Last updated on 06/26/2025
The Power of What’s Left Unsaid
This week, we’re diving into subtext—those invisible threads of meaning that run beneath what’s actually written on the page.
Have you ever read something—a line in a poem, a bit of dialogue in a story—and felt like it cracked something open inside you, even though the writer never came out and said what was really happening?
Sometimes, the most powerful writing isn’t about what’s said. It’s about what’s left out.
Think about how often we speak in half-truths, glances, gestures. How much of our real lives happen between the lines. That’s what subtext is about—writing that trusts the reader to sense the undercurrent. And when it’s done well? It lingers. It expands the meaning beyond the sentence.
So what makes a line linger in the reader’s mind long after they’ve read it? In this episode, we’ll explore how to use subtext to create deeper, more powerful writing. Whether you’re working on a poem, a short story, or revising a draft, learning to say more with less—and to write what’s left unsaid—can help you connect with readers in a more honest and memorable way.
This week, we’re looking at Writing the Unspoken: how to work with subtext in poetry and story.
What Is Subtext, Really?
Subtext is the meaning beneath the surface—the tension, emotion, or truth that isn’t stated outright but still comes through. It’s not about being vague or withholding for the sake of mystery. Subtext is about intention—choosing carefully what to say and what to leave unsaid.
In fiction, it shows up when characters talk around what they really mean. A line like “I guess it’s late” might actually mean “I don’t want to keep having this conversation.”
In poetry, subtext lives in image, structure, metaphor. You don’t need to write “I’m grieving” if the poem already hums with silence and absence.
What makes subtext powerful is the way it invites the reader to participate. Instead of spelling everything out, you leave space—space the reader steps into, interprets, feels. That act of discovery is what makes the experience of reading (and writing) so satisfying. It’s not just communication. It’s connection.
Why It Matters
Writing that suggests rather than declares often leaves a deeper mark. Why? Because it reflects how we live. We don’t always say exactly what we mean—sometimes we can’t. So we hint. We pause. We shift the subject. And we’re wired to notice when others do the same.
Subtext works because it mirrors that unspoken reality. It gives your reader credit. It says, “You’ll feel what I’m saying, even if I don’t say it directly.” And when the reader meets you there—when they get it—you’ve created something more than comprehension. You’ve created connection.
It’s the ache behind a smile. The silence after a sharp line of dialogue. The weight of what isn’t said.
And when it comes to endings, subtext can be a secret weapon. (If you listened to last week’s episode on crafting effective endings, you’ll remember how silence, ambiguity, and resonance can stick with a reader. Subtext is one of the most powerful ways to build that kind of lasting impact.)
Tools and Techniques
So how do you build subtext into your writing—whether you’re working on a poem, a flash piece, or a longer story? Here are a few tools to help you write what’s unspoken.
1. Focus on What’s Not Said
Dialogue is one of the most natural places to explore subtext. Think about conversations where no one quite says what they mean.
Maybe one character wants forgiveness but talks about the weather. Maybe someone’s furious, but all they do is clean—slamming cupboard doors and scrubbing harder than the situation requires. The tension lives in what isn’t being addressed.
In poetry, this might mean choosing an image that implies the emotion without naming it.
Instead of saying: “I miss you,”
Try: “The second cup still steams, untouched.”
Let your reader connect the dots. That’s where the power lives.
2. Use Objects, Actions, and Symbols
A character tosses a birthday card into the trash without opening it. A poem lingers on the color of a dress never worn again. These details carry weight—not because they’re symbolic in a textbook sense, but because they mean something to the character, and by extension, to the reader.
This technique is especially useful in micro-fiction, where every line has to work hard. A single gesture can reveal a backstory, a rift, a longing.
3. Let the Image Breathe
In poetry, white space matters. So do line breaks, pauses, and what you choose not to explain. The quiet around the image can be just as meaningful as the image itself.
The same goes for flash fiction. Not every character needs a full backstory. Sometimes suggestion does more than explanation ever could.
Subtext lives in those spaces—the tension between what’s said and what’s sensed.
4. Control the Reveal
Withholding isn’t the same as obscuring. The goal isn’t to confuse your reader—it’s to guide them toward discovery.
Let them suspect. Let tension simmer. And when it’s time to give something away—if you do—make it deliberate.
Maybe you offer just a glimpse. Or maybe you leave them in the dark, but with enough light to wonder. Either way, the impact comes from control. Subtext only works when you, the writer, know exactly what’s underneath—even if the reader never fully sees it.
How Writing Prompts Help Us Practice Subtext
Writing prompts can be surprisingly effective for developing your sense of subtext.
Why? Because prompts disrupt your default mode. They drop you into unfamiliar territory—a strange moment, a specific image, a sudden constraint like a tight word count or a single required phrase. You’re not trying to explain everything. You’re trying to evoke something within boundaries. And that’s where subtext often shines.
Prompts can also give you a little emotional distance. When you’re writing about something personal or raw, it’s easy to over-explain—to rush in and justify what you’re feeling. But when a prompt introduces a surreal setting or an oddball character, you get to approach the subject sideways. That angle, that restraint, can open up space for the unsaid.
Later in this episode, I’ll read a few pieces I wrote from prompts—each one working with implication, tension, or silence in different ways. I’ll also share how I approached the endings in those pieces, and the choices I made to let certain things remain… unspoken.
Wrap-Up
And that brings us to your challenge for the week: write something that doesn’t tell the whole story.
Let it circle what’s unspoken. See what happens when you trust your reader to feel what your characters—or your speaker—can’t quite say. That space between the lines? That’s where subtext lives.
Later in the episode, I’ll give you a brand-new writing prompt to try. When you hear it, think about how you can apply what we’ve talked about today—how you might suggest more than you explain, and let the unsaid carry some of the meaning.