Hello, fellow fiction writers.

If you’ve ever been told your story has “plenty happening” but still feels slow… or that it’s “emotionally rich” but lacks momentum… you’re probably wrestling with the balance between internal action and external action.
Both matter. Both are powerful. But when one outweighs the other for too long, readers start to drift.
Let’s break this down in plain English.

🎯 What Is External Action?
External action is what we can see happening in the story world.

• Characters fight
• Doors slam
• Plans unfold
• Cars crash
• Secrets are revealed

It’s movement. It’s visible. It pushes the plot forward.
Example:
He ran across the platform and leapt onto the train just as the doors closed.
That’s external action. We can picture it.

🧠 What Is Internal Action?
Internal action happens inside the character.

• Doubt
• Realisation
• Fear
• Memory
• Moral struggle
• Decision

It’s psychological movement rather than physical movement.
Example:
As the train pulled away, he realised he wasn’t escaping. He was running.
Nothing explodes. But something changes inside him.
That’s internal action.

⚖️ Why You Need Both
External action without internal action feels hollow.
Internal action without external action feels stagnant.
Readers don’t just want to know what happened. They want to know what it meant.

✏️ A Quick Comparison
External-Only Version:
She confronted her sister. They argued. She left.
Functional. But emotionally thin.

Balanced Version:
She confronted her sister. The argument started the way it always did — with blame. But this time, instead of defending herself, she stopped. She let the silence stretch. Then she walked away, not defeated.
Now we see:

• the conflict (external)
• the emotional shift (internal)

That’s story growth.

👣 A Personal Lesson: The Overthinking Draft
I once wrote a novel where my protagonist thought beautifully. Deep reflections. Emotional insight. Pages of it. But very little actually happened. A reader said, kindly: “I feel like he’s processing life, but not living it.”
They were right. I’d drowned the story in internal action. Once I forced him to act on those thoughts, the book came alive.

🔥 When External Action Takes Over
The opposite problem is just as common.
Fight scenes. Chase scenes. Escapes. Arguments.
But no emotional processing.
Readers might think:
“That was exciting… but I don’t feel anything.”
Action is spectacle. Internal action gives it weight.

🛠 How to Balance Internal and External Action
Here’s a simple editing test:
After every major external event, ask:

• What changed inside the character?
• What did they realise?
• What decision did they make?
• What belief shifted?

And after every extended internal reflection, ask:

• What action follows from this?
• What does the character do differently now?

Thought must lead to action.
Action must lead to thought.
That loop creates momentum.

🎭 Genre Differences (But the Rule Still Applies)
-Thriller
Lots of external action — but internal stakes make it gripping.
-Romance
External obstacles matter — but internal vulnerability drives the arc.
-Fantasy
Battles and quests are external — but identity, responsibility, and sacrifice are internal.
-Literary Fiction
Often heavier on internal action — but still needs external movement to avoid drifting.

🚫 Common Imbalances

• Pages of reflection before anything happens
• Huge events with zero emotional consequence
• Characters reacting physically but never evolving mentally
• Characters evolving mentally but never acting on it

Growth isn’t just thought. It’s behaviour.

🎬 Wrapping It Up
External action moves the story forward.
Internal action moves the character forward.
When both are working together, scenes feel alive.
When one dominates, readers feel it.
So next time you revise, don’t just ask, “What happens here?”
Ask, “What changes here?”
That’s where real narrative power lives.

Your turn: Do you lean more toward internal action or external action in your drafts? And which one gives you more trouble? Let’s compare notes.

Hello, fellow fiction writers.

A lot of writers hear this advice early on: “Your story needs conflict.”
So they add arguments. Fights. Obstacles. Villains. Explosions, even.
And still… the story feels flat.
That’s because conflict on its own isn’t the engine. It’s just friction. What makes readers lean forward isn’t the argument, the danger, or the clash — it’s what happens if things go wrong.
That’s stakes.

🎯 Conflict vs Stakes (They’re Not the Same Thing)
Let’s clear this up simply:

• Conflict = what’s happening now
• Stakes = what it will cost if it fails

You can have conflict without stakes — and that’s where stories start to wobble.
Example:Two characters argue about whether to open a door.
Conflict? Yes.
Stakes? Not yet.
Now add this:
If they open the door, they’ll expose a secret that will destroy their family.
Same argument. Completely different energy.

🧠 Why Readers Care About Stakes
Readers don’t just want to see things happen. They want to know:

• Why this moment matters
• What’s at risk
• What can be lost
• What can’t be undone

Without stakes, scenes feel like noise. With stakes, even quiet moments hum with tension.

✏️ A Quick Example
Low-stakes conflict:
She’s late for work and arguing with her partner.
Raised stakes:
She’s late for work, arguing with her partner — and this is the third warning. One more, and she’s fired.
Same scene. Suddenly meaningful.

