Breshly News

Today’s guest post is by writing coach, workshop instructor, and author C. S. Lakin.

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Today’s fiction readers don’t simply want to read scenes—they want to experience them. They expect fiction and creative nonfiction to immerse them instantly, to whisk them into a vivid world that feels as immediate and alive as a film unfolding before their eyes.

And this is why cinematic scene segmenting is one of the most powerful tools a writer can master.

If you’ve ever felt frustrated trying to “show, don’t tell,” or struggled to translate the movie in your mind into a compelling sequence on the page, you’re not alone. Filmmakers have been tackling this problem for decades, using storyboarding and shot planning to break down a scene into discrete, emotional beats. Fiction writers can use the same technique.

Cinematic segmenting helps you dissect a scene into its most impactful moments, then rebuild it with intention, precision, and emotional punch. Here’s how it works—and why it can revolutionize your writing.

Start with the movie in your mind—then break it down

We writers often begin with a general idea of what a scene should accomplish. We see action playing out in our heads: characters interacting, tension rising, something important happening. But the leap from that inner movie to coherent, vivid prose is where many scenes lose their power.

The first step is to determine these basic elements of your scene:

• Who is in the scene
• Where it takes place
• What is your “high moment” (the punch in the last few lines)
• What is the essential action
• What is your POV character’s 3 Ms at the start of your scene? (mood, motivation, and mindset)
• How 3 Ms shift in the character by the end of the scene

Creating scene segments

Once you have these elements clear, you start drilling down to the beats—the key moments within the scene when things shift: a revelation or new understanding, an unexpected reaction or action, a turn in the dialogue. These are the hinges on which your scene swings (I call them anchor points).

Think of it like creating a storyboard: frame by frame, you decide what the reader must see, feel, and understand. Instead of letting the scene meander, you build toward the decisive high moment and character change one “segment” at a time.

Writers don’t use actual cameras, but we do control how readers see events unfold. Cinematic segmenting is about making strategic decisions: What angle will reveal the right details? How close should the emotional lens be? What does the reader need to notice to stay grounded in the scene and the character?

For example, let’s consider your opening “shot” for your scene. How you open a scene determines how quickly and deeply you hook the reader. Instead of defaulting to dialogue or vague location setup, consider using cinematic shot strategy.

A powerful tactic is to begin with an extreme close-up—one specific detail that raises questions and instantly situates the reader in sensory experience.

A hand buried in a lump of clay.
A teardrop running down a cheek.
A finger digging into a dog’s mouth to retrieve a mangled shoe.

In each case, the close-up is intriguing on its own, but it also gives you a natural reason to pull back and reveal the broader context. Suddenly we discover the character is sitting in a ceramics class, trying something new. Or we see a frustrated dog owner regretting a life choice. The emotional takeaway is embedded in the visual sequence.

Alternatively, you can start with a long shot—a wide purview of the setting and situation in the character’s POV. He might be surveying the city below the hill he stands upon. His eyes might follow a pickup truck weaving fast along a windy road. Or, in the eerie darkness as he’s hurrying home, he might see movement back in the shadows, indicating someone is following him.

Only later does your character’s “camera” zoom in to reveal which details matter. This approach can build curiosity and tension while orienting the reader spatially.

The key is that every shot is purposeful. You’re not dropping random details—you’re guiding the viewer’s eye. Hemingway famously said, “Don’t mistake motion for action.” Your scenes shouldn’t be filled with pointless movements simply because you think something should be happening.

Choosing the best shots

As your scene plays out, consider what the best “shot” is for the action. When your character is walking down the street, what do you need him to notice? That will determine whether his inner camera is “panning” or “following” someone or something, “zooming in” and using a “close-up” as he spots a wallet on the sidewalk, or “pulling back” to a wide angle or long shot when he turns at the sound of an explosion at the intersection.

Here’s an example. I grabbed a random short scene summary for a novel I’m preparing to write. Clyde is an elderly neighbor of my protagonist, Maxine, who is a young woman recently dumped by her self-absorbed husband. After she reveals to him what her awful husband did and shows Clyde the junky work truck he left her, Clyde tells her to follow him to his house down the street. She believes he’s an addled, whacko guy who is obsessed with his dogs and always trying to fix the Christmas lights on his roof. They are grousing about the horrible drivers in their town that almost run everyone down (this sets up the story’s premise in a huge way):

Clyde walks Maxine to his house (with his six Jack Russell terriers) and shows her his garage. Holy moly! He’s a famous retired inventor with a zillion patents. There are contraptions everywhere. He explains how Sloth (dog #7, all named after the 7 deadly sins) was run over by a crazy fast driver. Clyde hates those drivers too and says, “Let’s trick out your ride and get back at them.”

Here’s how I broke up the scene into key segments (camera shots) to emphasize the important moments:

• Maxine follows Clyde to his house as he tells the story about Sloth’s demise. Wide shot of the street and neighborhood. Looks up—long shot—at the wonky array of Xmas lights festooned around the roof and eaves. She thinks how the lights never work, and how Clyde—too old and rickety—is often up there messing with them. She wonders what kind of goofy “inventor” he must be.
• Move into a two-shot as he rolls open the garage door. Maxine’s POV, pans the room, then enters and walks around. The garage is unfinished, a mess, but amazing in the clutter. Zoom in on certificates and awards in frames (at crooked angles) on the wall. She realizes now that this guy is really a genius. Two-shot: Clyde shows her a recent invention, something super creative. Then says he invented a number of things for trucks, as he was also an automotive engineer. She’s impressed. Asks what his next project will be. Camera closes in: Clyde grins and wiggles his brows. “How’d you like to get back at those road ragers?” “Me?” she asks. He nods. “How?” Pull back as Clyde gestures around him. “I got a few gizmos that might just work. What do you say we trick out your ride?”

Notice how I’ve taken my basic scene idea and fleshed it out into clear action segments.

You don’t need to be a screenwriter or filmmaker to do this—it’s fun and easy. But, more importantly, it gives you a “script” you can use to write each segment. It sets parameters for what you will show in each moment, every bit strategic.

Film shows everything. Every smudge on the counter, every twitch of an eyebrow, every inch of the setting. Viewers don’t get to choose what they focus on.

Fiction is different. Fiction invites the reader to participate, to co-create the moment in their imagination through carefully chosen brushstrokes. Because you cannot show everything, you must select the right things—the selective sensory details your point-of-view character would notice.

This is one of the most powerful aspects of segmenting. When you break down a scene into beats, you ask:

• What details does the character notice here and why?
• How does this detail contribute to the emotional moment?
• What purpose does it serve?

When every detail is purposeful (and you delete everything that isn’t), the scene becomes leaner, more evocative, and more immersive.

Build scenes that leave an impression

Cinematic segmenting teaches you to craft scenes that feel alive moment by moment. The result?

Scenes that move with intention, impact, and clarity. Scenes that don’t meander or sag. Scenes that feel like a movie—only richer, more personal, and more intimate.

Whether you write high-energy action sequences or quiet, introspective moments, cinematic segmenting will sharpen your instincts, strengthen your storytelling, and elevate every scene you write.

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Want to learn more about scene segmenting? Check out C.S. Lakin’s extensive master class recording (lifetime access and handouts included).