Reilly Voss

To make the fighting scenes in my low fantasy novel more realistic, I went to see a trainer for historical sword-fighting last week, both to barrage her with questions and to develop realistic choreographies for the fight scenes in the novel. Since I figured some of what she told me might be useful for you too, I put together a small list for you. Big thanks to Gladiatores Munich and Jeanne for making time! (Here are some more pictures if you’re interested.)

Caveat: I’m by no means a sword-fighting expert myself, so take these nuggets with a grain of salt – I might have misremembered or misinterpreted some of the things Jeanne told me. If I did, feel free to tell me.

1.) Weapon choices need to make sense

Let’s start with a truism: always ensure your character’s weapons make sense for a.) their profession, b.) their cultural background and c.) the environment they’re going to fight in. A farmer probably couldn’t afford a sword and might use a knife or threshing flail instead, and someone who doesn’t want to be noticed probably wouldn’t be milling about sporting a glaive or another large weapon. Also, soldiers native to a country with wide open plains would be more likely to carry long-range melee weapons such as spears or large swords, than those from a country consisting of mostly jungle or dense forests. The same applies to situations: if your character is going to be fighting in close quarters (even just a normal house), he’d get little value out of a spear or even a longsword, as there’d be no space to swing it effectively.

2.) Boldness often beats skill

In real swordfights, recklessness was often more important than skill. The fighter who was less afraid of getting hurt or wounded would often push harder, allowing them to overpower even more skilled enemies.

3.) Even a skilled fighter rarely stands a chance when outnumbered

While a skilled (or lucky) fighter might win a two-versus-one, it’d be extremely unlikely for even a single master swordsman to win against superior numbers, even just three and if they’re below his skill level. The only way to plausibly pull this off would be to split the opponents up, perhaps by luring them into a confined space where you could take them on one by one. The moment you’re surrounded, you’re probably done for – because, unlike in Hollywood, they wouldn’t take turns attacking but come at you all at once.

4.) Dual wielding was a thing

… at least in some cultures. I often heard people say that people using a weapon in each hand is an invention of fiction. And while my instructor confirmed that she knew of no European schools doing this—if they did, it’s not well-documented—she said it was a thing in other cultures. Example of this include the dual wakizashi in Japan or tomahawk and knife in North America. However, one of the biggest problems with the depiction of dual wielding in novels/movies/games are the “windmill”-type attacks where the fighter swings their weapons independently, hitting in succession rather than simultaneously. Normally you’d always try hitting with both weapons at once, as you’d otherwise lose your advantage.

5.) Longswords were amazing

Longswords might seem boring in comparison to other weapons, but they were incredibly effective, especially in combat situations outside the battlefield. The crossguard allowed for effective blocking of almost any kind of attack (well, maybe not an overhead strike of a Mordaxt, but still), the pommel was also used as a powerful “blunt” weapon of its own that could crack skulls. Though they were somewhat less effective against armored opponents, the long, two-handed hilt allowed for precise thrusts at uncovered body parts that made up for it.

6.)  “Zweihänder” were only used for very specific combat situations

Zweihänder—massive two-handed swords—were only used for specific purposes and usually not in one-on-one combat as is often seen in movies or games. One of these purposes was using their reach to break up enemy formations. In fact, one type of two-handed sword even owed its name to that purpose: Gassenhauer (German, Gasse = alley, Hauer = striker)—the fighters literally used it to strike “alleys” into an enemy formation with wide, powerful swings.

7.) It’s all about distance

While I was subconsciously aware of this, it might be helpful to remember that distance was an incredibly important element in fights. The moment your opponent got past your weapons ideal range, it was common to either switch to a different weapon or just drop your weapon and resort to punching/choking. A good example of this are spears or polearms—very powerful as long as you maintain a certain range between you and your opponent, but the moment they get too close, your weapon is practically useless. That’s also why combatants almost always brought a second weapon into battle to fall back one.

8.) Real fights rarely lasted over a minute

Another truism, but still useful to remember: real fights didn’t last long. Usually they were over within less than a minute, sometimes only seconds – the moment your opponent landed a hit (or your weapon broke or you were disarmed), you were done for.

9.) Stop the pirouettes

Unfortunately, the spinning around and pirouetting that makes many fight scenes so enjoyable to watch (or read) is completely asinine. Unless it’s a showfight, fighters would never expose their backs to their opponent or even turn their  weapon away from them.

10.)  It still looks amazing

If your concern is that making your fight scenes realistic will make them less aesthetic, don’t worry. Apart from the fact that the blocks, swings and thrusts still look impressive when executed correctly, I personally felt that my fights get a lot more gripping and visceral if I respect the rules. To a certain extent, unrealistic and flashy combat is plot armor. If your characters can spin and somersault to their heart’s content and no one ever shoves a spear into their backs as they would have in real life, who survives and who doesn’t noticeably becomes arbitrary. If, on the other hand, even one slip-up can result in a combatant’s death, the stakes become really palpable.

