While I dealt with the more mechanical aspects of writing scenes in a previous post, this time, I am going into what I have learnt about building a dynamic scene. I read somewhere that stories, like music, thrive on variation. Just as a violinist plays with volume to evoke emotion, a writer manipulates the dynamics of a scene, its energy, tone and emotional rhythm, to keep readers engaged. Without these shifts, a scene can feel flat. Whether it’s the quiet tension of a creaking floorboard or a literal explosion, movement is the one that makes a scene dynamic.
At the heart of this is the concept of microplotting - the art of layering small reversals and emotional shifts within a scene. These reversals don’t need to be dramatic; they simply need to move the reader from one emotional register to another. Imagine a group of travellers who sets off on a quest, only to sense they’re being followed. Suspicion creeps in. Relief flickers when the figure disappears. Tension returns when it reappears. Eventually, the pursuer is revealed to be a harmless child with a magical sword. The emotional terrain has shifted multiple times, keeping the reader invested.
These micro-reversals, from joy to fear, from suspicion to relief, are the building blocks of dynamic storytelling. They create movement not just in plot, but in feeling. A scene that begins with laughter and ends in suspense, or starts with despair and closes with hope, leaves a deeper imprint than one that stays emotionally static.
Beyond emotional shifts, dynamics can be explored through several key elements:
Emotion, energy, fortune, tone, belief and relationships.
1. Emotion
Characters should experience a range of emotions that feel authentic to their personalities and motivations. For example, a therapy session might begin with reluctance, escalate to anger, dip into sadness and end with a breakthrough. These emotional arcs mirror real human experiences and make characters more relatable.
For example, In The Yield by Tara June Winch, the emotional terrain shifts subtly but powerfully. A scene where August returns to her grandfather’s land begins with quiet nostalgia, deepens into grief and ends with a flicker of resolve. The emotional arc mirrors the reader’s own journey through loss and reclamation. Winch doesn’t just write about language - she writes in it, through it and around it, allowing emotion to seep between the words.
2. Energy
Scenes can be loud or quiet, externally chaotic or internally tense. A quiet scene isn’t necessarily dull; it can simmer with suspense. A character walking slowly up the stairs after hearing a creak is far more gripping than one who rushes to confront the unknown. The pacing of energy builds anticipation and gives the reader space to feel.
Example: In Bodies of Light, Jennifer Down manipulates energy through silence and restraint. A hospital scene, stripped of melodrama, pulses with quiet dread. The protagonist’s stillness becomes a form of resistance. Her prose is spare, but the emotional charge is electric. Energy doesn’t require action—it requires tension.
3. Fortune
This refers to a character’s success or failure. Playing with fortune dynamics, such as two failed attempts followed by a success, creates tension and surprise. It’s the classic Rule of Three: the wolf blows down two houses, but not the third. Readers are wired to notice patterns, and breaking or fulfilling those patterns strategically can heighten impact.
In Boy Swallows Universe by Trent Dalton, the protagonist attempts to contact his imprisoned mother multiple times. The first two attempts fail, one comically, one tragically,before a third succeeds. This pattern builds anticipation and emotional payoff. Dalton plays with fortune like a magician - misdirection, delay, and then the reveal.
The fortune shifts (fail-fail-success) create rhythm and reader expectation.
4. Tone
Tone shifts, from humour to seriousness or vice versa, can be powerful as well. A joke in the middle of a terrifying scene offers relief and contrast. Likewise, a sudden confession in a light-hearted moment can jolt the reader into emotional attention. These tonal reversals keep the narrative fresh and emotionally resonant.
In A Lonely Girl Is a Dangerous Thing by Jessie Tu, tonal shifts are frequent and jarring. A scene might begin with sexual bravado and end in existential despair. Tu refuses to let the reader settle, and that discomfort is the point. They keep the readers emotionally alert
5. Belief
Characters often begin with flawed beliefs that evolve over time. Each scene offers a chance to challenge or reinforce these beliefs. A protagonist who feels unworthy of love might experience fleeting hope at a dinner party, only to sabotage it with a misstep. These shifts in self-perception deepen the character’s arc and invite readers to reflect on their own journeys.
In The Trauma Cleaner by Sarah Krasnostein, belief is constantly in flux. Sandra Pankhurst’s understanding of herself evolves with each encounter. A scene where she cleans a hoarder’s home begins with professional detachment and ends with personal reflection. Krasnostein captures the quiet moments where belief cracks, where identity is not just performed, but questioned.
Belief shifts deepen character arcs and thematic resonance.
6. Relationships
Even minor interactions can reveal character dynamics. A sidekick might act differently around the hero than around other companions. These relational shifts illuminate personality traits and add texture to the story.
In Too Much Lip by Melissa Lucashenko, Kerry’s interactions with her family reveal layers of trauma, loyalty, and resistance. A scene with her brother starts with banter, escalates into confrontation and ends with reluctant tenderness. Relationship dynamics are emotional mirrors - each shift reveals something new.
Bringing It All Together
Ultimately, dynamic scenes are about movement - emotional, psychological, relational. They invite readers to feel the highs and lows, the tension and release, the quiet dread and loud catharsis. They mirror the rhythms of life, where no moment stays static for long.
As writers, we often focus on polishing sentences or refining dialogue. But mastering scene dynamics elevates storytelling. It’s what keeps readers turning pages, not just admiring prose. So, whether you’re crafting a quiet moment of introspection or a battle of wills, remember to play with the volume. Let your scenes breathe, swell, and surprise.
Because in the end, storytelling isn’t just about what happens—it’s about how it moves us.
