Imagine picking up a short story where nothing happens — there’s no tension, no stakes, and no conflict.

Sounds pretty dull, right?

That’s because conflict is the lifeblood of storytelling. Without it, stories lose their power to captivate readers.

But if you’re a new author just dipping your toes into the world of short fiction, you might wonder, why is conflict so important? What purpose does conflict serve, and how can you craft compelling conflicts that elevate your writing?

Let’s unpack these questions and explore why central conflict is the beating heart of your short story.

Why Conflict Matters in Literature

Conflict is the engine that drives your story forward. It creates stakes, informs the character’s emotional journey, and keeps your readers hooked.

Whether it’s a character wrestling with their past (an internal conflict) or their race to battle against the forces of evil (an external conflict), conflict introduces tension that demands resolution.

Readers are naturally drawn to conflict because it mirrors real life. We all face struggles, and seeing characters navigate their challenges resonates on a human level.

Here are some key purposes conflict serves in literature:

1. Reveals Character. How characters respond to conflict reveals their strengths, weaknesses, fears, and desires. Conflict strips away facades, giving readers an intimate look at who your characters truly are.

2. Drives Plot. Conflict is the catalyst for action. Without it, your story’s plot would stagnate. A strong central conflict propels your characters into decisions and actions that shape the narrative.

3. Creates Engagement. Tension keeps readers turning pages. When readers care about the outcome of a conflict, they’re invested in your story.

4. Offers Resolution. Resolving conflict provides closure. Even in stories with ambiguous endings, the resolution of the central conflict often satisfies readers.

Understanding Central Conflict

So, what exactly is a central conflict? It’s the main problem or struggle around which your story revolves. In short forms where space is limited, the central conflict needs to be clear and impactful. Conflict is the thread that ties your narrative together, giving it purpose and direction.

A story without a central conflict is easy to spot. Imagine a long hallway, and you place a wind-up toy (your protagonist) at one end of the hall. Released, the toy waddles to the other end of the hall unimpeded. There’s no obstacle to their path; they make no choice that actively steers the plot; they arrive effortlessly at the end. The protagonist’s agency is non-existent: they exist solely to be a passive witness to events and make no decisions. This is what a story without a conflict feels like.

Take a look at this 250-micro.

The sunlight spilled through the wide kitchen window, painting the wooden table in warm hues of gold. Grandma Rose hummed softly to herself, her hands deftly kneading dough. The aroma of yeast and the faint sweetness of cinnamon filled the air, wrapping the room in comfort.

Lila sat on the counter, her legs swinging, a book resting open on her lap. She wasn’t reading. Instead, her eyes followed the rhythm of Grandma’s hands. The soft thud of dough against the floured counter created a steady beat, almost musical.

“Why do you always make bread on Sundays?” Lila asked, breaking the companionable silence.

Grandma smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s not just bread, darling. It’s tradition. My mother made it every Sunday, and her mother before her. A way to start the week with something warm.”

Lila tilted her head, considering this. “So, it’s like magic?”

“Exactly.” Grandma laughed, sprinkling flour on Lila’s nose. “Magic you can eat.”

The timer on the oven dinged, and Lila hopped down to help. Together, they lifted the loaf onto the cooling rack, its crust glistening and perfect. Grandma cut a thick slice and handed it to Lila.

The first bite was soft, buttery, and alive with the love of a hundred Sundays past. Lila smiled, crumbs on her chin, and thought, This is what happiness tastes like.

The sunlight lingered as if it, too, wanted to savor the moment. No hurry. No rush. Just now.

Do you see it?

Awww … it’s so pretty … and so pointless! Gag!

This story lacks a central conflict because it focuses entirely on peaceful moments, shared traditions, and sensory details rather than challenges, obstacles, or tensions. Nothing happens. The protagonist makes no choice. There’s nothing for the protagonist to overcome. Everything is perfect and entirely uninteresting.

