Christian books sometimes get a bad rap in the general market. Part of that is unfair, but part of it is deserved. Readers expect a certain level of quality, and in some areas—like fight scenes—Christian books often fall short.

One of my goals for this podcast is to help elevate the quality of Christian writing and give you, our listener, the edge. That’s why I’m particularly excited about interviewing Carla Hoch, a martial arts student who literally wrote the book on fight scenes for Writer’s Digest. She’s the “Princess Writing Ninja,” and has experience in more than a dozen martial arts.

What is a fight scene and what is not?

Carla: Anytime aggression or violence is inflicted between two people, that’s a fight scene. It doesn’t have to be physical. You can have psychological warfare without throwing a punch. I always say, if you’re not sure what psychological warfare looks like, you’ve never been a 13-year-old girl. They can be brutal. So anytime there’s physical or psychological violence, you’ve got yourself a fight.

Thomas: In law, there’s a distinction between assault and battery. Assault is making someone feel threatened, like pointing a gun or pulling back your fist. Battery is when you actually touch them. Usually, when you have battery, you have assault as well. But if you punch someone while they’re asleep, it’s battery but not assault since they never felt fear, only the punch.

Is it a sin to include fight scenes in a Christian book?

Thomas: Some listeners may be wondering if it’s a sin for Christians to put a fight scene in their books.

Carla: If it is, then the Bible is the most sinful book you’ll ever buy. It’s full of violence, and its fight scenes are dead on, pun intended.

Thomas: That surprised me when I was a kid and started reading the real Bible rather than the children’s Bible. I read about David and Goliath and realized David didn’t just knock Goliath down; he cut off his head and carried it around.

Carla: And you know that took some hacking. It wasn’t a single clean cut. But you know which story gets me more? King Eglon. He’s stabbed, and his fat closes around the sword. It’s gruesome, but scientifically accurate. The human body creates a vacuum like that.

Are fight scenes in Christian books different?

Thomas: I agree that it’s not wrong to include fight scenes. But are they different in Christian books? Does faith change how we write them?

Carla: I don’t think so. When you’re fighting, you’re not in a moral debate about right and wrong. You’re in survival mode. People are surprised by that. When you’re afraid, it means the threat hasn’t happened yet. But once you’re in a fight, fear disappears, and instinct takes over. You’re not thinking, “If I kill this person, is it a sin?” If you’re thinking that, you’re not in the fight yet. Once it starts, it’s pure instinct.

What happens mentally and physically during a fight?

Thomas: The ancients talked about hot blood versus cold blood. When you’re fighting, your blood is hot. You’re not rational. The law still recognizes that. A “hot-blooded” killing is one that happens in the heat of the moment, and it’s different from a “cold-blooded” murder that’s premeditated. That sense of losing rationality is important, and I don’t see it captured very often in fiction. I wish we’d bring that language back of hot-blooded versus cold-blooded people. Some get angry easily, while others are calculating.

Carla: There’s a big difference between a frenzied fight and a calm, calculated one. People underestimate how much adrenaline clouds your thinking. Adrenaline is a drug. Fighters spar to train their bodies to react automatically under adrenaline. When I’m in the ring—or in my case, the square for jiu-jitsu—there’s not much critical thinking happening.

Thomas: Your field of vision narrows. The world disappears. If you’re writing from a first-person perspective, you can’t describe every detail like the color of hair or the wallpaper because the brain filters all that out. It’s a feature God built into us.

Carla: If you had keen critical thinking in a fight, you’d hesitate and get hurt. You’d be thinking, “Should I go right or left? Toward Dairy Queen or Whataburger?” In that moment, the only thought should be, “Run.”

We’re engineered as predators. Eyes on the side mean an animal hides. Eyes in front mean it hunts. We have front-facing eyes for depth perception. That helps us defend ourselves and fight. I teach self-defense, and I remind students they’re not just predators in the sense of attacking; they’re predators who can defend. Unless you’ve been in a fight or in combat sports, you can’t fully explain it. You get tunnel vision and tunnel hearing. You can block out everyone but still hear your coach.

Thomas: You’ve probably experienced that tunnel hearing in other contexts. You’re in a loud restaurant, talking across the table, and your brain filters out background noise. Then you hear words spoken in anger, and your brain snaps to attention. The Broca region of the brain filters most of what we hear, including marketing messages. But when something like yelling breaks that pattern, it shocks the Broca, and your attention shifts to identify whether it’s a threat. Once you realize it’s not, and maybe someone just spilled coffee, you relax and refocus.

