Writing Scenes Without Conflict (and Making Them Work Anyway)

You’ve probably heard the old writing advice: “Every scene must have conflict.” It’s practically carved into the Ten Commandments of storytelling. But let’s be honest—if every single moment in your story is full of shouting, breaking, chasing, or fighting, both you and your reader are going to be exhausted.

Here’s the thing: not all tension comes from conflict. Some of the most powerful moments in books or films are the quiet ones—the pauses between the storms. Think about the scene in The Fellowship of the Ring when Frodo and Sam talk about whether they’ll ever see the Shire again. No one’s arguing. No orcs are attacking. Yet the emotional weight hits like a hammer because it’s a moment of reflection and love before everything goes to hell.

Scenes like that work because they let the story breathe. They give readers a chance to feel, to notice, to rest—while still learning something new about the characters or the world. The problem isn’t that writers include quiet scenes; it’s that they sometimes don’t know what those scenes are doing there.

So instead of cutting every “calm” moment, the trick is to make those scenes matter—even if no one’s slamming a door or confessing a secret.

Why Calm Scenes Still Matter

When I first started writing, I thought every scene needed fireworks. If the characters weren’t fighting or running, I felt like I was wasting space. But then I realized that stories aren’t roller coasters—they’re symphonies. You need contrast to appreciate the crescendo.

Calm scenes are the breath between heartbeats. They do a few important things:

• They give readers time to process what just happened.
• They build emotional intimacy or connection.
• They help reveal theme or backstory without forcing it.

For example, in The Hunger Games, the moment when Katniss sings to Rue isn’t “conflict” in the traditional sense. No one’s competing or arguing—it’s just one girl comforting another. But it deepens the entire story because it shows humanity in a brutal world. That’s emotional movement, not plot movement—and it’s just as crucial.

A scene doesn’t have to be about winning or losing. It can be about feeling, about realizing something, or even about noticing the quiet before the storm. That kind of writing shows control—it means you’re not relying on chaos to keep readers hooked.

The Hidden Forces That Keep Quiet Scenes Alive

Here’s a little secret: scenes without open conflict still hum with energy. It’s just a subtler kind of energy—more like static electricity than lightning.

• Desire: Maybe your character wants something but hasn’t acted on it yet. That quiet wanting can be electric. Think of Jim and Pam in The Office before they ever admit how they feel.
• Tension of silence: Sometimes what’s not said is louder than any argument. Two friends avoiding eye contact after a betrayal? That’s gold.
• Emotional shift: The scene starts one way and ends another. Even a small change—hope to doubt, comfort to loneliness—keeps readers hooked.
• Revelation: The character or reader learns something new. A secret, a truth, a realization.
• Contrast: Calm moments make the chaos around them more impactful. The stillness of the Shire makes Mordor feel darker.
• Subtext: What’s under the surface drives interest. A smile masking sadness, a compliment hiding resentment—those invisible threads create motion.

Every one of these elements moves the story forward without a fight scene or argument. That’s the beauty of it—conflict is only one way to create tension.

How to Make Low-Conflict Scenes Work

Okay, so you’re convinced. You want to write quieter scenes, but you don’t want them to feel flat. Here’s how to keep them alive and meaningful.

• Know what the scene adds. Ask yourself: what’s changing here? Is it tone, emotion, or understanding? If it doesn’t change something, it probably doesn’t belong.
• Lean into sensory detail. Let readers sink into the texture of the moment—the smell of rain, the hum of a fridge, the brush of a hand. These details build intimacy.
• Use micro-tension. Even in peace, there’s friction. A pause that lasts too long. A laugh that doesn’t sound right. Those tiny beats keep readers on edge.
• Let dialogue breathe. Not every line has to be clever or sharp. Sometimes it’s the meandering talk—the shared silence—that makes two characters feel real.
• Keep it tight. Without big action, pacing matters. Cut anything that doesn’t earn its keep.

When I’m writing, I think of low-conflict scenes as emotional bridges. They connect the explosions but also remind readers why the explosions matter.

Sometimes the most moving thing a character can do is sit quietly, look out the window, and realize something true.

And honestly? That’s enough.

The Hidden Forces That Keep Quiet Scenes Alive

Here’s the thing—just because a scene doesn’t have an argument or an explosion doesn’t mean it’s dead air. There are currents of energy running through every great story, and some of them are invisible. I used to think that if my characters weren’t at odds with each other, then I was doing something wrong. But once I started paying attention to the small, hidden forces inside “quiet” moments, my writing opened up. These scenes didn’t just fill space anymore—they started to pulse.

So what actually keeps a low-conflict scene alive? Let’s break it down.

Desire That Doesn’t Need Action

Every character wants something, right? Sometimes that desire doesn’t erupt into action—it just lingers beneath the surface. That unspoken wanting is a powerful current.

Take a scene where two friends share coffee after one of them got promoted. The one who didn’t get the job smiles and congratulates them, but we can feel the envy bubbling quietly underneath. They don’t argue. They don’t storm off. But the reader feels the tension—because we know what’s not being said.

That’s desire without confrontation. It’s real, and it’s relatable. Not every moment of jealousy or longing needs to end in a fight; sometimes it just sits there, shaping how we see the character.

The Power of Silence

Silence is one of my favorite storytelling tools. It’s wild how much can live inside a pause. Think about a dinner table scene where everyone is pretending everything’s fine. Forks scrape. Someone coughs. The TV murmurs in the background. Nobody says a word about the obvious tension—and that’s exactly what makes the moment thick with meaning.