That’s about it! I hope this post is as helpful to some of you as the lessons were to me. Again, if anything I wrote here is bollocks, it’s probably my fault and not Jeanne’s.  I’ll try to post more stuff like this in the future.

Cheers,

Okay, so you’re there, the dreaded middle. The opening was great, you kinda sorta know where to end it, but what the fuck are you going to put in the middle?

Plotting the middle might not be easy, but when you’re starting at that blank piece of paper and desperately trying to get it to work, think about  few things:

Complication. Your character has a goal. What can you throw at them to keep them from reaching it? Don’t think of this as stalling the plot, because it absolutely shouldn’t be. Instead, complicating the situation for the characters should help them grow and achieve the tools they need to reach their goal, whether it’s external or internal or both.

Tension. Tension in a story is raising the stakes. Your hero is boldly on the path to stopping the bad guy, but oh shit, they’ve kidnapped her girlfriend! The ghostly threat that chases a family out of their home doesn’t just stay put, it follows them wherever they go. The hero was fighting off the zombies for a cure for himself, but shit, now his kid brother is infected too.

Escalation. Shit gets worse. Things get harder. People reach their emotional boiling point. The romantic leads hate each other. The more the characters have to overcome, the more satisfying the end will be.

These are just a few ideas to keep yourself going, but we’ll keep working at that middle before we turn out attention to the end. If your middle sags, take a good long look at it. How do you make things more complicated, raise the stakes, and make it worse?

Also Check Out:

Sagging Middle Syndrome

25 Ways to Fight Your Story’s Mushy Middle

There has to be some fundamental reason that the protagonist and antagonist keep running into each other. This basic idea can be called the unity of opposites. It’s important that your story has a strong unity of opposites so that your story naturally drives toward conflict. This will help avoid the problem of writer’s block often found in the middle of writing a story. In his book The Art of Dramatic Writing, Lajos Egri noted: “The real unity of opposites is one in which compromise is impossible. We must go to nature again for an example before we apply the rule to human beings. Can anyone imagine a compromise between a deadly disease germ and the white corpuscles in a human body? It will be a fight to the finish, because the opposites are so constituted that they must destroy each other to live. There is no choice. A germ cannot say: ‘Oh, well, this white corpuscle is too tough for me. I’ll find another place to live.’ Nor can the corpuscle let the germ alone, without sacrificing itself. They are opposites, united to destroy each other.” What’s the reason your protagonist and antagonist keep butting heads?

An archetype is a prototypical character function. Common archetypes include the trickster, the magician, the warrior, the king, the prince, the mentor, etc. A single character can serve multiple archetypal functions. The powerful thing about archetypes is that they’re culturally ingrained in the audience. And for this reason, we can quickly establish expectations in the audience by playing into these archetypes. The audience will fill in a character’s blanks based on the archetype they see (in essence, they’ll stereotype the character). The value is that at this point we are then free to subvert those cultural expectations or create ironic twists on them. It’s only by first establishing expectations that we can then subvert them. Consider how you can create (and subvert) expectations using character archetypes.

Hi, there! Just dropping in to tell you to be proud of your successes!

I have this little demon that I can’t get off my back, and he’s always telling me that what I’ve achieved is not enough and we need MORE. And I thought to myself, I bet some of you have little demons, too.

So you tell that tiny bastard to shut right up.

Did you write today? GREAT! Did you do some plotting or character work this week? FANTASTIC! Did you submit something to a magazine or an agent or a publisher? AMAZING! THAT’S AMAZING!

Did you even just think about writing? Just for a second? WAY TO GO!

While it might not feel like it, I think it’s these baby bricks that eventually build something bigger. It’s putting that positive energy out into the world that sets the dominoes to falling. 

Push your shoes off with your toes or with the tip of your shoe, most likely. Props for drama if you yank your converse or your vans or your boots off like a soldier in a scyfi drama, but otherwise, you’re “toeing your shoes off”

Humans are much better at dissecting scents than we give ourselves credit for. If you sit there long enough, you could dissect how your friend smells. I smell like “old, beat up cars, the sour citrus he isn’t supposed to have, and something musty and natural and unique to him that clings to all of his clothes.” In order that’s old flannel, three day old hair mousse, and fish tank water. Smells like cigarettes and oils cling to your clothes, stuff like fishtanks and the food in your kitchen seeps into your belongings. Don’t feel bad about describing scents, people carry our houses with us everywhere. 

Have you ever pet someone else’s hair? That’s “carding your fingers through.” That’s it. It’s the same thing.

