Hello friends. I hope your summer is going great. I’m hibernating because I’m a winter girl, but good news! Hibernating means working, and working means more books. Ha. So, we have finished the inciting incident series, and I thought we’d move into scenes and how to make everyone you write matter. Have you ever written a scene you loved but couldn’t explain why it belonged in the story?

Maybe the dialogue worked. Maybe the setting was vivid, and you could visualize exactly where the characters were and what they were doing. Maybe the characters had a lovely moment together. On the surface, nothing seemed wrong.

But then you asked yourself: What would happen if I removed this scene?

And the answer was … not much.

That’s when a writer has to take a second and third look at the beautiful scene and examine it with the eye of an editor.

A scene is not just a place where characters talk, think, travel, remember, argue, or drink coffee. A scene has a job. If it doesn’t do that job, it doesn’t matter how pretty the sentences are. The scene may need to be cut, combined with another scene, or rewritten with a stronger purpose.

So what’s a scene supposed to do?

It should do at least one of the following things. If it does more than one, that’s a good sign.

Move the plot forward.
Something happens that changes what comes next. A decision is made. A clue is discovered. Danger increases. A door opens. A door closes. The story cannot remain exactly where it was before the scene began.

Reveal character.
A strong scene shows us something about the character. What does she want? What does he fear? What is she hiding? What does he believe that may or may not be true? This is best revealed through action, reaction, dialogue, and choice—not a long explanation. PLEASE, no info dumping.

Increase tension.
Tension doesn’t always mean explosions, arguments, or chase scenes (although, let’s be honest, those are awesome!) But tension can be quiet. A withheld answer. A strained conversation. A deadline. A secret. A decision the character doesn’t want to make. But something in the scene should create pressure.

Change the reader’s understanding.
The reader learns something that matters. A motive becomes clearer. A relationship changes. A clue gains weight. A question deepens. A truth the reader thought they understood suddenly looks very different.

Set up or pay off something important.
Some scenes plant information the reader will need later. Others deliver the result of something already planted. But even a setup scene must carry present-moment tension. “You’ll need this later” is not enough reason for a scene to drag now.

Here’s a simple test:

If I removed this scene, what would the reader lose?

If the reader would lose a vital piece of information, an emotional turning point, a necessary decision, a deepening relationship, a stronger sense of danger, or a setup that makes a later payoff work, the scene probably has a reason to exist.

But if the reader would only lose a pleasant conversation, a chunk of backstory, a favorite joke, or a description you happen to like, the scene may not be earning its place.

For example, a heroine sitting in a coffee shop thinking about how much she misses her sister might contain emotion, but it may not carry enough story weight.

Now put pressure on it.

She’s waiting for her sister, who never arrives. While she waits, she spots a man from her sister’s past watching from across the street. He sees her notice him—and walks away.

Now the scene does more. It reveals grief, raises a question, creates tension, and moves the story forward.

The difference is purpose.

Before asking whether a scene is beautifully written, ask whether it belongs.

In the next post, we’ll look at three questions every scene should answer: What does the character want? What stands in the way? And what changes by the end?