These 5 Scenes Are Killing Your Story
Here’s what to do about them
A few years ago, I worked with a writer who was at the end of their rope.
“I don’t understand,” they said in our initial consultation. “I’ve added battles, revelations, and even entire plotlines. But my beta readers still say that nothing happens!”
I see this all the time. In fact, over two-thirds of the novels I work on as a developmental editor struggle with this exact problem. The protagonist trains, learns, grows, and explores, but the story still feels like it’s stuck in neutral.
Almost every time, the problem comes back to the same five types of scenes.
And they all have one thing in common.
What is a Passive Protagonist?
This caused some confusion when I posted about it recently, and that makes perfect sense. Because this might be the most common problem writers struggle with, but for some reason, no one ever talks about it.
And that sets authors up to fail.
So, what is a passive protagonist? And why do they cause so many issues?
Put simply, when you have a passive protagonist, the story happens to them.
We can think of it as the difference between driving somewhere and being towed: while an active protagonist knows their destination and grabs the wheel, a passive one is pulled along—the direction of their story decided by outside forces.
In most cases, it happens for two reasons:
The protagonist lacks a single, clear goal that they’re fighting for.
They have a goal, but they aren’t doing anything to make it happen.
Instead, they watch, they learn, they observe, and they wait for the next part of the story to happen.
And this causes us serious problems, because stories (especially in sci-fi and fantasy) run on “what happens next?”
Our main character’s goal is the engine that drives everything, while a passive protagonist is like a gaping hole in the fuel tank. Suddenly, there’s no “what happens next?” because there’s no doubt. The hero isn’t pushing towards anything, so there’s no uncertainty about whether they’ll get it.
The result?
All the tension drains away, and the reader loses interest.
And yet, time and time again, I see writers struggling with this exact problem. I even fight with it in my own stories.
So, why does this trip so many of us up? And why doesn’t the information sink in, even when we do know better?
Why is This So Hard?
There are a few reasons why writers wrestle with passive protagonists, but here’s the main one: there’s a huge gap between experiencing stories and creating them, and for some reason, no one ever teaches writers how to make that leap.
When we read our favourite books, it might feel like we’re part of the story, but we’re actually just observing it. We’re focused on how that story makes us feel:
the vibes
the emotions
character relationships
the world and the atmosphere
the aesthetics
the lore
the witty dialogue
We sit back and enjoy the ride—falling in love with the effects of great storytelling, while resisting (or not knowing) the work that’s going on beneath the surface.
And when we become writers ourselves, this leads to stories built entirely from vibes-based scenes: the protagonist explores the world, learns important details, reacts to revelations, absorbs lore, talks to people, and has big feelings. But the story loses sight of what makes those moments important: the underlying structure of goals, conflict, and forward momentum.
It leaves us with stories that feel flat or overwrought (and often both), and because no one is talking about this, we have no idea how to fix it. We can feel that something’s wrong, but we can’t see the massive, invisible hole in our skillset.
That’s a road that leads straight to the passive protagonist.
Fortunately, after reading hundreds of speculative fiction novels, and helping dozens of writers with this very thing, this problem is one of the easiest to diagnose.
And once we understand the problem, we can fix it.
Five Scenes that Kill Your Stories
The best way to spot a passive protagonist is by looking at your scenes, because they tend to drag the same moments behind them—like tin cans on a string.
These scenes aren’t always proof that the character has slipped into passenger mode, but they’re a clear warning sign. Especially when we have a lot of them, or spend the whole novel switching between them.
Here’s how to spot them.
Training wheels
What it looks like: Training, practice missions, sparring, learning to fight, working out, or getting stronger.
Why it fails: Nothing is at stake. There’s no urgency, and nothing bad will happen if the character fails. Things will simply go on the same as before. That means these scenes happen outside the flow of the story—preparing the protagonist for a maybe-someday in the future when they’ll have to do it for real.
Only doing it for real is the story. And unless we manage it carefully, training just gets in the way.
Quick Fix: Make it real. Instead of sparring, throw the protagonist into a genuine fight. They’re unprepared, ill-equipped, and have to learn quickly because their life is on the line.
Instead of a simulated training mission, throw them out into the big wide world and give them a real objective. Even better, make it something they must do to reach their goal.
School days
What it looks like: Learning about the world and its history, going to class, having something explained.
Why it fails: These scenes advance the reader’s knowledge but don’t advance the story. They’re effectively a Wikipedia article the reader has to wade through, so they can get back to what really matters: what the protagonist wants in this moment, and what’s getting in their way.
To make things worse, readers almost never remember information that’s told to them in big lumps of exposition like this.
Quick Fix: Follow the exposition protocol.
1. Does the reader absolutely need to know this?
2. If so, could we show it through something that actually happens?
3. And if we do need to tell, what are the 1-3 key details?
4. How can we convey those as quickly as possible, then move back into the action?
The tourist
What it looks like: Touring the setting, shopping, being gifted new gear or having it made for them.
Why it fails: These scenes are author-driven rather than reader-driven. We want to share our setting because it’s awesome, but it isn’t story. There’s no pressure, no obstacles, and no doubt. The reader stops asking “what will happen next?” and/or stops caring about the answer.
Quick Fix: Make the character fight for that upgrade. Put something they must have in an interesting part of the setting, and force them to fight their way through it. Use the awesome details to create obstacles and problems.
Shooting the breeze
What it looks like: Characters talk to each other. They go over what just happened, talk about what happens next, or share backstory. Or maybe the scene shows them growing closer.
Why it fails: Similar to School Day, these scenes advance relationship instead of story. The emotional experience is pleasant, but it’s inert—nothing really happens, and we don’t go anywhere. The scene could be removed, and the rest of the story would still make sense.
