This series of posts will teach you all you need to know about writing scenes. We’ll consider topics such as Scene and Sequel*, cause and effect, scene goals, and the like. The aim is to build a comprehensive starting point for any new author. In this post we’ll focus on: conflict in writing.

* We’re using Scene and Sequel (capitalised, italics) when referring to these specific terms and ‘scene’ (no capitals or italics) to refer to scenes in general.

A recap…

We previously defined the term ‘scene’ by quoting author Jordan Rosenfeld: ‘Scenes are capsules in which compelling characters undertake significant actions in a vivid and memorable way that allows the events to feel as though they are happening in real time.’

This definition reminds us to slow things down, zoom in on the action, and savour the drama presented on the page. Scenes are your story’s highlights, and you should maximise their impact.

However, what do we mean by drama?

Scenes tell of thwarted desire

Scenes tell the story of your protagonist’s attempt to reach their goals. They are unlikely to prevail without a fight. They will be confronted by antagonistic forces that either want the same thing or, at least, to stop your protagonist from progressing. Either way, conflict will ensue.

To defend what you’ve written is a sign that you are alive. —WILLIAM ZINSSER
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Scenes have a structure

Scenes are often described as mini-stories in themselves: they have start, a middle, and and end. Conflict in writing represents the middle, and this is where we risk getting bogged down. We need to be clear on what conflict is. So, let’s start with the obvious question:

What is conflict in writing?

According to dictionary.com, the noun conflict can mean:

1. A fight, battle, or struggle, especially a prolonged struggle; strife.

2. Controversy; quarrel: conflicts between parties.

3. Discord of action, feeling, or effect; antagonism or opposition, as of interests or principles: a conflict of ideas.

4. A striking together; collision.

5. Incompatibility or interference, as of one idea, desire, event, or activity with another: a conflict in the schedule.

6. Psychiatry. a mental struggle arising from opposing demands or impulses.

These definitions tell us plenty. Conflict describes disagreement and contradiction; it describes incompatibility; and it describes battle. Conflict is movement and struggle. It is a process that flows over time.

The blowing of the wind is action, even if it is only a breeze. And rain is action, even to its name. The verb and the noun are one. — Lajos Egri

In his seminal book, The Art of Dramatic Writing (1942), Lajos Egri notes that action cannot come of itself. He gives the example of the caveman who kills for food, self-defense, or glory. Killing, although action, is ‘the result of important factors.’ This is cause and effect once more. To Egri, everything is the result of something else, and results in something else.

Let’s put this under the microscope; the results should be revealing.

The flow of conflict

Characters, like people, don’t live in a vacuum. Nor are they static beings. Characters respond to everything within their environment according to circumstance.

To understand this fully, we can look at the following model from Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. (CBT is a type of psychotherapy that focuses on our thoughts, emotions, and actions):

Feelings, thoughts and behaviours.

This diagram describes the relationship between our circumstances and our inner experience:

• Situation: our environment – the terrain, people, activity, and dynamic we find ourselves surrounded by.

• Thoughts: our cognitive experience – inner dialogue, mental imagery, memories and predictions.

• Feelings: our emotions – the experience of sadness, anger, hope, despair, etc.

• Physiology: bodily sensations and reactions – our heart rate, sweat response, involuntary jerks or spasms, blushing response, body temperature, etc.

• Behaviours: the things we say and the actions we take, including the involuntary (flinching, etc.) and habitual (e.g. mindlessly* opening Facebook when sitting at your computer).

* is there any other way to open Facebook?

This model is interesting because it describes how one thing influences another. If you’re angry then your thoughts and physiology will reflect that. You could then suppress that anger, or express it into your situation – either of which is a behaviour.

Fiction is the truth inside the lie. —STEPHEN KING
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The opposite is also true. If you’re in a happy and relaxed situation, your thoughts, emotions, physiology and behaviour will reflect that. This exchange between environmental factors, inner experience, and action is another instance of cause and effect. It represents the heart of drama.

