1. About this Newsletter 2. A Word from our Sponsor 3. Letter from the Editor 4. Editor's Picks 5. A Word from Writing.Com 6. Ask & Answer 7. Removal instructions
Hi, I'm Jayne.
This year we’re examining why some stories pull readers forward effortlessly while others stall, even with strong ideas. Rather than focusing on plot formulas or surface-level tricks, each issue isolates one underlying mechanic that makes short stories work. By understanding the hidden structures at play, we can make more deliberate choices to shape a story’s movement and impact.
Last month, we talked about gravity: the center of mass that gives a short story weight. This month is about what happens after that weight is clearly defined: finding the story’s momentum.
We’re not addressing speed, or action, or "more happening."
Momentum is converting gravity into motion. It is the set of decisions that keep narrowing the story’s possibilities until the reader has no choice but to follow you to the end.
Your Idea Isn’t What Keeps the Reader
We’ve all come across those stories that drag. Conceptually, they might be brilliant; the idea creates a strong start. But then they stall out, and instead of pulling the reader along, the reader is forced to push through, if they even finish at all. This is, obviously, less than ideal.
No combination of strong premise, interesting characters, and a great hook will make up for a story that feels like it’s going nowhere and won't just do something. Dragging is what happens when the story stops being decisive.
If we look at Ernest Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants," you can see a masterclass in decision-making. From the title, to the structure, to the decision the characters have (and have not) made, it's the perfect example of momentum via conversational "exits" instead of "action."
Momentum Isn't Life in the Fast Lane
I can’t think of many stories that drag because the writer chose slowness. Even slow burn stories, when executed properly, don’t stall.
Slowness often stems from writers hesitating about:
The subject matter. Sometimes, they’re not comfortable with the material, genre, or concept. Other times, they’re worried the reader will be uncomfortable.
The meaning. Instead of allowing the story to embody the meaning, they keep qualifying everything with explanation. It mutes the consequences of any decisions and bloats the story.
The focal point. It’s the curse of the writer to have many great ideas for a single story, but when it splits into multiple “how-about-this” threads, there is nothing grounding the story or the reader.
The need for change. When decisions are made, something must fundamentally change—positive, negative, small, large—because actions have consequences. If a story sticks to the original beat despite new information, nothing becomes impossible. If nothing is impossible, then there is no pressure to reach a conclusion.
Basically, "slow" is the interpretation of what’s on the page. The underlying diagnosis is one of lack of commitment: to the point, to the message, to the meaning, to the level of trust in the reader.
Something has to be different at the end of each movement than it was at the beginning, even if the difference is subtle. A realization sharpens. A cost becomes unavoidable. An option quietly disappears. Even if the story is about how things stay the same, that must be a choice or an inevitability. Along the way to the realization, things must change somewhere.
If these last two paragraphs leave you thinking I’m belaboring the points of commitment and change, good. I was being persistent, but not progressing—I killed my own momentum.
Shirley Jackson's The Lottery demonstrates excellence in structural (invisible) progression via elimination of options and possibilities without persisting on anything extraneous to the central question: what happens to the winner of the lottery? It's that pull that forces the reader to the (horrifying) end of the story, because although the themes are heavy, thematic weight and narrative engines are not the same thing.
Sometimes the Negative Is a Positive
When we’re dealing with momentum, we’re dealing with progression. Progression doesn’t have to mean positive progress. Your characters can regress while your story progresses quite well.
Sometimes momentum-killing decision paralysis stems from too many options. It’s fiction; characters can do anything, right? Theoretically, sure. Practically, though? No. When a decision is made, logical consequences follow.
Whenever an event happens or a character makes a choice, it isn’t always helpful to ask, "What will my character do now?" The more relevant question might be the negative (subtractive) question: “What options did I just eliminate?”
Looking at it this way, you can better refine the focus of the story, and say to the reader, “you’ll want to see how this turns out.” Pulling a reader through the story means piquing their interest again and again.
If the answer to “what options did I eliminate?” is “nothing,” you may be hesitating on something. Go back and check:
Where your narrative decisions and character choice points are. Was a decision made? Characters are always making decisions. In the character realm, not deciding is a decision. Refusing to decide is a decision. As the author, you must make decisions to write good stories, even if those decisions are sometimes uncomfortable. What options were eliminated as a result of the decision? Are the choices narrowing, or did you wander off the narrative path, slowing the momentum?
Momentum problems are completely correctable if you’re willing to get out of your own way.
If One Door Closes—Word Counts Still Matter
It’s true that eliminating options means other possibilities might open up.
But do they align with the necessary pull needed to get readers to the end? Or are they tangential, detracting from the narrative, and pulling the story in multiple directions? Are they serving the story’s purpose, or do you just like them? It can be off-putting to realize what you want in your story isn’t necessarily what is best for your story. Stories are weird that way.
This is particularly true in short stories, as there is less margin of error. Certainly, novellas and novels can also become a slog, but they can often survive small lapses in momentum without falling apart. With a short story, there just isn’t as much time to recover, and the gap becomes disproportionately larger as the word count gets smaller. Think of it as a numbers game: one or two slow chapters—say, 8,000 words out of 80,000 total words—is a pothole. But for short works, 1,000 words out of fewer than 10,000 total words is a crater. This is the key reason to be very deliberate about those decision points in short stories to keep the momentum up.
As you’re writing this month, try to be aware of the key decision points in your story as you hit them. Notice how you make the choices of what to do next, and how best to serve the story given word count limitations.
Have an opinion on what you've read here today? Then send the Editor feedback! Find an item that you think would be perfect for showcasing here? Submit it for consideration in the newsletter! https://www.Writing.Com/go/nl_form
To stop receiving this newsletter, click here for your newsletter subscription list. Simply uncheck the box next to any newsletter(s) you wish to cancel and then click to "Submit Changes". You can edit your subscriptions at any time.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.25 seconds at 6:19pm on Feb 04, 2026 via server WEBX2.
Short Stories: February 04, 2026 Issue [#13584]
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
Puzzle Hub
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
