Why Your Fight Scenes Feel Boring (And How to Fix Them)

Photo by Ryo Tanaka on Unsplash

As a developmental editor, I’ve edited dozens of fight scenes. And most of them have the same problem.

On the surface, they have everything: action, danger, high stakes. And yet so many of them feel crowded, confusing, or strangely weightless. Like nothing really matters.

These scenes don’t fail because of the action, but because of how the action is presented.

And that’s taught me something important: if a fight scene feels slow, overwhelming, or strangely dull, it’s usually because of these three things.

Problem 1: The Play-by-Play

What is it? The writer explains (or lists) every movement and action.

What it looks like:

Fisher stepped left, pivoting on her right foot. She ducked under the guard’s swing, then brought her elbow up and drove it into his throat. He staggered back. She raised her pistol and fired twice.

How it happens: We think the reader needs to know every detail so they can picture it (or immerse themselves in the story).

Why it fails: When we choreograph everything, the reader feels nothing. They end up lost or confused, and spend the whole scene trying to figure things out.

What to do instead: Focus on creating the emotional flow, and let the reader choreograph the details themselves. Individual punches and swings don’t matter. All the reader cares about is the intoxicating mixture of anxiety and doubt. Is the character in danger? Do they make a mistake? Is there a chance to wrestle victory from the jaws of defeat? Let that light the way.

What that looks like:

Fisher moved before she could think. The guard’s swing whistled past her ear and her elbow hit his throat with a wet crunch. Blood and sweat burned in her eyes. Space. She needed space. Her boot slipped on icy cobbles and she fired blind, the first shot blazing wide.

Photo by Duc Nguyen on Unsplash

Problem 2: The Balcony Seat

What is it? We pull back into the point of view of an observing character, switch between several different povs, or let narrative distance creep in.

What it looks like:

Caelum watched as Fisher punched the guard to the ground. She began to turn, and Caelum realized she was scanning the area, looking for more enemies. Her eyes locked on something off to his left and Caelum looked towards it. A guard was coming right for him with a drawn knife.

How it happens: As writers, we’re watching the fight from the outside, so it makes sense to narrate it the same way. We switch between different points of view to try and add tension.

Why it fails: Switching povs creates whiplash and confusion. Watching from the outside kills doubt.

What to do instead: Write from the perspective of the character who has something to lose. Show the reader what’s on the line—what terrible thing will happen if they fail? Let the reader feel the blood running down their face.

What that looks like:

The guard crumpled and Fisher twisted, already scanning for the next threat. A flicker of movement above, too close to Caelum. A second man was climbing the fire escape, knife drawn and gleaming in the streetlight. There was no way she’d get there in time. She was already running.

Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash

Problem 3: The “No Struggle” Fight

What is it? The character wins every exchange easily, or immediately loses and becomes powerless.

What it looks like:

The guards swarmed Fisher. She tried to fight back, but there were too many. They disarmed her and pinned her arms behind her back. There was nothing more she could do. They dragged her away into the dark.

How it happens: We already know the outcome, so it’s hard to write like we don’t. With characters who win easily, we want them to look competent.

Why it fails: The most important question our readers have is: “What will happen next?” That doubt is where the struggle lives. A fight without doubt is just noise. Either the danger never feels real, or the outcome feels preordained—like they never stood a chance.

What to do instead: Add try/fail cycles using the storytelling rocketfuel of “yes, but”/“no, and”. Create the seed of failure in every success, and a grain of defeat in every victory. Keep the reader guessing.

What that looks like:

Fisher raised her pistol and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Jammed. And now she couldn’t avoid the shock baton to her ribs. She folded, lashing out with one boot and kicking the guard’s legs out from under him. The world smelled like white static and burned skin. She didn’t even notice the second man until his arm was around her throat.

Photo by Radomir Moysia on Unsplash

Field Test: Fix Your Fight Scene in 10 Minutes

Want to see if your fight scenes could be stronger? Try this:

☐ Set a timer for 10 minutes

☐ Pick a fight scene from one of your stories

☐ Highlight every physical movement (punches, steps, turns, grabs)

☐ Try cutting them by 30%

☐ Rewrite so you’re inside a single pov—the character taking most of the action

☐ Remove any filter words and clarify the prose

☐ Add one “yes, but” and one “no, and” (learn how here)

☐ Reread the scene. How has it changed? Which parts are stronger now?

Here’s What Really Matters

A fight scene isn’t about who hits who.

It’s about anticipation, doubt, and the fear of what will happen if they lose.

Don’t be scared to let your hero lose. Make whatever they’re fighting for your “north star.” Everything else will follow.

---

⚔️Struggling with a fight scene right now?

Bring it to The Writers’ Room.

We run monthly workshops where I give the same level of feedback I offer my private clients, plus a community of writers exchanging critique and sharpening each other’s work.

If you want to move from “I’m not sure if this works” to “nailed it,” come join us.