Alternatively, we’re going back over things the reader already knows (because they just saw it happen) or talking about something they’ll find out shortly (when the characters actually do the thing). Either way, we’re covering the same ground and sucking tension out of the narrative.
Quick Fix: Cut the scene, or make it pull its weight. If the characters are just talking about past events or future plans, remove it. Skip straight to what actually happens, and let the impact ripple through consequences: what the characters do next, and how their reactions change.
If a scene is building relationship, make them work together towards their goals instead. Show what a great team they make.
With backstory, return to the exposition protocol: What are the key details? Are there ways we could show them through action? Do we need to tell the reader at all? And if we do, how can we keep it short and sweet?
Woolgathering
What it looks like: Like Shooting the Breeze, but alone. The character thinks and reflects on things.
Why it fails: These scenes are static and internal. There’s no external pressure. The character has as much time as they need to think everything through, so the story sags. We’re pressing pause on the narrative, pulling back to talk about what’s happening instead of showing it unfold.
Quick Fix: Translate thoughts into action. Remember, events are the primary language of story, and feelings are only real when we dramatise them through what a character does.
What would the protagonist do about these thoughts? Could they get distracted? Lash out? Make a mistake? And how would that make things even more difficult for them? Could it make reaching their goal even harder?
Digging the Problem Out by the Root
When it comes to fixing these scenes (or addressing a passive protagonist) there are three key tools we can use to hold tension in the narrative and stop the story from sagging.
Inject stakes
This is about making everything real and relevant to our protagonist’s goal.
Instead of a sparring match, add a fight. Or put something on the line during training, then make them fail. If the protagonist can’t pass this mission, they can’t join the organisation that means everything to them. The reader will expect them to win, so we pull an uno reverse: everything goes wrong, the character is cast out, and now they must find a way to get back into the training programme.
Rather than touring the setting, have them search for something in a certain part of town, and add a ticking clock. If they don’t find the thing in time, bad things will happen.
Maybe an important detail about the setting (or our world) is key to the character’s goal for some reason, and they learn it—after much struggle and failure—during the outcome stage of a scene.
Thoughts and feelings become mistakes and bad choices that create problems. Another character’s backstory comes back to haunt them in the present. A toxic family member returns, or the character is thrown into a rescue mission—heading down into the same caves where their friend died.
The key to this approach: find ways to make things a problem in the present. Put your character’s back against the wall, make it tough, and put something they really want at risk.
Embed in the action
If we can’t Inject Stakes for whatever reason, the next best choice is to weave things around the action.
Start by making sure each scene follows the expected rhythm: the protagonist/pov character has a goal, takes action towards it, encounters obstacles, and so on. Then sprinkle everything else around that.
Need the protagonist to learn a certain technique? Have them practicing for a sentence or two right at the start of the scene, before the plot interrupts like a wrecking ball.
Important exposition or worldbuilding that we can’t show through action? Weave the key details into a couple of lines of dialogue while two characters are trying (and failing, and trying again) to do something.
Set an otherwise goal-focused scene in a new part of town, and lightly scatter a few lines of description as the protagonist goes about their work.
Have two characters talking, growing closer, then interrupt them with something awkward or awful. Leave the emotions unresolved.
Lightly dust the scene with a reflection or two. Have the character thinking about something important while they’re dealing with problems. And if they’re distracted enough to make a small mistake? Even better!
TL;DR, condense things down to the most important details, and scatter them lightly over a scene or two, while the character is focused on something else.
Using breathers
When the two tools above won’t work, breathers are our last resort.
Every story needs small breaks—moments after something big and dramatic just went down, where we give the reader a second or two to catch their breath.
That’s where an otherwise flat or passive scene can really shine.
The catch? We only have a very small number of these moments in a novel, so we must use them with care.
It works especially well with Shooting the Breeze or relationship-building scenes, which slot really nicely into the space after a major plot point, before we slowly put our foot back on the gas.
However, shopping, touring, thinking, and learning scenes can also work in these small lulls—creating a moment of breathing space where the reader will really appreciate them.
In short? If all else fails, move a passive scene into the wake of a key plot point, and get things moving again immediately afterwards.
A Quick Litmus Test
As always, the golden rule is to focus on the building blocks of good storytelling:
What does the protagonist/pov character want in this moment?
What action do they take to get it?
And what obstacles stand in their way?
If you can answer those questions for 99% of your scenes, then you’re flying. The narrative shifts from observer to storyteller, and the reader is gripped to the page.
It’s when we can’t answer those questions that we end up in trouble. The story ends up composed of intermissions rather than scenes, and the passive protagonist thrives. Momentum sags, and our readers will lose interest.
But the good news? Those three questions are all it takes to perform a litmus test on every moment: checking whether the engine is running, and providing a clear roadmap to fix any issues.
It takes practice. And our first drafts will always crash and burn.
That’s fine.
Let the first draft be a train wreck, then come back armed with these three questions, and a plan.
✒️ Join Us in the Writers’ Room
If you found this post helpful, please consider reserving your spot in the Writers’ Room: a community for speculative fiction writers, built around a monthly workshop with dedicated developmental insight.
You won’t be charged until we hit our goal, and your pledge will help us get there.
Once we reach 30 pledges, the adventure will begin.
The wool one is challenging, especially if there is a major self v self element in the story. I’d argue that a combination of dialogue and internal reflection is just as necessary to convey character growth as action is, it just needs to be used judiciously and succinctly.
Totally agree! Repeated descriptions of characters eating delicious food do not move the story forward, no matter how much we like reading about empty calories...