Stalled scenes can be frustrating during the writing and revision process, but chances are they have everything they need to create a compelling moment. Instead of scrapping the scene, check out these tips on how to transform a scene that’s limping along to one that sends readers racing to see what happens next!
Have you ever received pages back from a critique partner or beta reader that say, “This scene feels like it’s dragging a bit”? Perhaps you’ve looked at a chapter or a scene yourself and felt frustrated that, although it’s important, it just feels like it’s taking forever to get where you need to go.
Early drafts often struggle with sections like this. It’s simply part of the writing process. The good news is, it doesn’t mean you need to start from scratch. Chances are the fix is easier than you think, and a complete rewrite might not be necessary!
Horizontal Movement vs. Vertical Movement
Imagine a series of irrigation pipes pieced together to carry water from a river to a farm that’s at a higher elevation. Along the way, there are spots where the ground is level, but then there are places where the pipes climb straight up a hill and then drop back down until they eventually reach the spigot. Naturally, when the faucet is on, the water flows quickly and easily through the areas where the pipe is flat and level (horizontal movement). But when the water is forced to go straight up and over the hill (vertical movement), that momentum is going to drastically slow.
Now imagine the farmer realizes he could irrigate his farm better if, instead of having one long vertical pipe, he re-lays everything in a long, steady, slow rise rather than a series of abrupt 90-degree inclines and declines.
Yes, it’ll take some work—but he already has something to work with, so he doesn’t have to start from scratch.
Like the pipes, every story is filled with movement. After all, our tales generally take place in a finite world in which time is constantly flowing. They start at the beginning—the “Once Upon A Time.” Then they move forward (front story or present timeline). Sometimes they move backward (backstory or flashbacks). But sometimes they hit a snag that bumps the reader up and out of the story.
When a story scene focuses on the action that moves our characters toward the climax and conclusion of the story, we call it “horizontal movement.” But when the story “pauses” by focusing on backstory, flashbacks, or internal monologue, we call that “vertical movement.”
Vertical movement is crucial to understanding the world in which a character lives. It shows us their motivations, experiences, and emotional states. It also adds a bit of depth to the world by describing the environment in which our characters interact with nature and with others.
The trick lies in introducing these vertical moments carefully, purposefully, and in a way that doesn’t stop the story flow. If there’s ever a time that readers might fall out of a story, it’s when there is an overabundance of vertical movement dragging them away from what they really want—action!
To illustrate this, check out this early draft of an opening scene. As you read, note the details (or lack of them) influencing how the reader might connect with the characters and their circumstances.
As you read the scene, take note of what distracts you as a reader. What engages you? Where do you pick up a sense of urgency? And where is the forward (horizontal) movement getting “blocked” up?
The Original Scene
“How long does it take for the phone company to release the details of a cell phone’s last ping to the police?” Martin asked. He stood in front of the bricked-up fireplace where pictures of Marley sat on either side of an antique clock. “Maybe we should call the station again.”
“And ask what?” Avery said from her seat on the couch. “If they forgot our number? Constantly bugging that poor officer isn’t going to bring our baby back any sooner.”
Martin shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come down on her so hard.”
That was an understatement, thought Avery. She was always telling him that if he didn’t start watching his temper, he was going to destroy the entire family. It was bad enough she’d had to learn to deal with his thoughtless words and the way that he’d always be so quick to judge a situation before knowing all the facts during the early days of their marriage, but she’d always hoped he’d be better by the time they started a family.
That was her first mistake.
For the first year after they brought Marley home from the hospital, there was rarely a night that hadn’t been interrupted every two hours by her colicky cries. Avery had done everything she could to soothe her miserable daughter and try to quiet her so her husband would be able to get a full night’s rest before work the next day. But he was too light a sleeper himself and if anyone needed sleep in his book…it was him.
Then, as Marley grew, she began displaying the same strong bull-headed personality as her father. Avery would never forget the tense humor of watching a three-year-old child stare down a thirty-three-year-old man without blinking or giving an inch of ground. Now that Marly was nearly an adult, Avery had all but given up on trying to get them to get along with each other. She’d never once expected that their fights would one day lead to this moment.
She wanted to be furious at her husband, but she didn’t have the energy. All she could do was helplessly wait for some sign that their daughter was alive. And that she was safe.
Evaluating the Scene: What’s Holding it Back?
1) Floating heads. This is a term that editors (and writers) use to indicate a scene that plays out without having a clear physical setting. In this case, we have two characters exchanging dialogue at the beginning, but we have no sense of where they are or what’s going on around them. We know there is a fireplace, a clock, some pictures, and a couch, but we don’t have any descriptions of those items beyond the fireplace being bricked up. Nor do we have much to go on for the characters. This means the reader’s imagination will need to work overtime to try to populate the scene and determine if they should care about their troubles or not.
When a scene lacks physical anchors and leans heavily on backstory, it reminds readers they are reading a story instead of being immersed in a story world.
The simplest solution is to allow the characters to interact with their surroundings. Include sensory details (sight, sound, texture, smells, air currents, etc.) that ground the character (and the reader) in a specific place. We can also introduce some action beats that give us insight into what the characters are feeling without expressing those feelings through dialogue or narrative summary. Finally, we can add a few extra descriptions about the room that lend to the tension of the setting.
2) Narrative summary. Sharing the full family history backstory is another element that makes it difficult to picture the scene. Backstory is important to world-building, but too much in one spot is commonly referred to as info dumping.
