Silence & Stillness in Storytelling
- Fiction Yogi
- Apr 22
- 10 min read
In this article we'll consider:
The importance of silence & stillness in fiction
The unspoken speaks volumes
Stillness as emotional resonance
Silence & stillness by genre
Tips for writing quiet presence
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Storytelling is often described in terms of movement: rising action, momentum, pacing, drive. But what’s often overlooked, and just as powerful, is what happens when a story slows down. When characters don’t speak. When the action stills. When a moment stretches. When something is felt instead of explained.
Silence in storytelling might seem counterproductive, like the absence of something — no dialogue, no noise, no action — but it has the capacity to be charged, deliberate, and meaningful. It's the moment when time seems to pause; a character breathes, reflects, or simply waits. It can build tension, offer emotional depth, or provide contrast.
Writing stillness into your narrative is not about slowing down the story for no reason — it’s about knowing when to let the silence speak for itself. And importantly, it asks readers to pay close attention and put the pieces of the story together for themselves.
The unspoken speaks volumes
Think of silence in your writing as active rather than passive. It has purpose and an implication; for example, the pause between revelatory thoughts, the unsent message, the gaze that lingers too long, the held breath before a reaction. These are the places where emotion simmers, where characters speak through gesture, where meaning accumulates like dust on a windowsill.
In Dialogue In Fiction: Mastering the art of conversation, I include silence as part of dialogue. For instance, consider a character who says nothing in response to a question, their silence shouting louder than words ever could. Is it grief? Rage? Disbelief?
A silent character forces the reader to lean in, to interpret what's really going on. In other words, it invites participation, and this is key to keeping readers engaged in your story.
Stillness as emotional resonance
While silence can ramp up the tension emotionally, it can also, alternatively, provide room for emotions to settle. After a major event in a story — dramatic scene, important plot point — a still moment gives both the character and the reader space to take it all in. It's the literary version of catching a breath.
Consider, for example, the sudden death of a character's loved one. Once the initial trauma has passed, rather than rushing into the next scene, let the character sit at the kitchen table staring into a cup of cold coffee. Let the air thicken. Let the reader feel the weight of what’s just happened, and what it might mean for the character now.
Stillness creates a moment of quiet intimacy, not just between characters in the scene, but between the character(s) and reader.
Silence and stillness by genre
Writing silence and stillness requires a kind of trust — that your readers are paying attention, that they’ll interpret what isn’t stated outright.
It’s not about being deliberately obscure, or writing difficult prose. It’s about crafting a narrative that pulses with subtext and brings the story to life for your readers.
So let's consider what that means in practice for some of the different genres.
In Action and Thriller: Silence as tension
In a fast-paced thriller, stillness is the drumbeat before it all kicks off. It's the assassin waiting on the rooftop, the gun scope at their eye. It's the bomb ticking quietly down to zero beneath the floorboards.
Think of the eerie quiet before a gunfight, or the pause of ominous footsteps beyond the closed door. These moments don’t slow the story — they charge it with electricity. The absence of action is what makes the action feel explosive when it finally comes.
Stillness builds anticipation. Silence holds suspense.
In Romance: Stillness as intimacy
In a romance, silence can be a glance, a touch, the words the characters want to say but can’t for fear of being misunderstood or rejected. Often, the most powerful scenes in romance are the ones where no one is speaking because the connection is physical, emotional, or simply too complex to articulate.
Stillness in this sense can be a shared space between characters — vulnerable, sacred, wordless.
A still moment can say “I love you” louder than a monologue ever could.
In Sci-Fi and Fantasy: Stillness as awe
Speculative fiction often contains entire worlds — grand, imaginative, busy. But even the most fantastical settings benefit from a moment of calm.
In sci-fi, for example, silence might be the vast, terrifying hush of deep space. In fantasy, it might be a quiet desert before the arrival of a giant sandworm.
Stillness in these scenarios becomes a tool for awe and scale — a pause to let the reader absorb what is bigger than words.
Silence gives the reader a moment to look up and say: “Whoa.”
In Horror: Stillness as dread
Perhaps no genre uses silence more deliberately than horror. The scariest part of a haunted house is not when the ghost appears — it’s the ten seconds before, when you’re not sure what might happen. It's not the monster that terrifies you — it's the unknown in the silence before the monster reveals itself. It's the noiseless flash of a knife in a leather-gloved hand; the still, cold eyes behind the clown mask.
Stillness can stretch like a wire pulled taut. The creak of a door in an otherwise silent room is scary because of the silence it disturbs.
The reader’s fear grows in the absence of information; in what might be there, beyond the stillness.
In Literary Fiction: Stillness as reflection
Silence and stillness are pervasive in literary fiction. These largely character-driven narratives use stillness for subtle emotional impact and introspection, as well as leaving gaps for readers to infer meaning.
Stillness may compound, for example, the weight of memory, the ache of regret, the quiet between a troubled couple at the dinner table. These nuanced moments reflect real life with unimpeded clarity — including its monotony, missed opportunities and awkward silences.
The moment that breaks the heart isn’t the confession — it’s the silence that precedes or follows it.
Tips for writing quiet presence
Stories thrive on purposeful language. So to write silence and stillness well is to master restraint. Seemingly counterintuitive, it’s choosing the right phrasing to not explain something. It's allowing some of your scenes to whisper rather than insist. It's imbuing the quiet moments in your story with emotion and meaning.
Let's take a look at some practical ways we can do this in our own writing.
1. Start by asking: What does the silence mean?
Silence is never neutral. It always carries emotional or narrative weight. Before you write it, ask yourself:
Is the silence tense, peaceful, grieving, unspoken desire, fear, etc? In other words, what emotion or reaction do you want the silence to evoke?
