How to Write Subtext in Dialogue: 7 Lessons I Learned the Hard Way
You know the feeling. You read a script, a novel, or even a blog post, and the dialogue just… pops. It feels real. Lived-in. The characters aren't just saying words; they're dancing around a truth, a desire, a wound that's humming beneath the surface. That’s subtext. And for a long time, it was my white whale. I’d write a scene, a perfectly serviceable, on-the-nose scene, and it would lay there like a dead fish. Lifeless. I’d wonder, “Why does this sound like a robot wrote it?” Well, because it essentially was. My characters were saying exactly what they meant, and nobody, in real life, ever does that. We talk about the weather when we want to talk about our anxieties. We ask for a cup of coffee when we really need a hug. We are masters of the sidestep, the deflection, the unspoken plea. This guide isn't about theory. It’s about the hard-won, messy, practical lessons I learned by failing, by rewriting, and by finally getting my characters to stop saying the quiet part out loud. It's for anyone who wants their words to carry more weight than they physically possess. Let's get our hands dirty.
Why Subtext is the Secret Sauce to Great Dialogue
Let's get one thing straight: subtext isn't a bonus feature. It’s the engine. It's what separates a great screenplay from a merely good one, a gripping novel from a forgettable one. Think of it like an iceberg. The dialogue is the tiny tip poking out of the water. The subtext is the massive, cold, dangerous mass lurking beneath. It’s the silent tension in a room, the unspoken history between two people. When you get it right, your audience leans in. They feel like they’re being let in on a secret. They aren’t just hearing the words; they’re feeling the weight of the silence, the meaning behind the misdirection. It creates a powerful, emotional connection. Instead of the writer telling them, "This character is sad," the reader feels their sadness through what they choose not to say, or how they talk about something else entirely. It's the difference between hearing a joke and understanding the pain that spawned it. And honestly? It's just a hell of a lot more fun to write.
This isn't just for fiction, either. If you’re a content marketer, a copywriter, or anyone trying to communicate a powerful message, understanding subtext is key. It’s the art of speaking to a deeper desire without explicitly stating it. It's what makes a headline feel like it’s reading your mind. It’s why a brand’s tone of voice feels so relatable. The principles are the same, just applied to a different medium. We’re all trying to connect, to communicate a truth that goes beyond the literal words. So, yeah, this is for everyone who's ever had to write words that need to land with impact.
In the grand scheme of things, my journey with subtext was a long, humbling one. I used to think I was clever, writing snappy, witty dialogue. But it was just that: snappy and witty, with no depth. I was a puppeteer showing all my strings. The day I realized my job was to hide the strings was the day my writing actually started to feel alive. It’s a bit like learning to ride a bike. At first, you’re wobbly, you fall, you feel like you’re doing everything wrong. Then, one day, it just clicks. You're not thinking about the mechanics; you're just riding. That's the feeling we're aiming for here.
The Golden Rule: Stop Telling, Start Hiding
If you take one thing from this entire post, let it be this: subtext is the art of concealment. It’s what characters hide from each other and what the writer hides from the reader, at least for a little while. This isn't about being deceptive, but about being human. People don't lead with their deepest fears and desires. They circle them. They drop hints. They talk about other things, hoping the other person will understand, or maybe, praying they won't. This is the fundamental truth you have to build your writing on. So, how do we do it? We start by asking a different set of questions.
- Instead of: "What is my character trying to say?"
- Ask: "What is my character trying not to say?"
That's the entire game. Once you start asking that question, you begin to see the possibilities. A character isn't just asking "How are you?" They're asking, "Are you still angry with me?" or "Do you still love me?" or "Are you okay after what happened yesterday?" The words are a facade, a safe, socially acceptable way to probe at a deeper, more dangerous truth. Your job is to make that deeper truth palpable to the reader without ever spelling it out.
I remember one of my first "aha!" moments. I had a character, let’s call her Clara, who was terrified of commitment. Her boyfriend, Leo, was about to propose. My initial draft had her saying things like, "I'm not ready for this," and "I'm scared of settling down." It was all on the surface. Boring. Then, I rewrote the scene. Instead of talking about their future, they were talking about building a piece of IKEA furniture. A simple bookcase. Leo is excited, measuring everything twice. Clara is… not. She keeps dropping screws, getting the instructions backward, and talking about how "we should probably just get one of those pre-built ones from a store." She’s not just talking about furniture. She’s talking about their relationship. He’s trying to build something lasting, piece by piece, and she’s trying to find the nearest exit. The subtext is right there, in the way she fumbles with the screws, in the way she avoids his enthusiastic gaze. The dialogue is about a bookcase, but the scene is about fear. That’s the power of hiding.
How to Write Subtext in Dialogue: Your Practical Toolkit
Okay, enough theory. Let’s get to the nitty-gritty. Here are some of the most effective, hands-on techniques I use to bake subtext into my dialogue. These are tools, not rules, so use them creatively.
1. The Misdirection: Talking About Something Else Entirely
This is the most common and powerful tool. Two characters have a massive, unspoken issue between them, but they never, ever talk about it directly. Instead, they talk about a seemingly mundane, unrelated topic. The tension comes from the chasm between what they are saying and what they are actually feeling. The IKEA bookcase example from before is a perfect illustration of this.