Types of Conflict

Central conflict typically falls into four categories:

• Internal Conflict. A struggle within a character, such as battling self-doubt, grappling with a moral dilemma, fighting addiction, or overcoming trauma. Sometimes, it’s helpful to think of a conflict in terms of an archetype like Man vs. Self. These kinds of conflicts reflect an internal struggle the protagonist must overcome to meet their goal or transform into something else at the end.

• External Conflict. It is a struggle between a character and an outside force. Good examples include Man vs. Man, Man vs. Society, Man vs. Technology, and Man vs. Nature. The protagonist must overcome these obstacles to arrive at their objective.

• Philosophical Conflict. A clash of ideas or beliefs. While less common in short fiction, philosophical conflicts can add depth and nuance to a story. Man vs. Supernatural, or Man vs. The Divine, or Man vs. Fate.

• Others. Man vs. Time or Man vs. the Unknown are other conflicts commonly found in fiction.

Too Many Conflicts

Stories with too many conflicts are more difficult to spot than stories without one. The story can feel overwhelming, confusing, unfocused, and lacking narrative cohesion. Tackling too many ideas, the reader may feel bombarded with issues. The obstacles feel insurmountable, and the stakes become muddled — too much is at stake! To resolve the problem, it’s up to the author to select the most compelling conflict for their story.

Take a look at this 250-word micro.

The rain hammered down as Clara fumbled with her broken umbrella, juggling her phone that wouldn’t stop buzzing with urgent work emails. She groaned when her boss called for the third time.

“Clara, the client is threatening to walk. Fix it!” His voice crackled through the downpour.

“I’m—” she began, but a deafening honk cut her off. She jumped back as a car splashed through a puddle, drenching her in muddy water.

Her hands trembled as she stepped into the coffee shop, hoping for a brief reprieve. Ordering, her ex-boyfriend, Tim, sat at the counter, grinning as if they hadn’t broken up two weeks ago. “Hey, Clara!” he said, cocking a brow. “You look… moist.”

Before she could respond, the barista whispered, “Ma’am, your card was declined.” She flushed, rifling through her bag, only to realize her wallet was missing.

And then her phone beeped — another message from her sister:

Mom fell. Call me.

Panicked, Clara ignored Tom and darted back into the rain, colliding with a man carrying a stack of papers, sending them fluttering into the storm.

“Seriously?” he shouted, glaring. She apologized profusely but couldn’t stop her foot from slipping on the wet sidewalk. She landed hard, twisting her ankle.

Her phone clattered to the ground, the screen shattering. Clara wanted to scream, cry, or laugh, but instead, she sat there in the rain, paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of everything falling apart.

Finally, crawling along the sidewalk in the rain, a stray dog ran alongside Clara and dragged her broken umbrella away into the storm.

Broadly, the story's central conflict is Clara’s struggle to maintain control and composure in the face of an unrelenting cascade of external challenges: her demanding boss (Man vs. Man), balancing her emotional discomfort upon seeing her ex (Man vs. Self), financial and logistical setbacks — a declined card, missing wallet, shattered phone, and a sudden family emergency. Then there’s the dog (Man vs. Monster)! There are too many ideas and too many conflicts; for Christ’s sake, pick one! But which one to pick?

Crafting Compelling Conflicts

To create a compelling central conflict, follow these tips:

1. Make It Personal. Your conflict should matter deeply to your protagonist. The stakes need to be high enough to make readers care.

2. Establish Stakes Early. In short fiction, you don’t have the luxury of a slow build-up. Introduce your conflict early to hook readers.

3. Keep It Focused. With a limited word count, avoid cluttering your story with multiple conflicts. Stick to one central conflict and develop it thoroughly.

4. Add Layers. Even in short fiction, a multi-faceted conflict is more engaging. Support your conflict with rich detail, action, and dialogue.

5. Show, Don’t Tell: Instead of telling readers what the conflict is, show it through your characters’ actions, dialogue, and decisions.

The Role of Conflict in Resolution

Conflict isn’t just about the struggle but also the resolution. The way your story’s conflict resolves should feel earned and meaningful. It doesn’t have to end happily, but it should provide some sense of closure. This is especially important in short fiction, where every word counts.

