How to Build a Scene (Without Losing Your Mind)

Writers often ask me, ‘But how do I actually create a scene?’
And I always give the same answer:

Ask your character what they want. What do they want right now, in this very moment?

Want creates movement.
Movement creates scenes.
Scenes create stories.

The Want Is Your Engine

Your character’s desire doesn’t need to be grand. No one needs to storm a castle at 7 a.m. on Tuesday. 😊

The want can be tiny:

• A coffee.
• A wee lie-down.
• A breath of fresh air.
• A way out of a deeply awkward conversation with an ex.
• A pen that actually works. (This one hits close to home.)

Whatever it is, desire gives the scene direction.
Desire stops your characters from wandering around confused.

A Tiny Writing Exercise to Get You Moving

Grab a notebook and write for five minutes on this prompt:

Your character wants something extremely small but extremely urgent. What is it and what stands in their way?

Examples:

They want to sneak a biscuit without waking the dog.

• They want to leave the room without knocking over the vase.
• They want to avoid eye contact with someone who absolutely remembers them from Year 9.

The smaller and sillier the want, the better. This could free your brain and warm you up.

Need proof that our classes work? Here’s a lovely testimonial from our recent 2 Hour Dialogue Craft Clinic Zoom

"Thank you for a fantastic dialogue class last week. It was such a 'aha' moment for me in understanding how I could tighten the scenes where I just couldn't put my finger on why things felt too busy. I now know there were some areas that were simply too stage directed. The more I strip things away in some of these heavy dialogue scenes now the more interesting the narrative becomes — so thank you! I hope to be able to make the others next year."

Speaking of Warming Up… Let’s Talk About Your 2026 Writing Year

If you want a writing year that feels steady, supportive, and only mildly chaotic, I have excellent news:

You don’t have to plan it all at once.

You just need one step at a time, exactly like our Zoom craft clinics.
And the first step?

February 17 – The Art of Scene

A two-hour deep dive into crafting vivid, emotionally charged moments.
We’ll balance showing and telling like literary acrobats.
We’ll talk wants, stakes and movement. A lot.
Because writing is hard enough. Craft class shouldn’t be.

Time Zones

• Sydney: 7–9 PM
• Brisbane: 6–8 PM
• London: 8–10 AM
• Europe (Central): 9–11 AM

Cost

• Early Bird: 99 AUD ≈ €55.44 / £48.51
• Standard: 120 AUD ≈ €67.20 / £58.80

Want to Read More of My Work?

If you’d like to dive deeper into my storytelling, you can find my books here:

• The Promise — a love story woven through Florence, available as an e-book here.
• Death in the Mountains — a tale of loss, mystery, and the search for truth, available here.

Each book tells a story close to my heart. One of love, the other of loss and uncovering what lies beneath.

Fresh from her desk in Tuscany to our global readers, thank you Carolyn Chambers, for this piece!

While Fabrizio could comfortably entertain princes and dine gracefully with kings, I was shocked to see him return to trough mode once united with his siblings. Was this the same social butterfly who could delicately sip champagne from a crystal flute? The familiar childhood setting somehow freed them all up to gorge like starving piglets, heads so close to their bowls they hardly needed spoons. Slurping wine, brusquely mumbling for refills, their irascible father hardly set an example, feasting before others sat down, or even arrived. Penknife drawn close to his chest, the slicing of bread meant Franco was ready to eat. Christmas or not, he was never prepared to wait.

I have lost count of the times I have sat at a Tuscan table with grunts, snorts and nods replacing civilised conversation. The random “beh”s, “boh!”s, and “bua”s were also sounds I grew to expect during mealtimes, putting a stop to any further debate. Mastication trumped articulation every time, a symphony of burps echoing their gluttonous ways. “Manners are different in Italy”, my young niece would soon observe, justifying their behaviour to her American mother.

The children were already bored and full after their crostini and affettati, only wanting to go home and play with their new toys. Waiting for our next course to be served, watching the tiny fledglings roasting over the open fire, I was equally keen to escape. Fedora’s wicked homemade pasta al forno conquered us all, but nobody ever seemed happy, that beautiful word grazie rarely uttered. When one brother then carelessly complained there was no salad I vowed to boycott the Italian family Christmas.

Want to Share a Snippet of Your Writing? We would love to read it!

If you’ve got a little piece of writing you’re proud of, maybe a scene, a paragraph, a line that made you unexpectedly emotional or accidentally brilliant, send it! 

Clifford.lisa@hotmail.com