👣 A Personal Anecdote: The “Busy but Boring” Draft
I once wrote a novel where a lot happened. People argued. Plans failed. Bad things occurred.
A reader summed it up perfectly:
“Stuff keeps going wrong… but I don’t know why I should worry.”
They were right. I’d built conflict but never clarified what failure actually meant. Once I made the consequences unavoidable, the same scenes suddenly worked.

🔥 Types of Stakes That Actually Work
You don’t need world-ending disaster. In fact, smaller stakes often hit harder.
1. Personal Stakes
What the character loses internally:

• dignity
• love
• self-respect
• safety
• identity

These are often the most powerful.

2. Relational Stakes
What happens between people:

• betrayal
• separation
• loss of trust
• irreversible damage

Readers are deeply invested in relationships.

3. Practical Stakes
Real-world consequences:

• job
• freedom
• survival
• reputation

These ground the story.

4. Moral Stakes
The cost of doing the “right” thing:

• guilt
• responsibility
• sacrifice

This is where characters grow.

🚫 Common Stake Mistakes
1. Vague Stakes“
If she fails, everything will change.”
Okay… how?
Be specific.

2. Stakes That Reset
If characters fail but nothing changes, readers stop worrying.

3. Stakes That Don’t Escalate
If the cost stays the same throughout the story, tension plateaus.

4. Stakes That Are Too Big Too Soon
If the world might end in Chapter Two, where do you go from there?

🛠 How to Raise Stakes Without Adding Chaos
Ask yourself:

• What does the character stand to lose right now?
• What will hurt them most if they fail?
• What consequence can’t be undone?
• How can this get worse next time?

Then make the consequences visible.

🎭 Quiet Scenes Need Stakes Too
Not every scene needs shouting or danger.
A quiet dinner scene can carry huge stakes if:

• a secret might slip
• a relationship is on the brink
• a decision is looming

Silence can be louder than explosions — if the stakes are clear.

🎬 Wrapping It Up
Conflict starts the fire.
Stakes keep it burning.
If your story feels busy but not gripping, don’t add more conflict. Add clarity about what failure costs.
Once readers understand what’s at risk — emotionally, personally, or irrevocably — they’ll turn pages fast.

Your turn: Look at your current chapter. What happens if your protagonist fails right there? If the answer is “not much,” you’ve just found where to raise the stakes.

Hello, fellow fiction writers.

One of the strangest moments in writing a novel is realising your character is absolutely convinced they know what they want… and the story couldn’t care less.
This isn’t a flaw. It’s actually where good fiction lives.
If you’ve ever thought, “My character feels real, but the plot keeps stalling,” chances are you’ve got a mismatch between what your character wants and what the story needs.
Let’s untangle that.

🎯 What Does “Character Wants” Mean?
A character’s want is what they believe will fix their life.
It’s usually:

• concrete
• emotional
• personal
• often wrong

Examples:

• “I want to be left alone.”
• “I want revenge.”
• “I want to go home.”
• “I want her to love me.”
• “I want my old life back.”

Wants drive behaviour. They explain why characters act the way they do. Without a want, characters drift. With one, they move.

🧠 What Does “The Story Needs” Mean?
The story needs change.
Specifically:

• growth
• confrontation
• sacrifice
• truth
• consequence

The story doesn’t care what the character wants if that want keeps them safe, stagnant, or comfortable.
The story needs to push them into the thing they’re avoiding.

⚔️ Where the Conflict Lives
Great stories happen when:
What the character wants is in direct conflict with what the story needs.
That tension creates:

• drama
• momentum
• emotional payoff

If want and need line up too neatly, the story resolves itself far too easily.

✏️ A Simple Example
Character wants:
He wants to keep his head down and survive.
Story needs:
He must take responsibility and stand up, even if it costs him.
Every obstacle should force him to choose:

• safety
• or growth

That’s story.

👣 A Personal Anecdote: The Polite Protagonist Problem
I once wrote a protagonist who desperately wanted everyone to get along. He avoided conflict. He smoothed things over. He compromised constantly.
He was very nice.
He was also completely boring.
The story didn’t need politeness. It needed confrontation. Once I put him in situations where being nice made things worse, the book finally woke up.

🧩 Wants vs Needs in Action
Want:She wants to forget the past.
Need:She must face it.

Want:He wants freedom.
Need:He must accept responsibility.

Want:They want justice.
Need:They must confront their own guilt.
Notice how the need is always harder.

🚫 Common Mistakes Writers Make
1. Letting the Want Win Too Early
If the character gets what they want halfway through, momentum collapses.
2. Confusing Wants with Needs
“I want answers” is often just a plot device, not an internal need.
3. Protecting the Character
If you shield them from discomfort, the story starves.

🛠 How to Use This in Your Own Writing
Ask these questions:

1. What does my character think will fix everything?
2. What are they avoiding?
3. What truth would scare them most?
4. What choice would cost them the most emotionally?

