Here’s a scenario I see often in my coaching work: A writer has a plot problem. Something isn’t clicking—maybe the motive doesn’t feel strong enough, or there’s a gap in the logic, or a character’s actions don’t quite make sense. So we talk it through. We throw ideas at the wall. We brainstorm. We spitball.
And sometimes… nothing sticks.
This happened recently with a writer I’ve been working with. She had a mystery novel with a death that kicks off the investigation. The problem? The motive for the killing wasn’t holding together. We’d been talking through possibilities—maybe it’s about drugs, maybe it’s about what the victim knew, maybe it’s this character or that one. After a few sessions of increasingly elaborate theories, I could feel us hitting diminishing returns.
That’s when it hit me: We needed a different tool.
The Limits of Talk
Talking through story problems is valuable. It’s how we externalize our thinking, test ideas, and hear ourselves articulate what we’re trying to do. But talk has limits.
When you’re spitballing, you’re working at the level of concept. You’re dealing with abstractions: “What if Sebastian’s motive is X?” or “Maybe Donnie discovered Y.” These ideas live in the realm of possibility, but they haven’t been tested against the only thing that matters in fiction: the actual experience of the scene on the page.
Here’s what I told my writer: “We’re looking for a tool to solve a problem. Spitballing isn’t doing it. Throwing ideas around isn’t doing it. So let’s use the writing as an excavation.”
Writing as Excavation
The shift I’m talking about is from planning to discovering. Instead of trying to figure out the answer in concept, you start writing scenes to see what happens. You write from a character’s point of view, explore their decisions, what they do.
This is different from plotting or outlining. You’re not filling in boxes on a spreadsheet. You’re doing what I call excavation work—digging into the lived experience of your characters to find out what happens.
In this case, I suggested the writer spend time in the victim’s day. What actually happened? Not the summary version we’d been discussing, but the moment-by-moment experience. What did he see? Who did he encounter? What did he learn that he shouldn’t have?
When she wrote these scenes—even if they will never appear in the finished book—something happened. Sbe found connections she couldn’t see from the theoretical. Details emerged that suddenly made things click. A character did something unexpected that opened up new possibilities.
The Trust Required
This approach requires a certain kind of faith. You have to believe that the writing process itself can reveal what consideration cannot. You have to trust that sitting down to write a scene you don’t fully understand is going to yield fruit.
Some writers resist this. They want to know where they’re going before they start. They want the solution first, then they execute. But sometimes the order has to flip. Sometimes you have to write your way to understanding.
I believe the writing process can help you reveal pieces that you’re not seeing yet.
What This Looks Like in Practice
Here’s what I asked the writer to do: Write the antagonist meeting with another character. Write the victim’s full day. Write the backstory scene she’d been avoiding.
I said, “Don’t worry about whether it fits perfectly with what you already have. Just get into the character’s head and see what happens.”
Sometime the writing is for you—the writer—to understand your story and maybe the reader needs to see these, but maybe they don’t.
Sometimes these exploratory scenes become the strongest material. The most honest–because they came from taking a risk.
When to Reach for This Tool
Not every problem requires writing-as-excavation. Sometimes you just need to sleep on it. But here are signs that it’s time to stop brainstorming and start writing:
You’ve looked at the same problem multiple times without resolution. The solutions you’re coming up with feel increasingly forced or complicated. The solutions are making new problems. Characters’ motivations remain abstract rather than felt.
When you hit this wall, the answer isn’t to think harder. It’s to write differently. Go into the scenes. Go into the characters. Let the writing do what thinking cannot.
Put your pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and make something new.
Have fun with it. Enjoy!
The Larger Lesson
This principle extends beyond plot problems. Whenever you feel stuck in the conceptual realm—knowing what you want to achieve but not how to achieve it—consider whether the path forward is through more planning or simply to start writing. Sometimes getting back to momentum is just what you needed.
The writing process isn’t just about executing ideas you already have. It’s a way of thinking. It’s a way of discovering what you don’t yet know.
Sometimes the only way out is to write your way through.
As my teenage daughter likes to say, “Trust.”
Interested in learning more about how to create three-dimensional scenes that live on the page and teach you more about your characters? Try my Udemy course, Show, Don’t Tell, here.