In real life, silence is rarely neutral. It’s full of unsaid things—fear, guilt, affection, regret. Readers feel that unease even if nothing “happens.”

Emotional Shifts That Move the Story Forward

A scene doesn’t need action to create movement. Emotional shifts do that beautifully. Maybe your character starts the scene certain of something and ends the scene unsure. Or maybe they go from numb to nostalgic. That change—however small—is a story beat.

In Normal People by Sally Rooney, so many scenes work this way. Two characters just talk. There’s no shouting match, no event, no grand gesture. But by the end of the scene, something in their dynamic has changed, and we feel it. That’s momentum without conflict.

Revelation and Discovery

Quiet scenes are often where the big “aha” moments happen. They’re reflective, introspective, or subtly revelatory. Maybe your character discovers something about themselves, the world, or someone else—something that reshapes how they’ll act later.

For instance, in The Great Gatsby, there’s a scene where Nick watches Gatsby reach toward the green light across the bay. No one speaks. Nothing “happens.” But that tiny moment reveals everything about Gatsby’s hope and longing. It’s an emotional revelation disguised as stillness.

Contrast That Builds Meaning

Calm scenes make the noisy ones matter. Without moments of peace, readers have no way to measure chaos. Think about horror movies—those quiet, eerie pauses before the jump scare are what make the scare effective. The same principle applies to fiction.

Let’s say you’ve just written a big, emotionally charged argument between lovers. If you immediately follow it with another confrontation, readers will stop caring. But if you give them a quiet morning-after scene—coffee cups, silence, one person cleaning up the mess—it lands. It lets the weight of the previous scene sink in.

Subtext—The Unseen Engine

Subtext is the lifeblood of a low-conflict scene. It’s the invisible story running underneath the visible one. A character says, “I’m fine,” but we know they’re not. Someone gives a compliment that feels more like a warning. Subtext keeps readers leaning in, trying to decode what’s really going on.

You can layer subtext through body language, word choice, pacing, or what’s left unsaid. It’s the whisper beneath the dialogue that says, something’s not right here.

When you start to notice these hidden forces, you realize that “quiet” scenes aren’t quiet at all. They’re humming with emotional electricity. The difference is that instead of shouting, they simmer.

How to Make Low-Conflict Scenes Work

So now that we know why quiet scenes matter, let’s talk about how to actually make them work. Because the truth is, they’re easy to get wrong. Without tension, pacing, or purpose, they can feel like filler. But when done well, they’re unforgettable.

Know the Scene’s Purpose

Before you even start writing, ask yourself: what’s changing here? If nothing changes—emotionally, mentally, or relationally—it’s probably not needed. Every scene, even a peaceful one, should either reveal something new, shift a relationship, or reinforce a theme.

For example, if your character sits by a lake remembering their childhood, that’s fine—but what are they realizing? Are they forgiving someone? Regretting something? Understanding themselves better? That’s the heartbeat of the scene.

Use Sensory Details to Pull Readers In

Low-conflict scenes thrive on immersion. Let readers feel the moment—the smell of wet grass, the faint hum of traffic, the flicker of candlelight. Those small details make stillness vivid.

I love how Haruki Murakami does this. In his books, a character can spend a whole page making pasta or listening to jazz, and somehow it feels hypnotic. The detail isn’t random; it’s grounding us in the character’s emotional state.

Create Micro-Tension

Even in peaceful scenes, there’s always some form of micro-tension—something slightly off, uncertain, or unsaid. Maybe a character’s smile doesn’t reach their eyes. Maybe a clock ticks too loudly. Those little moments keep readers alert.

Think of it like holding a rubber band stretched between your fingers—it’s not snapping, but it’s tight. That’s the sweet spot for low-conflict writing.

Let Dialogue Breathe

Not every conversation needs to be a debate or revelation. Some of the best dialogue just shows comfort, rhythm, or connection. The trick is to make sure it still feels intentional.

In Before Sunrise, much of the movie is just two people walking and talking. There’s no real conflict, but there’s chemistry, curiosity, and unspoken attraction. The dialogue breathes—it’s real, but it’s loaded. That’s what keeps you watching.

Keep It Tight

Without external conflict, pacing becomes crucial. Trim anything that doesn’t earn its place. Long paragraphs of description can drown a quiet scene. Stay focused on the core feeling.

I often reread my calm scenes and ask, “Is this doing emotional work, or is it just pretty?” If it’s just pretty, I cut it. Brutal, but necessary.

Let Stillness Mean Something

The best quiet scenes are intentional pauses. They’re not filler—they’re reflection points, emotional resets, or quiet storms. They give readers the space to feel before the next wave hits.

Think about The Crown or Lost in Translation. Whole scenes go by where nothing much happens, yet they’re deeply affecting. That’s because the stillness is the point—it’s where characters realize who they are when no one’s watching.

Quiet scenes remind us that stories aren’t just about action. They’re about awareness. Sometimes the bravest thing a character can do is sit still and think.

Before You Leave

If there’s one thing I hope you take away, it’s this: conflict isn’t the only engine that drives story. Sure, it’s the loudest, the flashiest—but it’s not the only one.

Scenes without conflict can be full of tension, meaning, and emotion if you treat them with care. They can breathe life into your pacing, deepen your characters, and make your story feel more human.

So next time someone tells you every scene needs a fight, smile and nod—but know better. Because sometimes, the quietest moments echo the loudest.