Imagine this is a scene playing out on a stage rather than a page. Everything is moving forward, but then our protagonist calls a timeout. Martin freezes. The antique clock stops ticking. Avery turns to the audience and says, “Before we continue, let me fill you in on a few details you might need to know for context.”
While the information she shares about the conflict between father and daughter reveals insight into the family’s dilemma, it falls in the middle of a moment that is meant to be filled with anxiety and tension. The story loses its momentum and the story stalls. Because so much of the scene focuses on the past, readers are unable to connect with what’s happening in the present. As a result, the illusion we hope to create as writers is shattered and the reader remembers they’re holding a book…and their mind might begin to wander.
The simplest solution is to determine how to best utilize the backstory in this scene. If it were a scene in the middle of a story, we might consider earlier spots where we could sprinkle in some of this information by showing it play out in real time. Because this is a short story or an opening scene, it’s better if we hold some of this information back and reveal only what is necessary at this moment through active conversation and interactions between Martin and Avery.
Areas of concern aside, the important thing to note is that the foundation and framework needed to make this scene work are already in place. All it needs now are a few refinements and a couple of additional layers of details to make it pop off the page.
Adding to the Existing Framework
Photo by Max Vakhtbovych on Pexels.com
When we address these two areas of concern listed above, the next draft of the scene might look something like this:
The worn floral couch cushions shifted beneath Avery as Martin stood and began pacing the length living room for the twentieth time in as many minutes. She counted eight new sets of footprints stretching the length of the dark brown carpet when he paused in front of the old bricked-up fireplace.
“This is a nightmare.” Marty rubbed his work-stained hands up and down his haggard face as if trying to wake himself up from a dream.
Avery’s attention turned to her own hands, clasped in her lap. How much they’d aged since the first time Marley was placed in her arms. Back then they’d been smooth, without wrinkle, and the house had barely known a moment of quiet between the sweet coos of contentment and the piercing cries that regularly deprived her and Martin of more than a few hours of sleep.
Now the only sound came from the grandmother clock keeping watch from the mantle. Avery couldn’t bear to look at its faded antique face—nor at the smiling face looking out of the portraits lined up on either side of it.
“How long does it take for the phone company to release the details of a cell phone’s last ping to the police?” Martin reached for the cordless phone lying next to the table lamp. The one Marley had broken as a little girl when she’d thrown her doll at Martin and missed. “Maybe we should call the station again.”
“And ask what?” Avery threw her hands up and out. “If they forgot our number? Constantly bugging that poor officer isn’t going to bring our baby back any sooner.”
Martin winced and rubbed his hand against the back of his graying head. The implication of her tone was clear. This was his fault. His and the temper she’d always warned him he needed to learn to control.
Now she was the one losing it. She should have felt sorry for snapping at him, but she didn’t. After years of playing the role of peacekeeper between husband and daughter, she couldn’t keep the peace anymore. Her family was broken and, unlike the lamp, there was nothing she could do to fix it.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Her aching heart cracked a little more with each flick of the second hand. How many cracks, she wondered, could one heart take until it crumbled to pieces?
She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound.
How many times had she wished time would slow down a bit? How many times had she wished she could stretch the minutes out a little bit longer just so that she could enjoy watching her golden-haired child dancing and climbing and stubbornly refusing to call it quits?
Now she’d give anything for the clock to speed ahead. For her daughter to walk safely through the door.
“I shouldn’t have come down on her so hard about finishing her college applications.” Martin’s voice cracked and Avery’s resolve to shut him out broke. She opened her eyes and watched in pained silence as his fingers brushed the glass protecting their daughter’s senior portrait.
Even though she’d dusted earlier that day, the elusive gray particles had already begun settling on it again. She refused to think of it as an omen. She stood and wrapped her empty arms around her husband’s waist. He stiffened at first, then relaxed into her embrace.
“Our baby’s alive. I know it,” Avery whispered as a tear slipped down her cheek. Marley was going to come home. All would be well again.
She couldn’t let go of that hope.
As you can see, all of the same original elements are still present in both scenes. The furniture in the room. An indication of conflict between husband and wife and father and daughter. The longing for a missing and endangered child to come home. They’re just presented in a slightly different manner that focuses on drawing in the reader and building the tension between Martin and Avery to a breaking point that leaves them clinging to each other in desperation at the end.
The goal of the scene is to leave the reader feeling deeply for the parents and invested in discovering the answer to the questions they are so desperately seeking: Is their daughter alive? And, can their family be saved?
Now it’s your turn!
Go back to that slow-moving scene you’re feeling frustrated with. Make notes about which details are present (and which are absent). Notice the emotions you feel (or want the reader to feel) that aren’t coming through yet.
Focus on any backstory or flashbacks that might be included in the scene. Is this information absolutely crucial to this moment? If not, is there a spot where it might better serve your story? Or is this information only necessary for you, as the architect of the story world?
Before you begin a complete re-write, try asking yourself how you might increase the action and tension of the scene by scaling back the amount of information you’re revealing. Focus on sharing only what is necessary through conversation, interaction with the setting, and a bit of inner dialogue that reveals the character’s emotional state.
Chances are, once you’ve finished making those notes, you’ll discover that you’ve already got everything you need to transform a good scene into a powerful one that sends readers racing ahead to see what happens next. And it just might help speed up your revision process as well.
You’ve got this, my friend!
—Jen