That last one? That’s usually what the story needs.

🎭 Genre Examples
Thriller

• Wants: escape
• Needs: confrontation

Romance

• Wants: love without vulnerability
• Needs: emotional risk

Fantasy

• Wants: power
• Needs: humility

Literary

• Wants: meaning
• Needs: acceptance

Different genres, same engine.

🎬 Wrapping It Up
Characters chase what they want.
Stories demand what they need.
Your job isn’t to help your character get comfortable — it’s to put them in situations where comfort fails and growth becomes unavoidable.
When want and need collide, readers lean in.
That’s not coincidence. That’s craft.

Your turn: What does your current protagonist want — and what do you suspect the story is quietly demanding instead? If those two things don’t match yet, you’ve just found your next breakthrough.

Hello fellow fiction authors.

Let’s be honest: we all have favourite scenes. The quiet café conversation. The long walk where the hero thinks about life. The chapter where two characters finally sit down and talk things through.
The trouble is… liking a scene doesn’t mean it deserves to be in the book.
One of the biggest reasons novels feel slow, bloated, or “nice but dull” is because they’re packed with scenes that don’t actually do anything. They may be well written. They may be emotionally sincere. They may even be fun. But if they don’t move the story forward, they’re freeloaders.
And freeloading scenes eat pacing for breakfast.

🎯 What Does “Earn Its Place” Mean?
A scene earns its place if it does at least one of these things:

• advances the plot
• reveals something important about a character
• raises tension or stakes
• forces a decision
• creates a consequence
• changes the direction of the story

Ideally, it does more than one.

If a scene could be removed and:
✔ nothing important changes
✔ the story still makes sense
✔ no emotional thread is lost
…then it probably hasn’t earned its keep.

🧠 The Comfort Scene Trap
Here’s a common pattern:
You write a big dramatic scene.
Then you write a softer one where characters rest, talk, or reflect.
Then another.
And another.
Soon your book becomes a series of emotional tea breaks.
Reflection scenes are useful — but too many in a row turn into narrative padding.

Example of a weak scene purpose:
They sit in the kitchen, drink coffee, and agree that things are complicated.
Nothing changes. Nobody decides anything. The plot stays parked.
Stronger version:
They sit in the kitchen, drink coffee, and she realises he’s lying. She decides not to trust him anymore.
Now the scene has teeth.

✏️ A Simple Scene Test
Ask yourself three questions about every scene:

1. What does the character want here?
2. What gets in the way?
3. How is the situation different by the end?

If the answer to question three is “It isn’t”… you’ve found a problem.

👣 A Personal Anecdote: The Chapter I Loved (and Cut)
I once had a chapter I adored. Two characters walking along a frozen road, talking about their pasts. Beautiful atmosphere. Lovely dialogue. It felt meaningful.
My editor said: “It’s nice. But it doesn’t change anything.”
She was right. It didn’t affect the plot. It didn’t alter their relationship. It didn’t force a decision. It was a scenic lay-by.
I cut it.
The book got tighter. The tension improved. And nobody missed it except me.

🔍 Examples of Scenes That Earn Their Place
✔ Plot-driving scene: She finds the letter that proves her brother is alive.
✔ Character-revealing scene: He refuses to abandon the dog, even when it risks his escape.
✔ Tension-raising scene: The villain appears earlier than expected.
✔ Turning-point scene: She chooses to lie — and everything changes.
These scenes do something. They create motion.

🚫 Examples of Scenes That Don’t (Yet)

• characters repeating information the reader already knows
• long conversations that end in agreement
• travel scenes with no obstacles
• internal monologues that don’t lead to action
• scenes that exist only to explain backstory

That doesn’t mean these scenes are useless — but they need sharpening.
​
🛠 How to Fix a Weak Scene
Instead of deleting immediately, try this:

• Add a conflict
• Give the character a choice
• Introduce a surprise
• Let something go wrong
• Change the emotional direction
• Make information costly

Before:
They discuss the plan.
After:
They argue about the plan — and split up over it.
Same topic. Totally different impact.

⚖️ Not Every Scene Must Explode
“Earn its place” doesn’t mean “must contain a murder”.
Quiet scenes can still work if they:

• deepen a relationship
• reveal fear or desire
• prepare the reader for a coming clash
• show consequences of earlier actions

Stillness is fine. Stagnation is not.

🎬 Wrapping It Up
Your story isn’t a diary. It’s a chain of meaningful moments.
Every scene is asking a silent question:
Why am I here?
If it can’t answer:

• because something changes
• because something is learned
• because something is risked
• because something is decided

…then it may be time to let it go.
And yes, cutting scenes hurts. But what you gain is a story that moves, tightens, and grips.
Which is what readers came for in the first place.

Your turn: Have you ever cut a scene you loved — and discovered the book was better for it? Or are you still arguing with one right now? Either way, you’re among friends.