Last week, we explored the grand architecture of story—the overall narrative structure. It’s the bones your novel is built on, and the engine that drives everything forward. But if we’re going to bring the soaring arches and towering spires of your story to life, we need to step closer, studying the intricate clockwork that happens in each individual moment. The heartbeat of each scene.
Inside every scene, our novel is made miniature. Each one a tiny cosmos of tension, change, and wonder. Scenes are where our stories are constructed, brick by careful brick. They’re where a book lives and breathes, and yet it’s a place where so many writers stumble.
So, for this week’s deep dive, we’re getting out the magnifying glass and zooming all the way in.
As Below, So Above
It’s one of the biggest issues I see as a developmental editor: scenes that wander aimlessly, without any real direction or purpose. These scenes might be anchored in delivering exposition and backstory, drift through small talk and casual conversation, or purely be there for the vibes. And while there’s nothing exactly wrong with any of these (in writing, there are no ironclad rules), the more of these scenes we have, the more we risk losing our readers.
As with story structure, it all comes down to expectations. Our readers generally expect a novel to be focused on a single conflict, and for the vast majority of our scenes to move that conflict along—either having our main character(s) win some small victory and get closer to their goal, or setting them back and leaving them further away than ever.
This means that almost every scene needs a reason for being there, and for the most part, the reason should be anchored in our central conflict. That is, the struggle between our protagonist’s goal and everything that’s getting in their way.
To make sure this is happening, we can ask ourselves: if I removed this scene, would the story stay largely the same? If the answer is “yes” then chances are that scene isn’t earning its place. And while one or two of these moments aren’t a problem, it’s vital to ensure that things keep moving forward. That we’re always prompting the reader to ask the most important questions in storytelling:
What’s going to happen next?
And what will the protagonist do about it?
Keeping one eye on our main character’s goal (and ensuring they’re almost always taking action towards it) is the best way to ensure the engine of story stays running, carrying the reader along for the ride.
And this often means following some kind of scene structure.
As above, so below.
Just as our novel needs structure, so does each scene.
The trick here isn’t to hurtle through the story at a thousand miles an hour from the first page to the last. Your chosen genre will have its own expectations that you’ll want to keep in mind. As with everything, it’s about understanding what readers will expect from books like yours, meeting those expectations when we can, and breaking them intentionally (and with care) when needed.
Scene Structure: Priming the Engine of Story
Fortunately, there’s no shortage of scene structures to choose from—be it Dwight V. Swain's scene and sequel, to K.M. Weiland’s “scene question” approach.
But after almost three decades of writing and studying stories, here’s the one that works for me:
We start with the protagonist’s (or point of view character’s) temporary goal. Usually, this is something they need to achieve their goal for the whole novel.
They take action towards that goal.
An obstacle or problem arises to get in their way.
The character tries, fails, and tries again to overcome that obstacle—often using the storytelling magic of “yes, but”/“no, and”. This forms the meat of the scene.
We reach the outcome, where the character either achieves the temporary goal, or else fails to achieve it.
Either way, some new problem or complication comes up—one final iteration of “yes, but” or “no, and” that introduces new tension.
The character responds to this new problem by finding a new goal. Something they must now achieve to reach their goal for the novel, and something that will serve as the foundation for the next scene in the chain.
Returning to Evangeline, our hypothetical character from last week, a scene in her story might look something like this:
Evangeline has been kidnapped by bandits, and must escape (her temporary goal) before she can continue her search for her sister (her goal for the novel). Unfortunately, the guard who’s been assigned to watch her is a brute with eagle eyes (the obstacle).
She tries playing sick (taking action), hoping to lure him in, but the guard is too canny for that. He throws a bucket of freezing water over her, and now she’s shivering cold and must come up with another plan (she tries and fails).
Over the remainder of the scene, we repeat this cycle of try/fail/try again. Evangeline eventually lures the guard into the cell, fights with him, is almost knocked out, escapes, is chased through the compound, and finally gets free. However, she breaks her ankle during the escape (complication) and must now make it across the desert before succumbing to heat, thirst, and her injuries (her new goal).
Notice how effective this is at keeping the reader on the hook: ensuring the focus stays on our protagonist, the action they’re taking, the strength of their goal, and everything that’s stacked against them. Since we’re always introducing new problems, we’re always making the reader ask what will happen next. And ensuring they keep reading to find out.
We’ve also made sure that the stakes in this scene are clear. That the reader knows what will happen if Evangeline fails to escape—greater injury, even death, and the loss of her driving goal to find her sister.
