Last month, we kicked off our four-part series on drawing readers into your story and keeping them there. We talked about the first five pages and why a strong opening is really about earning reader trust.
This month, we’re taking that idea one step further. Once you’ve earned that trust, you have to be willing to use it. As hard as it is, sometimes that means not telling readers everything.
What’s Left Unsaid
If you’ve ever written a scene where the dialogue is technically fine but something about it just feels . . . flat, subtext may be what’s missing.
Maybe your characters are talking. They’re answering each other’s questions. They’re saying what they’re thinking. They’re explaining how they feel.
That’s all well and good, but it’s also exactly the problem, because people don’t usually communicate that way.
Here’s a little exercise for you: Think about the last uncomfortable conversation you had with someone you know well. Did you both calmly explain exactly what you were thinking and feeling?
We did this exercise in-house and the results were interesting. Most of us did not say what we were thinking or feeling. Some said things like, “I’m fine.”
Others changed the subject.
One person said she started loading the dishwasher with a lot of enthusiasm!
The message here is that what was said mattered, but what wasn’t said probably mattered more.
That’s subtext.
What Is Subtext, Really?
In a nutshell, subtext is the meaning underneath what’s actually being said or done.
A character might say: “You’re home early.” That sounds simple enough, right? But what does it really mean?
It could mean:
- I’m happy you’re here.
- Why are you here?
- You weren’t supposed to see this.
- I thought you were with her.
- I’ve been waiting for you.
The words the character said haven’t changed, but what’s underneath them has.
And as writers, that subtext—what’s not being said—is where the fun lies. It’s where things get interesting.
At Technica Editorial, we often see writers working very hard to make sure readers understand exactly what’s happening in a scene. That instinct makes sense. None of us wants readers to be confused.
But a big point of confusion is understanding the difference between clarity and explanation.
Readers don’t necessarily need every emotion interpreted for them. What they do need is clarity.
Sometimes We Explain the Good Stuff Away
Let’s say a character has just discovered that her sister has been lying to her. As the writer, we think, “Oh, she needs to confront her!” So we have the sister say: “I was going to tell you.”
And then we have the protagonist respond: “I’m angry because you’ve been lying to me for six months, and now I don’t know whether I can trust you.”
Technically, that conversation works. We understand exactly how she feels. But we’ve also removed the inferences the reader can make—inferences that most readers derive pleasure from.
Let’s look at that brief exchange another way. What if she simply says: “Six months.”
That’s it. We’ve replaced 27 words with 2. Depending on everything we’ve built around that moment, those two words might carry anger, hurt, disbelief, betrayal, or all four. The weight of those two words is so much more powerful than the original exchange.
Maybe she can’t look at her sister.
Maybe she folds the dish towel she’s holding once. Then again. Then again.
Maybe her sister starts explaining and she quietly says: “Don’t.”
When we write exchanges like this, we’re letting the reader participate in the scene rather than simply receiving a report about it.
Trust Readers to Connect the Dots
Remember what we said last month about curiosity? Readers like putting pieces together.
That concept doesn’t stop after the first five pages. In fact, one of the most satisfying parts of reading is understanding something a character hasn’t actually said. We notice hesitation or the unfinished sentence or the joke that lands a little too hard or the character who insists something doesn’t matter when we already know it matters—it matters a lot.
Because we’ve figured it out ourselves, we often feel it more deeply. This is where subtext and reader trust come together. As writers, we provide the clues, then we trust readers to make the connection.
Subtext Isn’t Just Dialogue
This is important because subtext often gets treated as a dialogue technique. That’s only partially true. It’s also much more than that.
Subtext can be in:
- what a character notices
- what they deliberately ignore
- body language
- silence
- a change of subject
- an object they can’t stop touching
- the thing they almost say
- the thing another character refuses to ask
Here’s another example: Imagine two former best friends seeing each other for the first time in ten years.
We could spend several paragraphs explaining their history and telling readers how uncomfortable they are. But that would be telling instead of showing the exchange with emotion.
Imagine it unfolding like this. One of them could say: “You still take your coffee black?”
And the other could answer: “Not anymore.”
On the surface, they’re talking about coffee, but underneath we’re inferring that a whole lot more than coffee may have changed. Coffee is simply a metaphor for everything else that has happened in the past ten years.
That’s the beauty of subtext. Ordinary words can carry extraordinary weight when the reader understands what’s underneath them.
Caveat: Don’t Make Readers Guess at Everything
You don’t want to take subtext too far, though, so let’s look at the other side to all of this.
Subtext isn’t about making your writing so subtle that readers need a decoder ring—although that would be fun, right?! If readers have no idea why a character is behaving strangely, that’s not necessarily subtext. It might just be confusing.
For subtext to work, readers need context. They need enough information to recognize that the words on the page aren’t the whole story.
We like to think of it like an iceberg. We’re seeing what’s above the water because the writer has given us enough information to understand there’s something much larger underneath.
That’s why good subtext depends on groundwork.
If we’ve already seen that your protagonist desperately wants her mother’s approval, then her mother’s casual question—“That’s what you’re wearing?” —can do a lot of work. You don’t necessarily need to follow it with: My mother’s criticism made me feel insecure, just as it had since I was a child.
We don’t need to be told this because we already get it. And when you trust us to get it, the moment can hold so much more emotional weight.
Watch for the Double Tell
Here’s something to look for the next time you’re revising dialogue.
We see versions of this all the time:
(1) “I don’t want you to go,” she said, (2) feeling afraid that he would leave her.
The dialogue already told us—then the narrative tells us again.
Or:
(1) “Whatever,” he said angrily, (2) furious that she had ignored him.
Again, we’re getting essentially the same information twice.
Does this mean you can never name an emotion? No, not at all! The question is whether the second piece of information is adding something we don’t already know.
If the dialogue says one thing and the narrative adds another layer—great. If both are doing exactly the same job? You may be explaining something the reader already understood.
Try the Subtext Test
Here’s an exercise you can use on a scene you’re working on right now.
Choose an emotionally important conversation in your work in progress and read only the dialogue. Then ask yourself:
Are my characters saying exactly what they mean?
If they are, look for one or two places where you can create a little space between the words and the meaning underneath them.
- Maybe your character avoids the question.
- Maybe they answer a different question.
- Maybe they say the opposite of what they’re feeling.
- Maybe they say nothing at all.
Then read the entire scene again and ask a different question:
Have I given the reader enough information to understand what’s really happening?
You need to strike a balance. You don’t want to explain everything, and you don’t want to hide everything. You want to give readers just enough that they can step into the space between the two.
Big Technica Takeaways
- Subtext is the meaning underneath what’s actually said or done.
- Characters don’t always need to say exactly what they’re thinking or feeling.
- Silence, body language, avoidance, and implication can carry as much meaning as dialogue.
- Watch for places where dialogue and narration tell readers the same thing twice.
- Give readers enough context to make connections, then trust them to do it.
Last month, we talked about earning reader trust in the first five pages. This month, we’re asking you to return some of that trust. You don’t have to explain every emotion. You don’t have to interpret every line.
The bottom line is that your characters definitely don’t have to say everything they’re thinking. Sometimes the most powerful thing in a scene is the thing nobody says at all.
Happy writing!
The Technica Editorial Team