Carla: In self-defense, I tell people if you suddenly feel unsafe, don’t analyze it, just leave. Move first, then decide if the feeling was legitimate. Your brain knows things before you do. A mother can hear her baby crying over any noise. You zero in instantly because your brain prioritizes it.

Thomas: One last self-defense tip that fits what you said: my brother got his license to carry recently, and his instructor told him, “If you ever feel like you need to bring your gun somewhere because it might be dangerous, don’t go there.” It’s such simple but great advice. Our characters, of course, don’t always make smart choices. Sometimes, they walk straight into danger, and that’s where the fight scenes begin.

What makes a fight scene a good, believable fight scene?

Carla: I think that depends on the reader’s experience. A military reader who knows every detail of every gun will want different things than someone who has never handled a weapon. Ultimately, the best fight scene is the one that leaves people feeling something.

People often ask me for an example of a great fight scene. I read a few lines from Fight Club when I teach this. There are only a handful of actual fights in that book, and one is broken into short sections. Still, those dozen sentences make you feel it.

Focus on things readers can relate to. Nobody understands technical move names. Saying, “I did an uchimata and then transitioned to katame-waza and choked him,” means nothing to most readers. But if you describe how his eyes bulged when you cut off the blood to his brain, or how the vein on his temple swelled like a thick worm, people understand and feel it.

The Bible does this well: it doesn’t detail footwork or every slice, but the image of the young man raising the enemy’s head is powerful and immediate.

A good fight scene is one that leaves you rubbing your jaw and thinking, “That must have hurt,” or a line that hits an emotional nerve.

I tell writers to put the reader in the arena. Get them off the couch and ringside. From the couch, you see more, but you don’t feel what the arena feels like. When you’re ringside, you smell the sweat and testosterone. You feel the energy of the room. When someone hits the mat, you hear chairs scrape and people stand up. Those sensory details are what your reader needs.

Don’t be lazy. Make the scene multi-dimensional so readers can reach out and feel the sweat.

How does point of view affect the fight?

Thomas: Point of view changes everything about how a fight is portrayed. If you write from a combatant’s perspective, the view needs to be narrow and immediate. From the perspective of a nearby observer, you can expand the description. From the bird’s-eye perspective, like in The Horse and His Boy, you can discuss troop movements and strategy.

Each perspective has pros and cons, but you must be consistent with the point of view you choose. The person being punched is not thinking about strengthening the left flank.

One universal element readers relate to is the stakes. A sparring match does not carry the same weight as a real fight. In the story of David and Goliath, the stakes are spelled out several times before the confrontation, so the brief fight has enormous significance.

Carla: Why you are fighting has the greatest impact. It matters more than the combatants, and where you fight matters more than who you fight. For example, if I fought Mike Tyson, he would likely win unless his why is different from mine. If his why is that he loses because of mob pressure, the advantage shifts.

Where you fight can create advantages or disadvantages. If a werewolf can’t fit in an air vent, and you can escape through it, location favors you. The Ewoks in Return of the Jedi used small spaces and traps that humans could not. So why and where matter a lot.

Sparring, tournaments, and life-or-death fights all have different incentives and emotional textures. In competition, the closest emotion I feel is surprise about an unexpected move rather than raw fear. In a real fight, your why might be survival, which changes everything.

What do we need to know about weapons in a fight scene?

Thomas: Weapons need to be relatable. You do not have to name every model of every gun unless it serves to reveal character. If a character’s expertise is important, mentioning a specific make can reveal that it’s a Smith & Wesson 9mm, but don’t overload readers with technical detail. The details you do include must be accurate, or you risk yanking a reader out of the story.

Accuracy matters, especially to readers who know the subject.

Carla: If you have weaponry, choose something that suits the character and the scene. Don’t use technical jargon unless the scene calls for it. The duel in The Princess Bride, where the banter about technique is part of the characters’ showing off. Otherwise, imagine the reader knows nothing about the weapon. Present only what they need to feel and understand the scene.

How should writers balance detail and relatability?

Thomas: The point of details is to build character or to ground the scene. Use just enough to reveal something about the viewpoint character. Too much technical description will bore or confuse most readers. Too little sensory and emotional detail will make the scene feel flat.

Carla: Exactly. Make readers feel the arena, understand the stakes, and relate to the why. Keep weapon choices and moves organic to the scene. Train your writing like fighters train and spar so your instincts work under pressure. That way, when the moment arrives on the page, your description will feel instinctive, clear, and true.

