Complications: The Art of Getting Lost (Scene Alchemy #6)
You’d be forgiven for thinking a scene ends with the outcome.
The character either achieves the thing they were fighting for or fails, and either way the scene is over, right? Time to move on.
There’s just one problem with that: a clean scene ending is a closed door. A flat “yes” or “no,” a scene break, or start of a new chapter. All of a sudden, space opens up. Our scene might ask: can Evelyn kill the bandit leader that’s been tormenting the town for years? And then answer: yes.
The vital question “What will happen next?” is confidently answered, and our reader is free to walk away and do something else with their time.
If we want our book to really come alive, we must horde the reader’s attention like a dragon atop a mountain of gold. We have to monopolise their whole being and refuse to let them go. And the outcome of a scene can’t provide that alone.
It needs that little extra dose of magical nitro that can only come from complications.
The Road That Keeps Unfolding
Fortunately, we’ve already covered the very skill we need to make this happen: the storytelling superpower that is “yes, but”/“no, and.”
To really take things up another level (and especially if we’re trying to keep the reader invested), then we just need to use that technique one more time, right at the end of the scene.
So instead of:
Yes, Evelyn kills the bandit leader and puts an end to his reign of terror.
We might answer:
Yes, Evelyn kills him, but as he dies, he reveals who’s been protecting him all along—the grandmaster of Evelyn’s own knightly order.
One issue might have been solved, but Evelyn’s problems have only gotten worse. And now she must find a way to take down the powerful woman who taught her everything she knows.
Alternatively, the scene ends in defeat, and we add an additional punch to make things much worse:
No, Evelyn fails to kill the bandit leader, and he takes her prisoner instead.
Notice how we’re doing the same thing in both cases: we plant the seed of some new problem inside the solution of the last. This doesn’t just keep the reader on the hook (and keep them turning the pages), it’s also exactly what they want. That feeling where they can’t put the book down, can’t look away, and are completely invested in what happens next.
This is especially true when a complication or new problem takes the story in an unexpected direction. These detours, wrong turns, and fresh disasters are the reward our reader is searching for.
Most often, it’s the most exciting part of the novel for them—the sticky jam of storytelling that keeps them coming back for more.
Choosing the Right Complication
Not all setbacks are created equal, and the glorious rise and fall of a novel requires a delicate hand. This is what a lot of writers mean when they talk about pacing: the slow build of momentum, dramatic “exclamation point” of action, and the quiet lull that follows. Then immediately stepping back into the flow: building everything up again towards another dramatic set piece.
To manage that, we need to treat complications the same as obstacles: choosing them carefully, depending on where we are in the story and how quickly we want the reader to progress. Some scenes call for a small inconvenience or delay. Others for an absolute wrecking ball. Most will fall somewhere in between.
Ultimately, there are three things that control the pace of a book:
the amount of failure vs success
the size of the obstacles in the character’s way
and the seriousness of the complications that arise
As we’ve already discussed, failure and success are like the accelerator and the brakes of our story.
The same is true of obstacles and complications. The bigger they are, the more dramatic everything will feel, and the more forward momentum we create.
A Small Note on Random Chance
Ideally, we want everything that happens in our story to be the direct result of our main character—they actions they take, and the decisions they make as they chase after their goal.
When that happens, the story runs like balanced clockwork. Everything belongs, victories feel earned, and the character truly becomes the architect of their own fate. Because everything that happens next depends on what they do, their actions matter.
It all hangs on what the character does next.
But when we go against that—when disasters come out of nowhere and our protagonist is saved by random chance—it all falls apart. Then, readers feel like it doesn’t matter what our characters do. The story will always turn out the same way: some random saviour or catastrophe will appear whenever it’s needed, and there’s nothing our protagonist can do about it.
We need to keep this in mind at all times, but especially when adding in complications and consequences.
