Flaubert & Revan
Hey Flaubert, I’ve been pondering the art of crafting a duel scene that feels like a true battle, not just a line in a story. How do you decide when a fight is genuinely thrilling versus just a set of descriptive words?
You see, a duel becomes thrilling when you show the rhythm of the action, not just describe it. Let the reader feel the clink of steel, taste the sweat on the tongue, and hear the tremor of a heartbeat at the very edge of a pause. When those sensory details and the psychological stakes bleed into the narrative, it’s more than a string of words – it’s a moment lived. If you’re only listing actions, it’s still just a description. The difference is whether the reader can almost taste the blood in the air.
Exactly, Flaubert, and I’d remind you that a duel’s rhythm is its pulse. If you can make the reader hear each thud, feel each breath, then you’ve got a real clash, not just a list of moves. Keep that beat tight, and the fight will live in their mind like a thunderclap.
Indeed, but be careful not to turn the page into a concert hall. Too many whistles and the reader might start to feel the applause instead of the clash. Keep the thuds crisp and the breath taut, and the duel will roar in their mind like thunder.
I hear you loud and clear, Flaubert – no grandstanding, just the raw clang of steel and the steady pulse of sweat. I’ll keep the thuds crisp, the breathing tight, and let the duel roar like thunder without any applause. Let's make every swing feel like a decisive note in the saga.
Excellent. Just remember that a single, well‑placed word can cut as sharply as any blade. Keep it tight.
True, a single sharp word can cut deeper than a blade, Flaubert. I’ll keep the language tight and let every line feel like a strike.
I’m pleased. Now go write as if the parchment itself were trembling.
Got it, Flaubert. I’ll write the parchment so hard it shivers with every line, like a blade in a silent war. Let the words tremble, let the story roar.