How to Write Conflict, Part 1 (Writing Emotion: Weariness)
When discussing how to write conflict, I find it helpful to start by reminding myself of the old adage: Story is conflict.
On both a macro and a micro scale, this simply means that your character wants something, but an obstacle keeps getting in their way.
This might show up in the form of their own insecurities or flaws, in the antagonist, in external accidents, in fights, etc. The list could go on endlessly.
I have found that the more I broaden my understanding of what conflict is and what it can entail, the better I get at finding deeper and more interesting sources for conflict on a story, sequence, scene, and even paragraph level.
Take the excerpt below, taken from Adrienne Young’s Spells for Forgetting, for example.
As a bit of background, several major conflicts have just happened in the story. The protagonist was arguing with someone from her past. It was their first major confrontation since they were thrown back together after years apart.
Major conflict.
Then, a car caught fire. This was meant as a warning sign, but it also put the woods around them and their very lives in danger.
Major conflict.
But now, during a downbeat after those major heart-racing conflicts, the author has written smaller conflicts into three reflective paragraphs. Something softer. Something less action-packed. And yet, if we look closely, we can see that each of the three paragraphs encapsulates a small-scale conflict that keeps the tension and moves the story forward.
This excerpt only covers how to write three possible types of conflict. But as I said, the more I look for different ways to create conflict, the more my creativity opens. So let’s look at these specific conflict tools and see what lessons we can learn.
Here is the excerpt:
“I flipped on the switch in the bathroom, catching my own eyes in the mirror. A fury burned behind them that I hadn’t seen in years. It was both familiar and foreign. And the thought that kept finding me was that I was feeling something. That fact alone was a stark contrast to the numb emptiness that had marked my life for so long. It almost scared me.
I turned the knob on the tub and sat on its side, pulling my foot into my lap. There was a diagonal bloody slice along the arch where I’d stepped on something. Maybe a stone. Maybe glass.
I pulled my nightgown off as the tub filled, dropping it on the floor. It would have to be cut into rags or thrown in the garbage. There was no getting that smell out—I knew that from experience, too.”
Lesson 1: How to Write Unknown Conflict
To reiterate, I love this basic definition of conflict:
something that stands in the way of a character getting what they want.
In the first paragraph from the excerpt, the protagonist wants to have a basic understanding of and control over her feelings. But she doesn’t. Instead, she’s thrown into the unknown. And the unknown is scary. There’s tension and conflict in the unknown if you take the time to explore it in an interesting way.
“…the thought that kept finding me was that I was feeling something. That fact alone was a stark contrast to the numb emptiness that had marked my life for so long. It almost scared me.”
She doesn’t know what she’s feeling, but it’s powerful. That’s an unknown. In addition, she doesn’t know what to do about it/what to do next. In other words, another obstacle to what she wants.
Story implementation questions:
Is there an answer your scene’s main character wants that they can’t get?
This might be in regards to an external plot-related question OR to an internal reaction, such as the example above.
Questions they may be asking themselves are: Why am I feeling this way? What am I supposed to do next?
Remember, unanswered questions create conflict because they provide an obstacle to the thing the character wants (answers). They also create tension, because the anticipation within the story is stretched tighter and tighter until those questions are answered.
Lesson 2: How to Write Micro Conflict
In the second paragraph from the excerpt, the protagonist realizes that she cut her foot in the scuffle of the previous scene.
This is very minor. It’s not life-threatening. She doesn’t even worry about taking care of the cut.
But it adds to the conflict of the moment. Physical injury is something we all understand. It’s something we take seriously.
This lesson of micro conflict can come in many forms. I give a few examples in the story implementation questions below, as well as in this post on creating suspense.
Story implementation questions:
Is there a micro conflict you can add within a single scene, or even within a single paragraph?
For example, a cut, a broken lamp, an annoying background noise, etc.
These things don’t prevent the main character from getting what they want, but they make it a little more difficult.
For example, the protagonist above wants to take a relaxing bath, but now she has to worry about a cut. Even if the obstacle doesn’t show much on the page (we don’t see her bandaging her cut), it adds an extra layer of gravity and tension to the situation.
Lesson 3: How to Write Mystery Conflict
If conflict is an obstacle getting in the way of a desire, sometimes that desire comes in the form of information, and the obstacle comes in the form of someone withholding that information.
In the third paragraph from the excerpt above, we, as the audience, are the ones who want something. And the thing we want is information. The author withholding that information from us creates that conflict and tension that will stretch until our questions are answered.
“There was no getting that smell out—I knew that from experience, too.”
We assume the smell has to do with the fire in the previous scene—so what is her experience? We have to know. So we keep reading.
Story implementation questions:
Is there an answer your audience wants that you can hint at without giving away?
This creates conflict in the reader and boosts the tension of your story. Just remember the rule of thumb: every time you bring up an unanswered question/mystery, make sure you are providing a little more information.
For example, in the scene above, we now know that the protagonist has had some sort of trauma that had to do with fire. The next time it comes up, we’ll want a bit more information about that experience. If she just continued to allude to a fire over and over again without giving us more breadcrumbs, we’d grow annoyed and bored.
And there you go! Three simple types of conflict you can apply within a scene to keep the reader on edge, the story moving forward, and the tension pulled tight.
Bonus Lesson
Writing Emotion: Weariness
In the past, I’ve focused every lesson from a story excerpt on how the author cultivated a specific emotion in a scene. Today, however, I wanted to explore different forms of conflict.
But I couldn’t just not touch on writing emotion!
Here are some ways I felt the author was able to evoke a feeling of weariness in this scene:
“There was a diagonal bloody slice along the arch where I’d stepped on something. Maybe a stone. Maybe glass.”
The protagonist doesn’t take any action to take care for her cut. She’s too tired, emotionally and physically. She doesn’t even bother with any thoughts about exactly how she got the injury, but rather throws out a couple of possibilities and then quickly moves on. Her lack of curiosity and will to care for an injury show how weary she is in this moment.
“I pulled my nightgown off as the tub filled, dropping it on the floor.”
This is another example. She just drops her ruined nightgown on the floor. Despite the fact that we know she’s feeling the spark of other, more fiery emotions—emotions she hasn’t felt in a long time—these tired actions make it clear that weariness is most prevalent for her right now.
This is smart. It’s an emotion that pairs well with the downbeat in the pacing of the story. She just fought a fire, our hearts are racing. Now it’s time for a break, for both the protagonist and the reader.
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