You’re writing a story.

You’ve got your characters, your plot, and a killer twist.

But wait — your scene feels … flat.

There’s action and emotion, characters are talking, and stuff is happening, but it’s not coming to life.

This week, we’re discussing literary scenes. A literary scene is a section within a story that presents a specific moment with a unique setting, characters, dialogue, and action. It effectively acts as a mini-narrative, contributing to the plot's development and character arc. It's a focused snapshot of the story where significant events unfold.

It’s easy to think of a scene as just people in a location doing things, but a great scene does more than that. It establishes the story's setting, mood/tone, character development, and narrative tension, all while keeping readers engaged.

Let’s break down what makes a scene work.

What is a Literary Scene?

I like to think of a literary scene as the building block of storytelling, providing the reader with a vivid moment where characters act, react, and drive the story forward. A well-crafted scene typically includes the following components:

1. Setting.

• Establishes where and when the scene takes place. If you’re writing a noir, maybe it’d make sense to have a setting in an abandoned cannery by the warf; if you’re writing a rom-com, maybe not so much. Choosing an original, creative setting drives reader interest and helps land the hook.

• When describing the setting, I feel it should include sensory details (sights, sounds, smells, textures) to create an immersive experience. I’ve always thought settings should be somewhat familiar to the reader through tropes or clear narrative descriptions. Myself, I have problems picturing scenes when the setting is neglected — it’s like the story’s taking place in a gray backdrop, a void.

• The setting should reinforce the scene’s mood, tension, or themes. Now’s the opportunity for the author to set the story’s feeling.

2. Characters.

• Who is present? What are their roles in the scene? What are they here for? What do they want? What’s their motivation? You should have a clear idea of these matters before writing any scene. Otherwise, the scene might feel aimless and disjointed.

• I recently wrote a short story involving a samurai. If I dropped my samurai into a cannery, doesn’t that feel incongruous? Samurai of feudal Japan don’t belong in modern canneries. Further, let’s say I dropped my samurai into a “hut” because I couldn’t be bothered to research what a “minka” is. But why would a well-paid samurai, employed by a rich Daimyo, hang out in “a house of the people?” That seems a bit below his station. In fact, it is: higher-ranking retainers of Daimyos were put up in fortified homes within walls, gates, and gardens — a buke-yashiki. A samurai should feel natural in a buke-yashiki. Do you see how the closer I get to reality using specific words and ideas, the more weight the scene will have? The more authenticity my scene carries?

• Characterization in a scene can be revealed through action, dialogue, body language, and thoughts. Let the characters show us what they’re feeling and thinking.

3. Conflict.

• Conflict is the engine of the scene — something must be at stake. Otherwise, why are we here, reading about it? Conflict creates movement. It takes us from point A to B; it gives the story momentum.

• Without conflict, the scene may feel stagnant. In storytelling, conflict isn’t always about epic battles, violence, arguments, or dramatic confrontations. What makes this moment worth our time? The scene risks feeling hollow or unnecessary if nothing is at risk — physical, emotional, or psychological.

• Conflict within a scene informs the stakes.

  • If a killer isn’t caught, another victim will die.

  • If a secret is revealed, a relationship might fall apart.

  • If a character doesn’t speak up, they might lose their only chance at happiness.

• Conflict can be external (characters clashing, physical obstacles) or internal (doubt, fear, realization).

• When characters face conflict, their true nature emerges. Seeing their true nature informs us about the character.

  • A brave character might hesitate.

  • A quiet character might finally explode.

  • A seemingly unshakable villain might show fear.

4. Action.

• This is about what happens. How do characters move within the space?

• A scene should show rather than tell.

• The action should push the story forward or reveal something about the characters.

• Well-chosen actions extend credibility. In my earlier example, let’s take the samurai as he returns to his buke-yashiki after a long campaign. Does he walk into his house like we would, kick off their shoes, and plop on a couch? No, dude: he’s a samaurai!

  • A samurai of feudal Japan may announce his presence at the gate and expect to be attended to by his orderlies before stepping foot on the property;

  • Before entering the home, he would extend a prolonged bow as a sign of respect to his master and to the house he’s been given;

  • He’d remove his shoes and place them neatly in the entryway;

  • He’d reverently secure his weapon (his katana or wakizashi) ritualistically before entering, placing it on a rack. Bringing it under his roof may seem dishonorable. And he’s not even inside yet!

• These actions add nuance and lend credibility to the scene. For many, it might make the scene enjoyable and interesting because the author took the time to do some basic form of research, making the scene more believable.

5. Dialogue (if applicable).

• Not all scenes need or require dialogue, but dialogue is very effective at moving a story.

• Dialogue should feel natural and serve a purpose (developing character, revealing backstory, advancing plot). Remember Maid and Butler talk. Readers can sense that kind of nonsense.

