The internal scars of fight club

THE WRITER’S LIFE

A question asked of me recently on Quora was, Do you have any tips on how to write fight scenes? Not wishing to be anyone’s pro bono ghostwriter, I related to the question in the same way it was posed to me: personally…

fight_club_desktop_wallpaper_by_jaseighty6-d5wgva5JaseEighty6, DeviantArt

Just as there are a finite number of plots but near-infinite stories, there are countless fight scenarios. Assuming a physical fight, and not the kind of mental torment which can play in the mind forever, then it comes down to genre.

‘Show, don’t tell’ is most writers’ rule, each has their own style, and you’ll get a different answer from every author you ask. Experiment, play, throw away, and you’ll find something which works for you.

There’s a part of the writer in every story, whether it be a personality trait in a character, or a location from the fringe of memory. I write mainly science fiction, horror and surrealism, but whether one of those or something completely different (I write children’s stories too), I’ll always put myself in a story. If I was writing a fight scene, I’d place myself in one or more of the characters – probably writing in first person – so I’m in the thick of the action, either beating someone up or getting laid out myself.

Us writers we have only words, so the imagery is in our readers’ minds rather than on-screen, but we can engage all of the senses nonetheless.

Avoid cliches (we know blood is blood red), and think yourself into the scene: The way someone’s face contorts when you punch them in the jaw; and on the other end, a splitting sound, like a wishbone being pulled as a mallet hits you in the face. There’s a sharp, searing headache as your brain bounces around your skull and you fall, grateful as the concrete floor turns out the lights. You wake with a mouth full of gravel, and spit jagged pearls, marbled red like tiny scoops of raspberry ripple ice cream, and you smell iron, like the barbells at the gym, as blood congeals in your nose. As you tend your wounds in the mirror, you plot revenge.

Fight scenes are situations you need to have been in to tell the story convincingly. Some things in real life become impossible to relate, so the fight is in the words as they’re written on the page. It’s why I use a typewriter: the physical impact of metal platen onto pristine paper leaves not just a mark, not only words in ink like a tattoo, but an impression, and a much deeper scar.

If the battlefield is the kind of mental torment which can play in the mind forever, then this was a parable of the internal conflict I face every day in my head. That’s why I write, experiment, play and throw away: Writing as therapy.

Dialogue can help, and sometimes talking to yourself can be as useful as fighting your alter ego. The first rule of fight club in writing, is there are no rules.

In commune with the universe, not immune to internal conflict

THE WRITER’S LIFE | DEAR DIARY

Alcoholics and depressives or not, it’s still a brave person who calls themselves a writer, confident that they have the right to do so. It takes courage to share one’s own stories, yet many writers who do just that, because they’re writers, have the same sense of self-doubt.

Arthur DentConcept art: Arthur Dent with Vogon ship above (Touchstone Pictures)

A recent conversation with a writer peer whom I admire, and someone I consider a friend (same person), inspired me to do a few things. The most valuable piece of advice, was to stop being embarrassed about being proud of myself. But for me, that’s one of the eternal scars of chronic depression, anxiety and paranoia, hastened to the fore by an alcoholic breakdown: not something to be proud of, when it affected so many. Everything is reconciled, and not only am I better, but I’m a better person, as are those around me. It still takes some getting used to all that’s gone on though.

Like so much of my fiction writing into reality, my organic and digital lives often cross over, blurring the lines between reality and magic. Now, some of the old short stories I wrote, about writers writing about writers, are coming true, just as science quickly catches up with well-researched near-future science fiction.

Getting acclaim for Cyrus Song from a book critic (and appropriately for that book, a translator and interpreter), means that if I were so inclined, I could rightfully call myself a critically acclaimed science fiction novelist. Already I was an award-winning children’s author, and I’ve been compared to some of the most respected writers of horror, sci-fi, fantasy and surrealism, while being original at the same time. So why do I find it all so hard to accept, when I’m otherwise in touch with the universe and the universe apparently speaks back to me?

This is more an internal conflict, where the mind can be a universe to explore in itself. My mental conditions seem to be fuelled by paradoxes and irrational fears. When I’m someone who can address most issues from an outside perspective, internal understanding becomes frustrating. My IQ is what it is, but I can’t help wishing I had more processing power.

I crave attention, only because I want people to read my writing (especially the latest novel), so that they can see that what others are saying is true, and hopefully hear everything I’m trying to say. It’s a paradox when you crave that which you find hard to face in yourself.

As is often the way, I’ve expressed this far better in a short story I’ve just finished, which is due out this weekend. Fiction does allow me to get so much more over, apparently in an engaging way. The story is called Are ‘Friends’ Emojis? The title is a play on the Gary Numan song, Are ‘Friends’ Electric? Given the most recent review of my anthology, I suppose it’s not so much of a ‘Black Mirror for the page, flitting between dark sci-fi and psychological horror, but underlined by a salient sense (and deep understanding of) the human condition,’ so much as a look at one possibility for a life after this, and how that might be a craving for some, with the consequences of choice. It’s about how we see people and connect with them, in a world made small by technology, and of real and digital lives combining. It’s more a two-sided mirror.

I also write nice stories, like Echo Beach (okay, so it’s dark, but it’s still escapist), and I wrote that award-winning children’s book, used in family learning sessions, for parents with learning disabilities.

I’m one of those common phenomena: a writer who’s embraced technology for the democracy it has given many like me. It’s a determined writer who remains hidden, but it’s still an intrepid agent who finds the talent.

Until I’m discovered, I’ll carry on self-publishing and self-publicising, and see if I don’t.