Here are some questions to consider when resolving your story’s conflict:

• Does the resolution align with your characters’ arcs?

• Is the resolution consistent with the tone and theme of your story?

• Does it leave readers satisfied or with something to think about?

Okay, so let’s rewrite Clara’s story by emphasizing Man vs. Self, which is something personal. Clara must overcome her relationship with Tim.

The rain pattered softly against the coffee shop windows as Clara sat at a small table in the corner, nursing a cup of cooling tea. She stared at her phone, glossing over the email drafts and unanswered texts. She couldn’t bring herself to work or to call her sister back. Everything in her life felt stuck, tangled, and heavy.

Then the door jingled, and in walked Tim.

Clara froze, her stomach lurching. He looked the same as ever — disheveled, roguish, charming — brimming with that easy smile that had once made her heart race. Now, his smile only twisted something in her chest.

He spotted her immediately. “Clara!” he said, sliding into the seat across from her without asking. “Wow, it’s been a while.”

She forced a thin smile. “Two weeks isn’t that long.”

Tim laughed, oblivious to her tone. “Come on, don’t be like that. I was thinking about you just the other day.” His voice softened. “You know, we could grab dinner tonight? Talk things through?”

The temptation tugged at her — a flicker of hope, a wish that things could be simple again. But then she remembered the fights, how she always felt small when she was with him, and the excuses she’d made.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Tim blinked, his smile faltering. “Clara, we were good together—”

“No, we were not.” Her voice was firm, though her hands trembled. “Please leave.”

Shrugging, Tim stood. “Have it your way.” He left the cafe without ordering anything and didn’t look back. Not once.

Clara watched the rain streak down the windows, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

Okay, let’s re-examine the story.

• The story’s central conflict is Clara’s struggle to overcome the emotional pull of her past relationship with Tim (Man vs. Self).

• Struggling to move on, the story’s emotional stakes concern her well-being and personal growth; falling back into a relationship with Tim risks returning to a cycle of feeling small, stuck, and unhappy.

• Exploring themes like self-empowerment, recovering from a toxic relationship, hope, and renewal, the story captures a poignant moment when Clara sticks up for herself and what she wants from a relationship. It’s a turning point, a new chapter in her life.

• Clara’s decision reflects her agency: she prioritizes her emotional well-being by rejecting Tim’s attempt to rekindle their relationship.

• Clara’s journey’s emotional depth should instantly be relatable to any reader, fostering reader immersion.

C’mon, it was easier to read, right? Less chaos, more structure — details that support the central conflict?

The Relationship Between Conflict and Agency

Agency refers to a character's ability to make choices and take actions that influence the story's outcome. It reflects their capacity to act with intention rather than merely react to events, showcasing their autonomy and values that drive the narrative forward.

Literary conflict and character agency are deeply intertwined. Conflict drives the story forward, while agency defines how characters navigate it. Conflict creates obstacles that demand choices, revealing the depth of a character’s personality, values, and growth.

A strong sense of agency allows characters to confront their challenges actively, making their actions purposeful rather than passive reactions.

Without agency, conflicts feel hollow as characters merely drift through events. Conversely, without conflict, agency lacks a proving ground, leaving characters without meaningful development.

Together, conflict and agency shape compelling narratives that resonate with readers and feel authentic.

Why Conflicts Matter

If you’re new to writing short form, mastering conflict is one of the most valuable skills you can develop. You don’t have chapters like in a novel — you have a paragraph at most. Conflict makes your stories more compelling, more relatable, more … more. By analytically exploring different types of conflict and learning how to spot character agency in addressing those conflicts, I feel you’ll gain a deeper understanding of character development, pacing, and narrative structure.

Final Thoughts

The central conflict is the heartbeat of your short story. It grabs readers’ attention, keeps them invested, and leaves them thinking about your story long after they’ve finished reading.

So, don’t shy away from conflict — embrace it! Experiment with different types, dig deep into your characters, and use conflict to make your short stories click.

Okay, get back to work.

R