Take Evelyn’s example above. The discovery that her mentor was the one behind the bandits makes sense, because the only reason Evelyn finds out is because she was there—pursuing her goal and taking down the gang leader. Everything follows a smooth chain of cause and effect: Evelyn’s story goal is to prove herself to her knightly order → that leads her to discover the bandits → she confronts their leader and defeats him with her own skills and courage → the story “rewards” her by revealing the truth about her mentor.
But just one small change could make the whole thing fall apart:
Evelyn goes to the bandits’ hideout, confronts their leader, and defeats him in battle. She takes him prisoner. When she’s finished, one of the other knights arrives to tell her they’ve discovered the knight-commander of their order was behind things all along.
Notice how this strips Evelyn’s agency and robs her of her rightful place as the story’s protagonist. Instead, the next part of the plot just falls into her lap the moment the novel needs it.
So, choose wisely when picking your scene complications. The more they’re the direct result of everything your protagonist has done up to this point (and ideally, the more they’re caused by their actions in that very moment), the better!
Asking the Alchemist—Questions & Answers
What’s the difference between an obstacle and a complication?
These are both unwelcome things that happen to our character. The difference is mainly a mechanical one: obstacles come in the start and middle of a scene, and get in the way of our character’s best efforts to reach their temporary goal. Complications happen at the end of a scene, when the character has either achieved or failed at their temporary goal.
They’re one last iteration of “yes, but” or “no, and” that forges the next link in the chain, and plants the seed of what will happen next.
Does there always have to be a complication? What if my scene ends cleanly?
There will always be some scenes that end with a flat success or failure, especially at the climax or at the end of a particularly dramatic moment. In those cases, we want to open up some breathing space—making room for a quiet moment in the wake of something explosive.
Also, complications aren’t the only way to keep the reader turning the page. Ultimately, all we need to do is have some source of tension that carries over into the next scene. Depending on the story and genre, that could be an unanswered question, something that doesn’t quite fit, or a strange and threatening element. Mysteries, gothic novels, and the like are especially likely to build and maintain tension in this way.
Can a complication be unrelated to the obstacle or the rest of the scene—for example, the protagonist finds the arcane book they were looking for, but then a fire starts?
Absolutely. Just remember that everything must happen for a reason, and that reason is our character and the actions they take in pursuit of their goal.
If the fire happens because they knocked a lamp over earlier, set it right, then wandered off and thought they were fine? That’s perfect. If they unintentionally reveal their location, and the bad guy starts the fire to incriminate the protagonist? Even better.
It’s only when the fire is completely unconnected, caused by something our character had zero control over, that we can get into trouble.
Can there be too many complications? How many is too many?
One at the end of each scene is usually fine. Any more than that, and you risk overwhelming the story and leaving the reader confused.
What’s the difference between a complication and a cliffhanger?
A cliffhanger puts a big ole scene break right in the middle of the action. It takes us through the flow of goal → action → obstacle, then leaves us hanging right in the middle of the try/fail/try again stage.
A complication comes after the character has either achieved or failed at their scene goal—threading some new problem in just as we resolve the last one, and keeping the reader on the hook.
Still have questions? Ask them below, and I’ll answer them if I can!
Conduct Your Own Experiments
What to check how your handling complications?
Scroll to the end of a scene (or section of action) in your work in progress.
Is there some new issue or problem that appears—either just before or immediately after their temporary goal is resolved, before we hit the scene or chapter break?
Does it either raise the stakes (increasing the cost of failure) or change what the character must do next?
Is the problem the result of the character’s own actions, or does it appear at random?
If you’re lacking a complication, try adding one. If the protagonist/point of view character succeeds at their temporary goal, what new problem might they have to deal with now? If they fail, what else might go wrong?
You might find this fresh issue at the start of the next scene or chapter. What if you moved it to the end of this one instead? How does that change things? How might it affect the reader’s desire to keep going?
🗺️ Need a Little Help Finding Your Way?
The authors in my Writers’ Room help each other navigate problems just like this every day—giving input on each other’s stories, exchanging critiques, and getting unstuck together.
If you’re still struggling with your scenes (or anything else), we’d love for you to join us.