Importantly, this scene flow of goal > action > obstacle > try/fail/try again > outcome > complication > new goal doesn’t just apply to big moments. It works for quieter scenes, too. Whether your protagonist is trying to fill their dance card for the last ball of the season, or convince a reluctant friend to help them fix their car, so long as they have a goal, do something about it, and hit a speed bump or two, we can use this scene structure to make sure our story is focused, has clear direction, and is always moving along.
When to Ignore All of This
With all that said, we don’t have to be dogmatic about it. Even a little can go a long way, and just keeping an eye on the scene flow (which our readers will unconsciously expect) can help keep our novel’s heart beating.
Keep in mind that story and scene structure are a tool, not a prison, and that there will always be exceptions. Some scenes will deepen a relationship, or the reader’s understanding of a particular character instead. While others break the rules, end on cliffhangers, or just ignore scene structure entirely. Every writer has their own approach, and quieter scenes are also vital to our story—providing lulls where the reader can catch their breath, digest everything that’s happened, and bond with our characters.
As always, the trick is to be intentional about it. So long as we know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it, which rules we’re breaking, and the effect it’s likely to have on our readers, we’re free to explore whatever works best.
Controlling the Engine of Story
Stories rely on rising and falling action: the tension building and intensifying as we approach important moments in the plot, then easing into quieter moments that open up some breathing space.
But most of the writers I work with, especially those in the early stages of their writing career, often struggle against the story’s natural inclination to wander. After developmental edits on over fifty novels, I've maybe worked on one or two that needed to slow down and take a breath. The vast majority need the opposite: to tighten things up, speed up the pacing a little, and stay focused on the core narrative—the story the reader came here to read.
It's especially important to keep things humming along (and put our foot down on the gas) as we approach the major plot points and launch into the final quarter of our book. So, with that in mind, here are some things to consider as you’re writing:
Make sure to start (and end) each scene in the right place. We don’t need to describe every moment. Ideally, we want to pick up when something interesting happens, and end when the goal or event at the core of the scene is over.
Shorter scenes help build intensity. To control the ebb and flow of a story, we might want to use shorter scenes in the run up to major turning points, and longer, more winding ones in the lull after something dreadful (or important) has happened.
Failure is like the “gas pedal” of our story. The more a character succeeds, the more everything slows down—especially if we don’t introduce new problems or complications. Conversely, the more a character fails (and the more we pile one failure on top of another), the faster everything will move.
To increase intensity, take away the protagonist’s time. This can be especially useful in the final quarter of a book. If we interrupt our protagonist’s plans, force them to act before they’re ready, and take a wrecking ball to what they thought would happen next, the reader will be on the edge of their seat.
The more quickly we cycle through the expected scene flow of goal > action > obstacle > try/fail/try again > outcome > complication > new goal, the more things will speed up. Departing from this structure, or treating it more loosely, will likely slow everything down.
The trick here isn’t to hurtle through the story at a thousand miles an hour from the first page to the last. Your chosen genre will have its own expectations that you’ll want to keep in mind. For example, adventure fantasy tends to be much more fast paced than a cozy romance.
As with everything, it’s about understanding what readers will expect from books like yours, meeting those expectations when we can, and breaking them intentionally (and with care) when needed.
Scenes Are the Building Blocks of Story
Remember: a scene isn’t just what happens, it’s why it matters. It’s the place where the struggle between our protagonist and their goal plays out on the page.
Every scene is the whole novel in microcosm. It’s where we show the reader what really matters, the struggles our protagonist must overcome, and the sacrifices they must make to get what they want most. Scenes are how we give our main character’s ultimate victory (or defeat) real meaning, by showing everything that they’ve been through to get there.
And the more our story is focused on those core elements—our protagonist, their goal, and the obstacles in their way—the more everything will sing.
If you want to use this magic in your own writing, take each scene and study it like the precious gemstone it is. Then ask yourself:
What is the purpose of this scene? Is it just conveying exposition? Showing two characters arguing? Is it just filling space before the next thing happens?
If so, could I trim it? Is it a vital lull in the action, or is it allowing the focus to drift too far away from my character’s goal and the problems that get in their way?
If I removed it, would the story still be mostly the same? Or is it fundamental? A load-bearing structure?
What’s at stake for my character in this moment? What would happen if they fail? Is it clear?
Is there an obstacle or problem that the character needs to overcome here?
Does the scene start in the right moment—when something is about to change?
Does it end at the right time—when the challenge or problem is over?
Does the scene end with a full stop? With flat success or failure? Or am I introducing a complication? Some new problem to keep the reader invested?
The answers will help guide the engine of your story towards its ultimate destination, and ensure your readers stay captivated by the magic you’re weaving with words.
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There's a lot to digest here, going to be coming back to this one a few times! Really well written though loads of information, thanks Cae.
Ohh good one