Example: A husband and wife are at a family dinner, and they've just had a huge, silent fight on the car ride over. The husband is holding their baby.
WIFE: "He's getting so big, isn't he? I don't know where the time goes."
HUSBAND: (Stiffly) "Yeah. Looks like he's going to be a linebacker."
WIFE: "Don't say that. He's so small still."
HUSBAND: "Doesn't feel like it."
What's happening beneath the surface: The wife is talking about their child, but she's really talking about how fragile their family feels. The husband, meanwhile, is talking about the child's size, but he's really thinking about the pressure he feels, the growing weight of his responsibilities, and the fight they just had. Their fight is the "giant linebacker" they're carrying between them. They are having two separate, silent conversations, and the reader gets to see both.
2. The Evasion: Answering a Question with a Question
Someone asks a direct, emotionally charged question, and the other person responds with a question of their own. This is a classic deflection. They're not just avoiding the question; they're revealing that the truth is too difficult, too painful, or too dangerous to state out loud. It’s a sign of a character who feels cornered or is trying to buy time.
Example: Character A has just caught Character B in a lie.
A: "Did you talk to her?"
B: "Why do you ask?"
A: "I just need to know. Did you?"
B: "What makes you think I did?"
What's happening beneath the surface: Character B's evasion isn't just about not answering. It's an admission of guilt. If they were innocent, they would simply say "No." Their refusal to give a straight answer tells the reader everything they need to know. The questions are a shield, and the reader can see right through it.
3. The Loaded Silence: Pauses and Non-Responses
Sometimes, the most powerful line of dialogue is no line at all. A long, uncomfortable pause after a question, or a simple silence when a character is expected to respond, can speak volumes. This is where your punctuation—dashes, ellipses—can be your best friends. These aren’t just visual cues; they are emotional beats. They are the sound of a character's heart breaking, or their mind racing to find a lie, or their refusal to acknowledge the other person’s words.
Example: A father has just found out his daughter has a new tattoo that he explicitly forbade.
DAUGHTER: "I got a tattoo."
FATHER: (Long, heavy silence. He looks at her, then away.) "Is it... permanent?"
DAUGHTER: "Yeah. It's a quote."
What's happening beneath the surface: The father’s initial silence is everything. It’s his disappointment, his anger, his love clashing. His question, "Is it permanent?" is not a literal query. He knows tattoos are permanent. It's his way of asking, "Have you really done this? Have you really gone against me in a way that can never be undone?" It’s a gut punch of a question, loaded with years of unspoken expectations and frustrations. The daughter's flippant, short response shows she knows exactly what's going on, but she's not going to engage on that emotional level. They’re talking past each other, a classic subtext move.
A few years ago, I had a scene that needed to feel like a high-stakes standoff, but without any yelling or grand declarations. I had two business partners, one of whom was secretly planning to sell the company. The scene was set in a car. The conversation was about their favorite sandwiches. It was a mundane, ridiculous topic. But the way they kept cutting each other off, the way one of them would stare out the window, the way the other would make a pointed, passive-aggressive comment about a "rotten ingredient" in his sandwich… it all worked. The subtext—the betrayal, the mistrust, the simmering anger—was all there, hidden in plain sight. It was one of the first times I really felt like I got it right, and it was deeply satisfying.
Common Mistakes and How to Avoid Them
As with anything, the road to mastery is paved with cringe-worthy mistakes. Trust me, I’ve made them all. Here are the big ones to watch out for.
1. Over-Writing the Subtext
This is the biggest trap for beginners. You get so excited about your brilliant subtext that you feel the need to explain it to the reader. You write something like, “He said it was a nice day, but what he really meant was that he was furious with her.” NO. Don't do this. The whole point of subtext is that the reader does the work. They should feel the meaning, not be told it. If you’ve done your job, the reader will understand. You've trusted them to be smart, and they will reward you for it. Get out of your own way.
2. Making the Dialogue Too Obscure
On the flip side, you can make the subtext so subtle that it’s completely unreadable. There's a fine line between "artful concealment" and "total gibberish." The subtext needs to be supported by the context of the scene, the characters' history, and their body language. The dialogue needs to hint at the truth without being an unsolvable riddle. It's a balance. If you find yourself having to explain the subtext to a beta reader, it’s probably too obscure.
3. Neglecting Non-Verbal Cues
Dialogue doesn't exist in a vacuum. A character’s dialogue is a symphony of words, actions, and reactions. A character might say, "I'm fine," while their hands are balled into fists, and their jaw is clenched. The action—or lack thereof—is part of the dialogue. It’s what gives the words meaning. Always, always, always think about what your characters are doing while they’re talking. Are they looking away? Pacing? Fiddling with their phone? These small actions are a treasure trove of subtext. The silence from the father in our earlier example wouldn't have worked without his body language, the way he looks at his daughter and then away, his shoulders slumping. It’s a full-body performance, even on the page.