• Dialogue often works best when it contains subtext where characters say one thing but mean another. It forces the reader to think about the confrontation (the conflict), adding depths and layers of meaning.

• Well-honed dialogue can reveal characterization, drive conflict, and advance the plot. Does your dialogue serve you if it’s just pithy phrasing with too many swear words, like everyday speech? Usually not. People who read are looking for more flavor in what they consume. Feed them! Feed them something that tastes great and leaves them wanting for more.

6. Emotional Underpinning.

• Every scene should carry an emotional charge: tension, excitement, sadness, or humor. Think about what your scene is hoping to accomplish. The reader should feel the characters' feelings or at least sense the underlying mood. Your word choices, phrasing, and visualizations should impart emotional resonance.

7. Pacing and Rhythm.

• Some scenes are fast-paced (action-heavy, rapid dialogue exchanges), while others are slow and contemplative. This is your choice as an author, and it should fit with your story’s genre, themes, and central conflict.

• I just wrote a short cyberpunk story over the weekend, and cyberpunk, as a literary genre, is an excellent example of pacing and rhythm.

  • Cyberpunk uses short, staccato, fragmented sentence structures to be punchy, electric, and rapid-fire to match the frenetic energy of a high-tech, urban environment. It’s a genre rich with sentence fragments, run-ons, and clipped dialogue to create a sense of immediacy.

    • Neon flickers. Data scrolls. My HUD glitches as someone’s watching. I breathe, but the diesel fumes do little to calm my nerves. Static. Electric hum. A whirring echoes through the alley. A drone rounds the corner, hovering overhead — time to move.

  • Compare that to (hum-drum, read: boring) fiction: measured, expansive, introspective. Sentences tend to be longer and more complex, with a lyrical quality allowing more profound insights into thoughts, emotions, and meaning. Punctuation controls breath to create slow, deliberate rhythms.

    • The city sprawled beneath her, an endless tangle of lives intersecting in ways she could neither predict nor fully understand, each moment unfolding like the careful turn of a page in a book she’d never finish reading.

  • Yawn — sorry, what was I saying? Oh yes. Anyway, sentence structure, paragraph breaks, and word choice help control the flow. It’s also relevant to reader expectations and genre.

8. Change or Turning Point.

• By the end of a scene, something should be different.

• Whether it’s a revelation, a decision made, or a power shift, the scene's purpose is to change the static nature of the story into something more dynamic.

• An intense scene leaves a question or tension that compels the reader to continue.

Scenes Need Purpose

Here’s a valuable shortcut. Every scene should drive the story forward. After writing a scene, ask yourself four questions:

• Does this scene introduce new information?

• Does it develop characters in a meaningful way?

• Does it build tension or deepen conflict?

• What changed?

If the answer is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ to all four, consider cutting or rewriting it. Make it do at least one of these things! Readers can sense when a scene is just filler.

Show, Don’t Tell

A scene isn’t just a summary of events. A scene is an experience. Readers should feel like they’re inside it.

Instead of telling the reader, "It was a cold night, and she was nervous," show it:

She tugged her coat tighter, breath curling in the air. Her fingers drummed against the park bench, tapping out a rhythm of restless energy.

Go out of your way to use sensory details, body language, and dialogue to pull readers in.

Establish Setting Without Overloading

Your setting influences the scene’s mood and action. A fight in a dimly lit alley feels different from one in a crowded café. The trick? Weave the setting into the scene naturally. Instead of dumping description all at once, let it unfold:

The alley stank of garbage and rain. The flickering streetlight cast long, jittery shadows, and Alex tightened her grip on the knife. No escape.

But remember our discussion on top-heavy stories. Try to spread the love of good descriptions throughout your scene.

Keep It Active

Avoid passive scenes where characters sit and talk. Action doesn’t have to mean fights — it means characters interacting with their world. Let them fidget, react, touch objects, and move through spaces. Make the world feel alive.

Now, passive scenes where characters sit and talk can be spiced up. I did this in my pirate short story, Blessings of the Drowned Prophet. Two dudes (a captive cardinal and a pirate captain) discuss God and their childhoods. Ich, kind of dull, really, but I spiced it up with a card game. The card game added action and suspense. That helped add more action to the scene and kept pushing momentum forward.

End With Impact

A great scene doesn’t fizzle out. It leaves readers eager for what’s next. End with:

• A strong visual image.

• An unanswered question.

• A shift in the story (a revelation, decision, or moment of tension).

Take the time to reinforce your mood, tone, or themes.

Example: She stepped onto the train, the letter still in her hand. If she read it now, there’d be no turning back.

It’s a Wrap

A proper literary scene feels real, carries emotional weight, and keeps the reader hooked. Try what I do: look at every scene as an opportunity to tell even a smaller story. In a way, it returns to storytelling on a micro (250-words) or flash (1000-words) scale and truly impresses the benefits of honing your writing skills on short stories.

R