Who is the silence for — the character, the reader, or both? For example, a tense silence preceding the confession of a secret the reader already knows about. Or the silence in the abandoned house a lone detective breaks into, the tension escalating for both the detective and the reader.
What is not being said or explicitly narrated and why? Again, what's the purpose for withholding the details — what effect will this have on the characters and/or the reader?
Tip: Your job is to let the silence say something, without saying it out loud.
2. Use subtext instead of dialogue
If your character wants to do or say something but doesn’t, make that moment resonate. Show it in body language, inner thought, or behaviour.
For example: It had been too long since they'd sat alone like this. He looked at her hand on the table. His own twitched, then stilled.
He doesn’t say he misses her, he doesn’t reach out; but the reader knows he wants to, and will infer his resistance is for fear of upsetting her, doing the wrong thing, or getting hurt.
Tip: When revising a scene, try removing a line of dialogue and replacing it with an action or pause, and see if the effect is more powerful.
3. Master the art of the pause
Silence can exist within dialogue, too. Think of the beats between lines, the hesitation, the withheld response.
For example: "You knew,” she said. But he didn’t answer; just clutched his drink and stared at the wall. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Tip: Use en or em dashes, ellipses (three dots), or action beats (as in the example above) to represent instances of silence. A single beat of silence can carry more weight than a full argument.
4. Let the scene breathe
The white space of the page is your friend. Use it as a tool to help you convey meaning through its (literal) silence.
For example:
A one-line paragraph after a heavy moment makes the line stand out, giving emphasis to its meaning.
A chapter break after a revelation gives the revelation room to echo. It also gives the reader space to absorb what's just happened, and time to consider what might happen next.
Tip: When we read, our minds are always one step ahead, trying to put the pieces of the story together — white space helps us do this, thus keeping us engaged.
5. Show stillness through sensory detail
Stillness can be physical, environmental, or internal. Focus on subtle sensory cues that communicate quiet. What does silence sound like? Look like? What does it feel like in the body?
For example:
Leo heard only the soft, rhythmic whoosh of his pulse in his ears.
Sunlight flickered mutely over the distant ocean.
She blanked her mind, closed her eyes and reached for that quiet, peaceful place inside where nothing of what he'd said could harm her.
Consider visual metaphors you can use for the vastness of stillness, such as snowfall, moonlight, a star-filled sky, an empty room.
Tip: Writing stillness into your narrative enables you to bring attention to the smaller details (for example, pulse in the ears) and simultaneously the larger emotions (e.g. alone). Let the reader hone in on the intimacy of the moment.
6. Internal monologue: Show the conflict beneath
Characters are never one dimensional. Exterior conflict is almost always accompanied by inner discord too. So when your character is silent on the outside, subtly reveal the storm on the inside, through internal monologue or action or gesture. Silence doesn’t mean passivity — it often means true feelings are being suppressed.
For example: She asked if he understood. He nodded. He didn’t; but what was the point?
Tip: This tension in the silence helps to build intriguing, complex character relationships that keep readers gripped.
7. Use contrast: Loud makes quiet louder
The most effective silences often follow particularly intense scenes. For example:
After a fight, a breakup, an explosion.
After a truth is spoken.
After a death.
Tip: Let the emotional noise drain from the drama — and then hold the moment.
Action + Stillness = Emotional Whiplash (in the best way).
8. Trust the reader
You don’t have to explain, on the page, the reasons for stillness or silence. Just show it, and trust the reader to interpret what it means.
For example, in the following passage it's not necessary to say, “Calvin was too heartbroken to respond.” Instead:
"A clean break would be best, don't you think? For both of us."
Calvin looked across the packed bar. There was some new kid serving he'd never seen before. Looked entirely out of his depth. Too young to be pulling pints.
"You don't have to move out, Cal; not until you've got somewhere else. I'm just saying I think we should—"
"Another drink?" he asked, getting to his feet and slipping into the crowd before she could respond.
This way, the "packed bar" gives Calvin a distraction so he doesn't have to look at his girlfriend while she breaks up with him — doesn't have to face what she's saying and answer. The "out of his depth new kid", as well as being something else for him to focus on, could be a projection of how he himself feels in that moment (too immature to handle the situation). And getting to his feet abruptly stops him from hearing what else she has to say — all of which we infer is painful for him.
Tip: Characters (like the rest of us) are rarely clear about their feelings. Meaning they're unlikely to respond in a way that's logical or accurate. More often that not, they won't know exactly how they feel in a particular moment, or be able to put it into words even if they do know — instead, they may use silence as a tool to ignore facing the situation directly, and your reader will empathize with this very human defensive trait.
Finally...
Silence and stillness are part of the emotional architecture of your narrative. It’s where characters hide, where truth glimmers, and above all else, where readers connect with your story.
Used with intention, silence becomes its own kind of voice — the one that speaks when everything else falls away. It's in the quietest parts of your story that the truth will often emerge, albeit with stealth. It allows readers to see what action and conversation might have obscured. It reveals the unspoken tension, the emotional undercurrent, the moment when everything shifts — even if no one says a word.
We talk a lot about dynamics in fiction, but the quiet moments can be their own form of forward movement, particularly in relation to character development; encouraging the reader to lean in, to infer and feel instead of being told.
In a world — and publishing market — that often demands more, faster, louder... the boldest thing you can do might be to say: "Let’s pause here. Just for a moment.” And in that moment, something true can unfold in your story.
Download the How to Write Stillness & Silence short Handy guide
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Tina Williams of Fiction Yogi is a copyeditor and proofreader who works with writers at all stages, giving them the tools to improve their manuscript and level up their writing so they can meet their publishing goals.
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