examples of what they’re talking about.
Good post. To me, what you are describing is an editing function. If you edit before you`ve written, you are interfering with the train of thought in creating. Your posts often have good ideas, but do not emphasize the proper creative sequence.
I visualize the act in my head, write what I see and hear. I then read the it over, if my writing does flow like a good song, I rewrite till the rhythm fits.
Great advice! Here’s my share: Active verbs = action, and linking or static verbs = no action. For me, strong, specific, active verbs make a scene move. Powerful verbs evoke motion in my mind’s eye, so I see what’s happening. The more powerful the verb, the more action I see. Think of the difference between
He put a gun in my face.
and
He rammed a gun in my face.
Which feels more urgent and active? The second one creates faster pacing, and I only changed one word.
Great post. Funnily enough, I never considered how “action scene” doesn’t have to mean “fighting scene.”
Disappointing. Not an example.
Thanks so much for this delightful post a snack indeed. I learned something great and now I want to read Joseph Andrews. 😊
Many authors and writing gurus point out that one of the keys to “action success” is short, direct sentences with active verbs. “He dashed across the crowded street. Cabbies jammed on the brakes to avoid him.” vs. “He began to make his way across the street while all kinds of taxi cabs tried to avoid hitting him.”
(I’ve even seen rough-draft, cold-molasses constructions like “He began to start to …” Talk about “soft” !!)
I like swashbucklers for an example. In “The Phoenix on the Sword,” a Conan adventure by his creator, Robert E. Howard, you see verbs and adjectives that emphasize pain, speed, power, and violence. So in a scene where several men attack a lone Conan:
Charging bull (power and speed), disemboweling thrust (painful violence), sprang (speed), tigerish strength (power and violence), whistling arc (speed, the blade is moving so fast it whistles), crash (powerful strike), shivered (the rapid motion of weapons), bounded back (speed). Also, observe: rather than an adverb (powerful strike) you can just use a powerful verb (crash). Fewer words, yet impactful.
The “cestus” here is more likely a Greco-Roman boxing glove rather than a Greek woman’s belt; which reinforces Howard’s martial imagery. Also, note that the verb of utterance is not “said,” because that would be lifeless and inadequate: Conan “spat” the name of of his opponent. His eyes “blaze,” indicating his fury. The dagger *rakes* (pain and violence), he flings rather than forcefully pushes, smashes rather than hits, the brains spatter and not just spill out. All of these word choices heighten your blood, and puts you in an immersive frame of mind.
Note, I pulled the quotes from the Australian Gutenberg liberary, here: https://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0600811h.html
Anyway, note also that you don’t know from *these* paragraphs what the armor looks like, the helmet (casque), or a description of Gromel. None of that is necessary *during* the fight scene; it’s something you might do before hand. We know from previous descriptions that Gromel is a “giant,” and Conan is often described that way as well. Before the fight scene Gromel breaks open a wooden door by hurling himself at it. So the reader knows he’s a physical match for Conan before the fight scene begins; they may even be anticipating how Conan will handle someone who is his equal in strength.
Also, you don’t see digressions about the history of swords or Bossonia (where Gromel is apparently from). Just a focus on the action.
The only “digression” comes a little bit later, and is quick and to the point: The rogues drew back momentarily, as their leader seized several and thrust them toward the single door, and in that brief respite Conan leaped to the wall and tore therefrom an ancient battle-ax which, untouched by time, had hung there for half a century. And again note the chosen verbs that keep the scene moving at whitewater currents even in the midst of the little history note.
Side note: sometimes when I post here the paragraph breaks are lost. I don’t know how to fix that with wordpress; I promise I’m not writing a wall of text.
This was at least as interesting to read as Weiland’s original post, so I immediately looked to make a note of the name, in case you had other things I could read. Alas — just “Jamie”.
In my novel “The Torrent”, my protagonist is on the front line at the Battle of Shiloh; the “hornet’s nest”; possibly the worst place to be.
Seeing the Confederates massing in front, he remembered Andrew Jackson’s quote, “Don’t let the enemy pick the time and place for battle”.
There was no time to ask for permission. I gave the order — “fix bayonets”. Everyone knew what that meant.
I personally just try and use short sentences, however, as a person who is extremly affected by music, it often helps me to play a fast, intense, instrumental song. Nothing distracting, but enough to get my heart racing. From there, it’s usually all instinct.
I believe there is a huge difference between an action scene written by someone who really understands the the nuances and the subtlety of the type of action being written, and a writer who is dabbling in that form of action solely for the sake of writing it. For example, when I read The Queen’s Gambit, obviously written by someone who KNOWS chess, it was absolutely the exquisite detail of the moves, and often the motivation behind them, that drew me in. Part of the allure of the descriptions was the fact that I was being schooled on the game and developing an appreciation for the sheer intellectual power behind it. But the best part was how the descriptions of the games revealed the character of the players. That would not have been possible unless the author was intimately familiar with the game itself. Combat CAN be the same.
The average person, especially men — which I base on the very well documented fact that many men believe they could “take” a female professional MMA fighter — think they have a pretty good idea of what happens in combat. But there are depths to it that reveal the very soul of the combatants. For that to come across, the writer needs a genuine understanding of combat, something many writers do not appreciate. If you were to put a race between sailboats in your novel, you would research the topic to get far, far more than just the surface details. Right? Do the same for combat.