How do you portray swords and swordplay accurately?

Thomas:. If swords are a major element in your story, take at least one day of training. Go to a fencing or sword-fighting class so you can experience the movements firsthand.

Carla: It depends on the setting. If you’re writing fantasy, look for Historical European Martial Arts (HEMA) training. If your story is set in Asia, try laido for Japanese swordsmanship or Filipino martial arts for Southeast Asian weapons. Fencing, however, is its own thing.

If you include swords in your story, know what type they are and why they were made that way. People often ask, “What’s the best sword?” That’s like asking, “What’s the best food?” It depends on where you are. Just as cuisine differs between Italy and Ireland, swords differ across regions because each weapon evolved for a specific purpose.

For example, the cruciform shape of the Templar knights’ swords represented Christ, but it was also practical for parrying and striking. Every part of a sword can be used as a weapon. Vikings had access to bog iron, while Japan had pig iron, which required much more work to refine. It could take dozens of people over a month to forge a single katana because the metal was hard to work with.

As technology developed, weapons and armor evolved together. Stronger swords led to better armor, which led to sharper daggers to pierce weak spots, which led to chain mail, which led to joint attacks, and eventually to the crossbow. In Asia, martial arts like judo targeted joints because armor was weakest there.

Know your sword, your setting, and your time period. You don’t use a katana in medieval Germany, and you don’t use a broadsword in Japan.

Thomas: If swords are central to your story, buy a replica. You can get one for $20–$50, and if it’s for research, it might even be a tax-deductible expense.

Having the sword nearby helps you describe it more accurately and naturally. The goal isn’t to describe every inch of the weapon but to avoid mistakes that break immersion for readers who do know.

How do you portray guns and gunfire accurately?

Most Americans have at least some familiarity with swords from movies, but they know far more about guns. There are more guns in the U.S. than there are people. On Black Friday in 2019, Americans bought enough guns in a single day to arm the entire Marine Corps.

Even if you’re not comfortable with guns, many readers are. Mistakes about guns can pull them right out of your story. Hollywood often gets this wrong when they portray police officers holding guns with one hand or gangsters tilting them sideways.

Carla: The sideways “gangster style” is ridiculous.

Thomas: Anyone who has ever held a gun knows why you don’t do that. Unlike a sword, which feels lighter once it’s moving, a gun is heavier than you expect, especially when it’s loaded.

Carla: If you write about a character firing a gun, you should fire one yourself—safely, at a range. You’ll be shocked at the amount of power in that moment.

People imagine a little “pew pew,” but that’s not how it feels. Even small guns have force.

Visit a shooting range and tell the staff you’re a writer doing research. People are often generous with writers. Even if you’re opposed to guns politically, just holding one teaches you details you can’t fake, like how the stock rests against your cheek, the weight in your hands, and the texture of the grip. Those details make your writing authentic.

Thomas: I once taught a gun-safety session at a mastermind retreat. Before anyone put on hearing protection, I fired one shot downrange. Everyone’s ears rang immediately. I told them, “If your characters’ ears aren’t ringing, you’re doing it wrong.”

Guns are much louder than people think. Even guns with silencers are louder than you’d expect.  Most ammunition is supersonic, which means the bullet itself creates a small sonic boom as it travels.

Carla: You can feel the energy when someone fires next to you. Even if your ears are protected, your body feels the shock. Bullets don’t just kill because of penetration; it’s the energy behind them. When the bullet leaves the gun, that energy has to go somewhere. You feel it, you hear it, and sometimes you even smell it. So if your characters use guns, hold one yourself. Experience matters.

Thomas: Shooting ranges exist everywhere, even in big cities like Los Angeles. Hollywood often uses them to capture sound effects. It’s not about your politics; it’s about writing accurately.

Recoil matters. For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. The gun pushes back into the shooter. Some firearms, like semi-automatics, use part of that recoil energy to chamber the next round, reducing kickback compared to bolt-action rifles.

Carla: That’s why you often see snipers using bolt-action rifles. With fewer moving parts, the shot is truer. A long barrel gives the bullet a longer path and greater accuracy. Those are the kinds of small but important details that make your fight scenes believable.

How have video games changed people’s understanding of guns?

Thomas: One thing worth discussing is how video games have affected people’s understanding of guns. In some ways, they’ve increased Americans’ general knowledge, but in others, they’ve created misconceptions, especially about distance.

In many video games, pistols act like sniper rifles. That’s because video games often use what’s called a “hit scan,” which means if your aim is on the target, you hit them instantly, no matter how far away they are.