Stimulus, internalisation, and response

Jack Bickham, in his 1993 book (in his book Scene and Structure), introduces the concept of ‘stimulus’ and ‘response’:

Stimulus and response is cause and effect made specific and immediate. They function right in the story ‘now’ – this punch making the other man duck…or this question making the other person reply at once. —Jack Bickham

This is particularly helpful. It shows how a stimulus provokes changes to a character’s thoughts, feelings, physiology, and behaviour – just as the CBT model predicts.

Of course, compelling drama doesn’t stop there. The resulting dialogue or action will then influence the ‘situation’, in turn provoking more responses. It’s a chain of cause and effect.

To Bickham, conflict begins with an external stimulus  – something that ‘could be witnessed if the transaction were on a stage.’ He argues that the response must also be external, and that it usually follows immediately after the stimulus. Let’s play around with this, and see how it looks.

Examples of stimulus and response in action:

1. The following example is flawed, because there’s no external stimulus to trigger Mike’s action:

Mike entered. He hit John.

(response) John said, ‘what the hell?’

2. Here, neither stimulus or response matches up (although the exchange does at least begin with an external stimulus):

Mike entered.

(stimulus) John said, ‘hey, what’s up?’

(response / stimulus) Mike hit John.

(response) John said, ‘fancy a beer later?’

3. Here, the response doesn’t immediately follow stimulus:

Mike entered, looking furious. (The ‘furiousness’ gives context for Mike’s subsequent response.)

(stimulus) John said, ‘hey, what’s up?’

(response / stimulus) Mike hit John.

(response) Six hours later, John shouted, ‘what the hell is wrong with you?’

4. Here, word order destroys the logical flow of things:

Mike entered, looking furious.

(stimulus) John said, ‘hey, what’s up?’

(response / stimulus) Mike hit John.

(response) John shouted, ‘what the hell is wrong with you?’ Pain stabbed at his bloodied nose.

That last line would make much more sense if it read: Pain stabbed at John’s bloodied nose. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ he shouted.

Ultimately, ‘stimulus’ and ‘response’ are just labels – a response can also be a stimulus. Similarly, you can describe bursts of stimuli before you get a response, or a chain of responses to a single stimulus…  The labels aren’t so important, as long as the exchange of energy starts and ends with something external, and follows a logical progression in between.

Internalisation

Novels hold a significant advantage over other storytelling forms: they describe what a character is thinking and feeling.

Characters are not robots (unless you’re writing about robots, but let’s save that paradox for another time!)

Your characters have an inner world – their thoughts, feelings, impulses and involuntary responses. In fact, this inner landscape is often the most interesting aspect of a novel. It makes sense to describe it, especially in those moments where you might need to clarify or give context.

Here’s a speculative observation: some books spend less time describing internalisation. They tend to be plot driven and move along at a rate of knots. Other books seem to describe internalisation in much more detail, and tend to be slower ‘paced’.

Example of stimulus, internationalisation, and response:

Mike entered, looking furious.

(stimulus) John said, ‘hey, what’s up?’

(internalisation) Mike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What’s up? I’ll show you what’s up! (response / stimulus) He hit John, square on the nose.

(response) John fell backwards. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ he shouted.

Okay, I’m not expecting a call from my agent at any time soon – but you get the idea. To Bickham, the flow of stimulus, internalisation, and response is the fabric from which stories are woven. Orchestrate this incorrectly and confusion will reign.

In fact, Bickham advises playing with the order of these elements to create deliberate confusion should your scene call for it. It’s a question of what you’re trying to achieve.

Motivation reaction units

There is another way of organising the flow of conflict through your scenes. In her excellent 2013 book, Structuring Your Novel, author K.M. Weiland presents a clear and concise overview of Dwight Swain’s ‘Motivation-Reaction Units’.

In this approach, the cause and effect of drama flows precisely as described – via motivations and reactions.