Ever walked around barefoot? Its three am and you’re trying to make Dark Lunch? You’ve padded around. You signal to other people nonverbally whether its coughing or sighing that you’re there so that you don’t scare them. 

Smirking is a thing most of us do with our face. Grinning, looking cheeky, and raising our eyebrows are also all things your face does. Sorry :/

You might not get this if you’re a straight girl whose never had sex, but sometimes that little strip of skin between ya shirt and ya hips? The mouth can go there. That’s an intimate place to touch and its a vulnerable place to be exposed. Overused maybe, but a valid way to show a shift in the situation. 

We all sigh!! Are some of y’all really saying that sighing isn’t a thing you do ten thousand times a week?? You don’t sigh when someone says something stupid as shit?? You don’t sigh when you gotta get up?? 

SAID IS A VALID WORD

Everything on your face casts shadows, I’m sorry you have weak eyelashes, or that somehow your brows are flat with your eyeballs

People laugh silently! I’m sorry you’ve never laughed that hard!! People giggle! People snort! People double over and move and flail! Have you ever fucking laughed?

For that matter how do y’all not blush and can you teach me

I’d also like to say sorry if: your heart has never skipped a beat reading something terrible, or when you saw someone you liked even platonically, or if you’ve never been so surprised all you could do was blink, that you never looked at someone like you loved them, and that you somehow never fucking show any emotion in your voice or your posture at all

Every story you love uses tropes. Every type of protagonist, antagonist, and conflict is a trope. Everything written by Shakespeare, Miéville, Atwood, Gaiman, Pratchett, and so on? Chock full o’ chewy trope goodness. “Ordinary person becomes a hero” is a trope. “Seemingly-ordinary person is actually the Chosen One” is a trope. “Tragic Hero” is a trope. “Human against __________” (fill in the blank) is a trope.

“Trope” and “cliché “ are NOT synonyms. Certain tropes can (and have) become  tired and cliché through over-use, but even clichés are okay if you do them well enough (or if you hang a lantern on them) and know when to stop.

Using a tired, worn-out, overused trope is one thing. Using tropes in general, though? Without tropes, you have no stories.

So what is a trope? Here’s a quick and dirty run-down. Usually when we talk about tropes in writing groups, we mean anything in a story that can be expressed as a simple concept, and that we can find general examples of elsewhere. (“Okay, so you’re going with the ‘reluctant hero’ and ‘tragic here’ tropes here.”) It’s no crime not to know every term professionals use when discussing writing, but it’s pretty fucked up to criticize someone for using tropes when you don’t even know what they are.

your writing is a skill, not an inborn talent (unless, yeah, maybe it is). not everyone can do what you do and love

everyone says they want to write a book. everyone has what it takes to write a book. not everyone does it anyway. you be the small percentage of success you read about

your writing will always seem brickshit horrible because you wrote and read it a million times

you love this writing thingy. quitting it will be like cutting off your fingers one by one.

someone out there will want to read what you wrote.

someone out there wants to know what is on your mind. 

someone out there appreciates your art. they will share it with their friends. they will share it with their loved ones. they will share it with their future self because maybe what you wrote saved them.

What you’re referring to is known in theater as “stage business”, and it’s basically just whatever action your characters are doing between lines of dialogue or during a conversation that makes sense in the context of the scene. For instance, if one character walks into the kitchen and the another is doing the dishes and they start to talk, the one character might continue scrubbing while the other fidgets with a dish towel or paces. This would mostly be communicated to the reader through descriptions following dialogue tags since that doesn’t disrupt the flow of the scene due to it being short and slipped into the cracks. 

Here’s an example:

He walks into the dimly lit kitchen to see his sister washing dishes and mumbling to herself under her breath. He stares at her for a moment and ponders over what to say, since he knows she’s still upset about what he said to her earlier that day. He takes a deep breath and straightens his back before speaking. 

“Um, hey,” he said, his eyes meeting hers when her head turned and her attention landed on him. She paused for a moment, her lips parted slightly, before turning back toward the sink with her head down as she continued to scrub, more harshly now.

“What do you want?” His lips pressed into a tight line as he began to fiddle with the dish towel laying on the table next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

The main thing to note there is that not only does the action between dialogue help set the tone of the scene and keep its pace natural, but it provides an image for the reader around the characters’ words. To fix the issue of simply not having enough stage business in your scenes, just imagine the setting and what’s going on in the scene and brainstorm things your characters might be doing as they talk or while the other character(s) is talking. Don’t over-do it though. The point is that they’re efficient and that they don’t distract the reader from the dialogue happening. They add to it by providing the layer of non-verbal communication that is also pertinent to immersing a reader in a scene and conveying subtext. 

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