In reality, a pistol bullet doesn’t travel very far. The main difference between a pistol and a rifle is the ratio of bullet size to gunpowder. A pistol fires a large bullet with a small powder charge, while a rifle uses a smaller bullet with more powder, giving it far greater range. So, practically speaking, a pistol is more like a substitute for a sword than a rifle.

That’s why the military doesn’t rely on pistols in combat. If the enemy has rifles, you’ll never get close enough to use one. Officers sometimes carry them, but they’re rarely issued because their practical use is limited.

Carla: And shotguns are a completely different animal from either of those.

What are common fight scene mistakes authors make?

Carla: Many writers don’t understand the biological realities of getting hit. They think a character gets punched, is knocked out, and stays unconscious for half an hour. That’s not how it works. You need to know the physical consequences of what’s happening.

If someone breaks their nose, the blood on their face is only half of it. Some runs down the throat, which makes it hard to breathe and causes coughing. If someone breaks a bone, that limb is useless. And if a character punches someone barehanded, they’ll probably break their own hand. Boxers’ hands are heavily wrapped under their gloves to bind the bones together and distribute the force. Without that support, you get what’s called a “boxer’s break.”

Think about realism. Don’t have your characters punching everyone bare-knuckled unless you want them to have broken hands. Is it reasonable for a character with a broken rib to run ten miles, or someone with a concussion to fight perfectly the next day? Concussions are serious. They drain your energy and change your personality.

Writers also overlook the psychological toll of violence. Humans aren’t made to kill each other. It damages the conscience. PTSD existed long before we had a name for it. That’s why, in the Old Testament, the Israelites who returned from war had to stay outside the city for forty days. It was a built-in period of decompression with others who had shared their trauma. It’s unhealthy to go from a battlefield to breakfast with your family the next morning.

Thomas: Especially with your protagonist. It’s tempting to have them take a beating early on, but if you don’t give them time to recover, the story becomes less believable.

Carla: Especially if they’re over forty. Healing takes time.

Thomas: I once read a series where the main character was so injured by the end of one book that he couldn’t star in the next one. He spent the entire sequel recovering while other characters took over. It was realistic, and it worked.

Carla: Even if your character wears a bulletproof vest, it still hurts. The bullet doesn’t disappear. It can break ribs. The vest just stops penetration, not impact.

Every act of violence has physical consequences.

Thomas: Violence has psychological consequences, too. That’s an area authors rarely explore, but it’s rich ground for storytelling and spiritual depth. You can show a character drawing closer to God while recovering from trauma. I sometimes wonder, when reading long series, how these characters keep functioning after so many battles.

One story that handled this well was The Hunger Games. In that story, the trauma actually affects Katniss. Since it’s written in first person, we see her mental decline as the story progresses. Her point of view becomes less reliable because of her trauma. In the movie, however, the perspective is external, so we see events more clearly than she does. It’s fascinating to compare how the same story plays out differently depending on the point of view.

Carla: And the flashbacks are important too. Trauma affects the brain as much as the body.

How should authors handle violence responsibly?

Thomas: If there’s one takeaway from this episode, it’s that fight scenes are complex. Many authors use violence to artificially raise tension, and that can feel cheap.

If you’re going to include a fight scene, do it intentionally. You don’t need endless violence. In the story of David and Goliath, the actual fight was brief, but the buildup created the tension. It’s the difference between horror and thriller. Horror focuses on graphic violence; thriller builds anticipation.

Take Jurassic Park. The dinosaurs only appear for about ten minutes of screen time, but the fear of them drives the entire story. You don’t need constant action. Sometimes less is more.

What final tips or encouragement do you have?

Carla: When you include violence in your book, you carry a responsibility. Real fighters have great respect for human life because they understand pain. When you write violence, show its consequences. Show how it affects people physically and emotionally.

Killing someone in your story shouldn’t just be a convenient way to move to the next scene. That’s not responsible writing. Take readers off the couch and put them in the arena. Make them feel it.

Thomas: If you want help doing that, get Carla’s book Fight Write: How to Write Believable Fight Scenes (Affiliate Link).

This is a skill you can develop, and as Christian authors, we should strive to portray violence truthfully and honorably. When you do it right, you remove the false glory from violence and show its real cost. That makes for stronger, more honest stories, and better readers.

Links:

• Fight Write: How to Write Believable Fight Scenes (Affiliate Link)
• Twitter: @carlahoch
• FightWrite.net
• FightWrite Podcast
• FightWrite YouTube