Motivation

Motivating factors are found in the narrator’s description of events and surroundings, in the action and dialogue of non-POV characters, and in the narrator’s internal dialogue (this differs from Bickham’s ideas, where motivators are only found externally).

Reaction

In response to these motivators, your POV character will offer some kind of reaction. This could include thoughts, emotions, actions, or dialogue. Weiland notes that reactions tend to follow this order:

Feelings and/or thoughts.
Action (includes involuntary physical responses such as sweating or breathing hard).
Speech.

Having worked with the CBT model for many years, I’d say that was about right. Weiland points out that you don’t always need to describe the three layers of the reaction; sometimes just dialogue will do. She also notes, like Bickham, that you can play with the order of Motivation-Reaction to suit your needs.

We’re not creating machine-precision prose; we’re weaving tapestry. And it’s the flaws that make Persian rugs interesting.

And the difference between the two?

Very little – it’s all just cause and effect, and the labels are just labels.Use whichever approach feels intuitive to you.

Types of conflict

The scope for conflict in writing is as broad as the scope for conflict in life. As a general rule, conflict just means your protagonist is struggling to achieve their goal:

• Perhaps somebody stands in opposition to them. An antagonistic force either wants to stop your protagonist, or they want the same thing. This could be the case from the outset, or it might develop over the course of the scene. It could be direct and confrontational, or it might be subtle, e.g. being ignored, ridiculed, or via passive-aggressive behaviour.

• Perhaps something stands in their way. This could mean an environmental obstacle, a lack or abundance of something, or a clash: of views, of schedules, of interests, etc.

• Perhaps your protagonist is standing in their own way. Through our own weakness, fear, indecision, and hubris, we often defeat ourselves. This can be the most interesting conflict to read about.

For a full discussion of your options for conflict, take a look at this post on K.M. Weiland’s blog. Remember, whatever opposition you set up between your protagonist and the antagonistic forces they face, only one can win.

Keeping it real…

The scope for conflict in writing is pretty much infinite. However, it’s important to make it a) relevant, b) interesting, and c) proportionate. You want your conflict to move your story forward and in the right direction:

• Relevant: conflict should arise organically from your protagonist’s pursuit of their goal – and the the opposition that stands in their way. Your reader will easily see through contrived conflict, and it will cost you their trust.

• Interesting: some writers worry about inflicting pain and misery on their characters. Interesting fiction cannot be painless; even the blandest fantasy fulfilment must contain friction, pain, and upset. Don’t give your characters – or your readers – an easy ride.

• Proportionate: ramp up your conflict too dramatically, and you might spin things off in an unintentional direction. If your light-hearted heroine is struggling to beat her rival, do try to keep her away from the shuriken!

Raising the stakes

To stop conflict from feeling repetitive or dull, our task as writers is to find interesting ways of raising the stakes. If you find your conflict is flagging, this is the first point of call – but remember not to go straight to DEFCON 1, as that could have unintended consequences later in your story.

Five take home points

• Scenes are mini-stories in themselves, with a start, a middle, and an end. Conflict represents the middle, and this is where – as with all stories – we risk getting bogged down.

• Conflict is disagreement and contradiction; it is incompatibility; and it describes battle. Conflict can exist between various parties, ideas, principles, or interests and it can be found within.

• Characters are not static beings in a vacuum. They respond to their environment according to circumstance. Look into the Cognitive Behavioural Therapy model of psychotherapy for ideas on this.

• Use Jack Bickham’s stimulus, internalisation, response pattern, or Swain’s Motivation-Reaction units, to organise conflict into a logical flow. This will help move your story forward.

• The scope for conflict is pretty much infinite, but it’s important to keep conflict relevant, interesting, and proportionate.

In the next post of this series, we’ll look at the structure of scenes.

Do you have any helpful tips or techniques for writing scenes? If so please share in the comments below. Comments are encouraged!

And if you enjoyed this post, then please share it – you will help get more people writing. I am grateful to you for that!

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