How to Fix a Boring Middle in Your Story
There’s a very specific and unsettling kind of dread that creeps in when you find yourself halfway through a draft and suddenly everything feels… beige, dull, and uninspired.
The beginning was exciting and full of energy. You had momentum on your side. You were completely obsessed with your characters and the world you were building. But then, somewhere in the middle, the story starts moving as if it’s trudging through thick, wet concrete. Scenes begin to feel repetitive and predictable. Nothing feels urgent or compelling anymore. You open the document with hope, but your brain immediately rebels, thinking, “What if we reorganise our entire pantry instead?” as a way to avoid the work ahead.
I used to interpret this as clear evidence that I simply wasn’t meant to be a writer. However, I now understand it differently: it is actually a perfectly normal and necessary checkpoint in the process, marking the moment when the story ceases to coast along effortlessly and begins to demand a greater level of depth and complexity.
Step 1: Find the exact moment the story lost its spark
Before you attempt to “fix” anything, it is crucial that you first pinpoint exactly where the energy in your story or scene has dropped off.
I take the time to go back and carefully find the moment or section where the momentum starts to fade or the engagement lessens.
Then I ask myself a key question: what changed at this point?
Usually, the difference is quite simple and clear: in the scene that feels alive and vibrant, something important was at risk. A character made a meaningful choice. There was palpable tension or conflict driving the action forward. In contrast, in the scenes that drag or feel flat, everyone is merely existing without any real stakes or urgency.
You don’t need to rewrite your entire story from scratch. Instead, you just need to locate that specific leak where the energy drains away and address it directly.
Step 2: Ask one question that instantly exposes the problem
Here’s my absolute favourite diagnostic question to ask myself when writing a scene:
What does my character want right at this very moment — and what exactly is stopping them from getting it?
If the answer I come up with is vague or fuzzy, the entire scene tends to feel vague and unfocused. On the other hand, if there is nothing clearly standing in their way, the story itself will often feel flat and unengaging.
Whenever I find that I cannot answer this question clearly and confidently, it’s usually a strong sign that I’m writing what I call “filler movement” rather than real, meaningful story movement. And once I recognize that, the solution or fix becomes perfectly obvious and straightforward.
Step 3: Raise the stakes without blowing up the plot
People often hear the phrase “raise the stakes” and immediately think it means they need to set something on fire or create some dramatic disaster. The truth is, you don’t have to go that far or create chaos to raise the stakes effectively.
Sometimes, the stakes are as small and subtle as a simple choice or a quiet moment that carries emotional weight beneath the surface. These small stakes can still create tension and investment without needing explosions or dramatic showdowns.
If your character can drift through the middle of the story without facing any real consequences or challenges, the reader will start to drift away as well. I learned this lesson the hard way — by writing three whole chapters filled with perfectly fine scenes that, unfortunately, did absolutely nothing to advance the tension or deepen the stakes.
Step 4: Make the character choose (even if the choice is messy)
Flat middles often happen when the character isn’t deciding anything.
So I force a choice.
A real one. The kind that costs something.
Flat middles often occur when the character is not actively making any decisions or taking meaningful actions.
To fix this, I push the character into making a decisive choice.
A genuine, impactful choice. One that carries real consequences and costs.
Even if it’s not the ultimate decision in the story, I write a scene where the character must commit to a specific option:
- comfort vs growth
- truth vs safety
- love vs pride
- staying the same vs becoming someone else
Suddenly, the draft feels much more vibrant and engaging when the character is forced into a corner and has to make a clear choice.
The draft immediately feels more alive when a character is cornered into choosing.
Step 5: Cut the scene that’s only there because your outline said so
This one really stings a bit, but it’s also by far the quickest and easiest fix you can make.
If a scene exists solely because past-you thought it was important, but present-you feels bored or uninspired while writing it… chances are, it’s no longer earning its place in the story.
Whenever I find myself stuck or dragging, I’ll literally stop and ask myself: If I deleted this entire scene, what exactly would I lose?
If the honest answer is “not much” or “nothing important,” then I either cut it out completely or merge it with another scene that actually moves the story forward or matters deeply.
You can absolutely keep your outline intact. Just be careful not to let it become a trap that holds your story back instead of propelling it forward.
Step 6: Add pressure, not pages
When the middle of your story starts to feel flat and lifeless, the natural temptation is often to add more elements—more scenes, more detailed explanations, additional worldbuilding, or extra backstory to fill the gaps and make things interesting again.
However, in most cases, what your story really needs isn’t simply more content or extra material. What it truly requires is more pressure—an increase in tension, conflict, or urgency that pushes the narrative forward in a compelling way.
Pressure can manifest in many forms, such as raising the stakes for your characters, introducing unexpected obstacles, or creating time constraints that force decisions. This kind of pressure makes your story move forward naturally and energetically, without you having to force progress or “try harder” to keep things engaging.
Step 7: Check if you’re avoiding the real scene
This is the sneaky one that often trips writers up.
Sometimes the story feels flat and lifeless because I find myself writing around the very moment I actually need to confront head-on. The confrontation. The truth that must be revealed. The uncomfortable, raw emotion that makes the scene feel risky and vulnerable. The pivotal moment that has the potential to change everything in the story.
If you’re feeling bored or disengaged, ask yourself this important question: What scene am I currently avoiding or putting off writing right now?
When I finally push through and write that difficult scene, the story usually comes alive and wakes up with new energy and depth.
Step 8: Rewrite your plan to match the story you’re actually writing
Once you’ve made these important adjustments, be sure to update your outline accordingly.
You don’t need to do a full rewrite—just make enough changes so that your upcoming chapters align smoothly with the story’s new structure and direction.
Remember, your outline is a flexible tool, not a rigid contract. The middle portion of your draft is precisely where your outline should grow and evolve naturally.
The truth about flat middles
If your story starts to feel flat or loses its energy halfway through, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ve failed as a writer. More often than not, it means you’ve reached the crucial point where your story needs to grow deeper and more complex, rather than just move forward in a linear fashion.
The middle section of a story is where the characters face real challenges and are put to the test in meaningful ways. It’s also the part where the central theme becomes more tangible and impactful. This is the moment when your initial “cool idea” transforms into a fully developed story that readers will find compelling and worth finishing.
Once you manage to fix and strengthen the middle of your story, everything that follows tends to fall into place more naturally and becomes easier to write.