Does This Scene Belong in Your Novel? 5 Questions to Ask

One of the strangest parts of rewriting a novel is realizing how many scenes you once considered absolutely essential… aren't.

There's nothing more frustrating than spending 2,000 words on a scene, only to realize it's doing absolutely nothing for my story.

As I've been rewriting The Stormbound Heir, I've had to look at every scene from the original draft and decide what comes with me into the new version. Some scenes survived almost completely intact, some have been combined with other scenes, but a terrifyingly large number of them have been thanked for their service and quietly escorted from the manuscript.

The whole process has made me think a lot about what actually makes a scene necessary.

Because a scene can be fun without being necessary. It can contain beautiful writing, funny dialogue, interesting worldbuilding, or a character moment you personally adore. But if removing that scene doesn't meaningfully change the story, something isn't working.

So lately, when I'm deciding whether a scene belongs in my novel—or figuring out how to strengthen one that isn't pulling its weight—I've been asking myself five questions. And today I'm going to share them with you!

1. Does This Scene Move the Plot Forward?

This is probably the most obvious question, but it's still worth asking.

What changes because this scene happened?

Does the protagonist make a decision? Does a new problem appear? Does an existing problem get worse? Does someone take action that forces the story in a new direction?

A scene doesn't necessarily need explosions, sword fights, betrayals, or dramatic revelations to advance the plot. Sometimes the movement is small. The important part is that the story looks slightly different at the end of the scene than it did at the beginning.

This has become especially useful during my rewrite because I'm not just asking, Did something happen here in Draft One?

I'm asking: Does the thing that happens still matter to the story I'm telling now?

Sometimes the answer is no, and that's okay.

2. Does This Scene Deepen the Character?

Not every scene has to move the external plot dramatically. Some scenes earn their place because they change our understanding of a character. Maybe we see what they're afraid of, what they want, or what they're hiding. Or maybe there's a gap between what they say they want and what their choices reveal.

I've been thinking about this a lot with my main character, Nova. Her internal arc is a huge part of The Stormbound Heir, so it isn't enough for me to simply move her from Plot Point A to Plot Point B. I need the reader to understand why she makes the choices she does—and how years of hiding parts of herself have shaped the way she moves through the world.

That doesn't mean I need a scene where Nova sits down and explains all her emotional wounds to the reader. Please don't let me do that. Instead, those things should appear through her decisions, reactions, relationships, and the things she refuses to say.

A good character scene should leave me knowing something I didn't know before.

Even better? It changes how I interpret something I already knew.

3. Does This Scene Change a Relationship?

This one is especially important when you're writing romance, like my current project! If my two main characters, Nova and Zeph, enter a scene feeling exactly the same way about each other as they do when they leave it, I start asking questions.

That doesn't mean every interaction needs to push them closer together. Sometimes a scene should make things worse.

Maybe trust grows. Maybe trust breaks. Maybe attraction becomes harder to ignore, or one character reveals something unexpectedly vulnerable and the other doesn't know what to do with that information. Maybe they completely misunderstand each other, or the power dynamic shifts.

Or, my favorite... one of them realizes, with great irritation, that they no longer hate the other person quite as much as they would prefer. Progress!

The point is movement. Relationships shouldn't remain static while the plot happens around them.

This applies beyond romance, too. Friendships, sibling relationships, alliances, rivalries, family dynamics—all of them can give a scene purpose.

Ask yourself: What is different between these people when the scene ends?

If the answer is nothing, there may be an opportunity to push the scene further.

4. Does This Scene Reveal, Set Up, or Pay Off Something Important?

Fantasy writers, gather around. We need to talk about worldbuilding, because I love it.

Give me ancient history. Give me ruined kingdoms. Give me weird magical rules and old legends and cursed artifacts and six hundred years of political grudges.

Unfortunately, readers probably don't need to know all of it. Rude, honestly.

During my developmental edit, I've been working on weaving the history, magic, and lore of the Rainlands much more deeply into the actual plot. The key word there is weaving.

As much as I love to nerd out about my own genius, I don't want to stop the story so I can hand the reader a page of Interesting Fantasy Facts™.

I want information to appear because it matters. A scene might introduce something the reader needs to understand later, plant a clue, or establish a rule of the magic system that becomes important when someone breaks it. Or maybe it quietly foreshadows a reveal.

This question has helped me distinguish between worldbuilding that enriches the story and worldbuilding that's simply… there. If I'm revealing information, I want that information to eventually matter. Otherwise, it might belong in my worldbuilding notes instead of the manuscript *cries*.

5. Is This Scene Doing More Than One Job?

This is the big one.

Ideally, I don't want a scene to accomplish just one thing. I want layers.

A conversation between Nova and Zeph might advance the plot because they learn where they need to go next. But while they're talking, maybe the scene also reveals something about Zeph's past, which shifts Nova's understanding of him. This changes their relationship. And maybe something mentioned during that conversation quietly sets up a reveal that won't pay off for another ten chapters.

Now we're cooking!

The strongest scenes tend to multitask. They move the external story and the internal story. They develop characters while delivering information. They build romantic tension while creating new plot problems, or introduce worldbuilding while planting something that will matter later.

This doesn't mean every scene needs to accomplish seventeen things at once. Sometimes a quiet character moment needs room to simply be a quiet character moment. But during this rewrite, I've found that asking "What else can this scene do?" has been one of the easiest ways to strengthen my chapters.

The more connected those pieces become, the less the book feels like a collection of separate scenes and the more it feels like one story pulling the reader forward.

The Delete Test

There's one final question I've been using when I'm really unsure:

What breaks if I delete this scene?

Because I'll always lose something. A line I like, a funny exchange, a cool description, or a tiny piece of lore.

Instead, I want to know what actually breaks. If I remove the scene, does the plot stop making sense? Does a later emotional moment lose its foundation? Does a relationship change feel unearned? Does a reveal come out of nowhere? Does the reader lose information they genuinely need?

If the answer is no, I need to either strengthen the scene, combine it with another one, or let it go.

Which is much easier to say when I'm writing a blog post than when I'm staring at 2,000 words I really like.

Every Scene Should Leave Something Different

That's ultimately what I've been learning as I rewrite The Stormbound Heir. A scene doesn't have to contain a huge plot twist to earn its place. It doesn't need a fight, a kiss, or someone dramatically revealing a six-hundred-year-old secret while lightning cracks overhead.

Although, to be fair, I write romantasy. That last one would be extremely on brand.

But something should change.

The situation. The character. The relationship. The reader's understanding. Ideally, more than one.

When a scene leaves everything exactly as it found it, that's when I start looking closer. Every chapter is taking the reader's time and attention, and I want to make it count.

As overwhelming as rewriting an entire novel can sometimes feel, there's something incredibly satisfying about looking at a scene from Draft One and asking, "What is your job?" And then making it work harder.

Or, occasionally, thanking it for its service and escorting it from the manuscript.

Sorry, Deleted Scenes, but we had a good run!