Why Your Scenes Feel Pointless (And the Simple Test That Fixes Them)

There is a very specific and unique kind of frustration that many writers encounter when they finally sit down to write a particular scene and immediately feel a strong sense of resistance.

The scene itself isn’t actually difficult to write or craft. Instead, it just feels… unnecessary and somehow redundant.

You know deep down that something important should be happening in this moment, but you can’t quite put your finger on why exactly this scene exists within the story. You write a few paragraphs, then reread them carefully, only to get that sinking feeling that nothing significant has changed. The characters remain stuck in the same emotional place. The plot hasn’t progressed in any meaningful way. The tension hasn’t been raised or intensified.

So you hesitate. You stall. You consider cutting the scene entirely. Or you keep writing anyway, holding onto the hope that it will “make sense later” and somehow become essential down the line.

If this sounds familiar, the problem usually isn’t your prose, your imagination, or your discipline.

The problem is that the scene doesn’t yet have a job.

The Hidden Reason Scenes Feel Pointless

Most scenes often feel pointless because they were written merely to fill space rather than to create meaningful change or propel the story forward in some way.

Writers frequently plan their stories at a broad, high-level scale. They know the beginning, the middle, and the ending. They understand the major plot beats and key turning points. But when it comes time to craft individual scenes, the purpose of those scenes often becomes unclear or fuzzy.

As a result, the scene turns into one of these common pitfalls:

A conversation that doesn’t alter the relationship between characters.An action sequence that has no lasting consequences for the story or characters.An emotional moment that doesn’t force a character to make a decision or take a new stance.Exposition disguised as natural dialogue that only serves to dump information.

On the surface, the scene might look fine. It’s readable and may even be somewhat enjoyable. But fundamentally, it doesn’t accomplish anything meaningful.

Readers can sense this almost immediately, even if they can’t quite put their finger on why. The story starts to feel slow, padded, or unfocused, and writers often blame pacing issues when the real problem lies with unclear scene intent.

A Scene Is Not Merely a Moment. It’s a Shift.

A helpful way to reframe your understanding of scenes is this:

A scene is not just something that happens.A scene is something that changes something.

That change can be external, internal, relational, or informational, but the change must exist in some form.

If nothing changes by the end of the scene, then the scene is interchangeable with any other similar moment. And interchangeable scenes are the first ones readers skim or skip over.

This is why “slice of life” scenes are much harder to pull off than they initially appear. Without a clear shift or impact, they simply collapse into vague vibes that have no narrative traction.

The 5-Question Scene Test

If you’re unsure whether a scene truly belongs in your story, try running it through this simple test. You only need one strong “yes” for the scene to earn its place, but the most effective scenes will satisfy more than one of these questions.

• What new information exists at the end of this scene?

This doesn’t have to be a major reveal or bombshell. It can be a small realization, a lie uncovered, a suspicion formed, or a piece of the puzzle reframed in a new way.

If the reader knows exactly what they knew before the scene began, the scene is informationally static.

Static information leads to low tension and diminished reader engagement.

• What decision is made because of this scene?

Scenes without decisions feel passive and stagnant.

Someone should decide to act, not act, hide something, confront another character, or change course in some way. Internal decisions count just as much as external ones.

If the character leaves the scene with the same intentions and mindset they entered with, the scene may be unnecessary or needs sharper pressure applied.

• What does this scene cost the character?

Cost creates narrative weight and emotional stakes.

That cost might be emotional, social, moral, physical, or strategic. The key is that something is risked or lost, even if only in a small way.

If the scene feels comfortable, safe, and free of consequences, it will come across as disposable to the reader.

• How does this scene make the story harder?

This is the question most writers forget to ask themselves.

A good scene complicates the story. It introduces a new obstacle, deepens an existing conflict, tightens a deadline, or removes an easy solution or escape route.

If the scene makes things easier for the character without simultaneously creating a new problem, the overall tension will drop.

• What changes because this scene exists?

This is the summary question to determine the scene’s significance.

If you removed the scene entirely, what would break in the story?

If the honest answer is “not much,” the scene either needs revision or doesn’t belong in your narrative.

Why Writers Keep Writing Pointless Scenes

This issue is incredibly common, especially in first drafts, because many writers are taught to focus primarily on flow instead of function.

Advice like “just let the characters talk” or “follow the emotion” can be helpful in the right context, but without clear structure, it often leads to scenes that wander aimlessly instead of working effectively.

Another reason for pointless scenes is fear.

Pointless scenes feel safe. They avoid confrontation, irreversible decisions, and lasting consequences. They delay commitment and the hard choices characters need to make.

But stories don’t move forward through safety and comfort. They move forward through pressure, conflict, and change.

How to Fix a Scene Without Deleting It

If you’ve written a scene that feels pointless or unnecessary, you don’t have to throw it away immediately.

Instead, try this approach:

Identify what the scene wants to be about.Then increase the pressure or stakes around that core idea.

If it’s a conversation, give one character something significant to lose by speaking honestly.If it’s an action scene, add a consequence that cannot be undone or ignored.If it’s an emotional moment, force a choice instead of just reflection or reminiscing.

Often, the core of the scene is solid. It just needs a clearer, more specific job to do.

The Real Goal of a Scene

A strong scene leaves the reader with one clear feeling:

“Something has shifted.”

That shift doesn’t have to be explosive or dramatic. It can be subtle, internal, or relational. But it must exist in some form.

When you start thinking of scenes as units of change rather than just moments in time, your drafts will naturally tighten. You’ll waste fewer words, trust your instincts more, and the story will gain momentum without you needing to force it.

If your scenes have been feeling pointless, it’s not because you don’t know how to write.

It’s because your story is asking for clearer intent and purpose.

And once you give each scene a clear job, the resistance usually disappears along with the sense of pointlessness.