Writing the Scene That Scares You

Every writer I know has one: a scene that sits quietly in the corner of the draft, waiting. The one you keep skipping. The one you keep meaning to come back to later.

Sometimes it’s a memory. Sometimes it’s a conversation your character doesn’t want to have. Sometimes it’s a plot point that hits too close to home.

Whatever the reason, writing the scene that scares you is often the key to unlocking your story’s deepest truth. And it doesn’t have to break you.

The scenes writers avoid are often the ones carrying the most emotional weight. With compassion, care, and a few smart strategies, you can write what needs to be written and come out stronger on the other side.

What Are You Avoiding And Why?

If you’ve been putting off a pivotal scene for days, you’re not alone. It’s personal. It’s emotional. And the fear of not doing it justice can make it easier to skip it and come back later.

When I was working on my second novel, I had decided (in the outline) to give one of my characters a difficult pregnancy. My own second pregnancy had been hard for a lot of reasons and so I figured I could write the hell out that material, but when it came time to actually put the words on the page I discovered new levels of avoidance. I cleaned the pantry, I organized the junk drawer, and I replaced my windshield wiper blades. 

I just didn’t want to write those scenes. I didn’t want to revisit that time in my life. The avoidance was understandable, but I knew I had to get past it. 

Here’s the hard truth: the scene you’re avoiding is usually the one that matters most.

That can be true in fiction or memoir, though the experience may feel different. In fiction, the fear may come from how close the material lands emotionally. In memoir, it may come from writing directly toward something you have lived. 

Either way, the resistance usually means there is something important there.

Write It Badly First

Here’s your permission slip: you do not have to write the scene beautifully the first time.

In fact, it usually helps if you don’t try.

I’ve seen it happen again and again: a writer gives themselves permission to write the ugly version of the scene, lets it be raw, lets it be honest, and suddenly the page that felt impossible is just a page. Once it exists, you can work with it.

That’s often the real work at first. Not elegance. Not polish. Just getting it down.

If even that feels too hard, try writing the scene as a list of beats:

• this is what happens
• this is what is said
• this is the moment everything changes

Or you can try using sensory anchors to ease in. What does the room in your story look like? What sound does the character hear? What physical detail keeps the scene grounded? Sometimes focusing on the concrete is what finally lets us access what feels overwhelming.

A rough version still counts. A fragmented version still counts. You are not failing if the first pass is messy. You are making it possible to revise.

For me, the trick was to set a 10-minute timer and work on it for just that ten minutes, then I would go play with my boy and remind myself that we got through it okay. Everyone survived. 

The Reward On The Other Side

Once you’ve written the scene that scares you, something often shifts.

You find new clarity, not just about that moment, but about the whole book. Characters feel more alive. The stakes feel more real. The writing gets closer to what it was trying to become.

Most importantly, you feel more connected to the story.

That is not just good writing. That is courage.

Begin Gently, But Begin

If you’re avoiding a scene, ask yourself what is really holding you back. Then find a gentle way toward it.

Write a messy version. Write a letter to yourself. Write a list of what happens. Start with the physical details if the emotion feels too large. Do whatever helps you enter the scene without demanding perfection from yourself.

Because writing the scene that scares you is not just another step in the process. It is often the step that makes the story come fully alive.

And once it’s on the page, it usually stops feeling quite so impossible.

If you’re trying to write the hard parts without shutting down, that’s one of the reasons I wrote Sit Write Here: 6 Mindfulness Practices to Help You Write More and Suffer Less. It’s for writers who want to stay close to the truth of the work with more steadiness, compassion, and courage. The book comes out July 7, 2026 – preorder your copy now.