A personal story: I once wrote a scene where a character was trying to break up with her boyfriend. The dialogue was okay, but it didn't land. The boyfriend kept saying things like, "What's wrong?" and she'd respond with a vague, "Nothing. It's fine." It was boring. So, I changed it. Instead of talking, they were walking through a grocery store. He's trying to talk about their plans for the weekend. She’s staring at a display of apples, picking one up, putting it down. The entire conversation is about what kind of apples to buy. "Do you like Gala or Fuji?" he asks. She says, "I don't know, it doesn't matter," while her hand trembles slightly. He eventually says, "Something's not right. What's wrong?" and she just shakes her head. The act of her not being able to choose an apple, of being physically unable to make a simple decision, was the perfect metaphor for her inability to commit to their relationship. The subtext was carried not just by what she said, but by what she did. It made the scene ten times more powerful.
A Case Study: From On-The-Nose to Understated Power
Let's take a raw, on-the-nose scene and transform it using the principles we’ve discussed. This is the part where we get our hands really dirty. We'll start with a classic scenario: a friend has just found out their best friend is moving away without telling them.
On-The-Nose Version:
CHLOE: "So, I heard you’re moving to another city."
MARA: (Stiffens) "Oh. Yeah. I am."
CHLOE: "Why didn't you tell me? I'm your best friend!"
MARA: "I just didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry."
CHLOE: "I can't believe you'd do this. I thought we were closer than that."
This is a perfectly functional scene. The dialogue is clear. We understand the conflict. But it’s not very compelling. The characters are saying exactly what they feel, and it feels... fake. Like they're reading from a script. Now, let’s rewrite it with subtext. The goal: hide the main conflict and let it simmer beneath the surface.
Subtext-Driven Version:
SCENE START: CHLOE and MARA are sorting through a box of old photos in Chloe's apartment. The air is thick with a silence that’s not comfortable. Mara keeps her eyes on a photo of them at a college party.
CHLOE: "Look at us. Remember that night? I think we drank a whole bottle of terrible red wine."
MARA: "Yeah. Your mom got so mad at us."
CHLOE: (Holds up another photo, of them on a road trip) "And this one. The one where we got lost for four hours and you swore you knew the way."
MARA: "It was a backroad. It was scenic."
CHLOE: "You're still just as stubborn."
MARA: "I guess so."
CHLOE: (Puts the photo back in the box, a little too carefully.) "So. I heard you're getting a cat."
MARA: (Looks up, finally meeting Chloe's eyes. A flicker of something, then it’s gone.) "Yeah. She's a calico. I named her Juniper."
CHLOE: "Juniper. That’s a good name for a cat."
MARA: "She’s really... independent."
CHLOE: "Yeah. Sounds like her."
MARA: (Clears her throat, goes back to the box.) "I'm going to miss all this."
CHLOE: "The photos? Or the box?"
In the second version, the conversation isn’t about the move. It’s about old memories, stubbornness, and a cat named Juniper. But every line is loaded. Chloe is reminiscing, but she’s also subtly reminding Mara of their shared history, of how close they've been. Mara’s talk of her cat being "independent" is her way of justifying her actions and maybe softening the blow. When Chloe asks, “The photos? Or the box?” that’s the moment the subtext breaks through. It’s a direct question, but it's not about what’s in front of them. It’s about what’s being thrown away. It’s devastating. The reader understands the full weight of the betrayal without a single line saying, "I can't believe you didn't tell me." This is the goal. This is what we're aiming for.
Your Subtext Checklist: A Quick-Fire Guide
Before you hit publish or send a draft to your editor, run your dialogue through this mental checklist. It’s a simple, two-minute process that can make a world of difference. It's the practical, zero-fluff part of the process that I wish I had from day one.
The Motivation Check: Is my character saying what they want to say, or what they think they should say? Are their words serving a deeper, hidden purpose?
The Unspoken Question: If my character could ask one thing, without any social filter, what would it be? And is that question humming underneath their actual dialogue?
The Body Language Test: What are my characters doing with their hands? Their eyes? Their posture? Do their actions contradict their words in an interesting way? Are they fidgeting, sighing, or standing perfectly still?
The Power Dynamic Audit: Who has the power in this scene? Is one character trying to exert control while the other is resisting? How is that dynamic showing up in the rhythm and content of their dialogue? Is one character interrupting the other? Speaking in short, clipped sentences? The dialogue's power dynamic is pure subtext.
The Single Word Test: Can I replace an entire sentence or paragraph with one single, carefully chosen word or phrase? Does a simple "Oh," or "Right," or even a pause say more than a long-winded explanation?
This isn't about perfection. It’s about a deliberate process of peeling back the layers. You’re not just writing dialogue; you’re sculpting a conversation that has a history, a present, and a silent, simmering tension. It takes practice. But the payoff is immense. It’s what turns words on a page into living, breathing people. And as a writer, that's what we're all after, isn't it? That spark of life that makes a story unforgettable.
FAQ: The Questions I Asked My Mentors
Q1: What's the difference between subtext and just bad writing?
A: The key difference is intentionality. Bad writing is often on-the-nose because the writer hasn't thought about the deeper layers. Subtext is a deliberate choice to conceal information, with the expectation that the reader will understand the hidden meaning through context, character motivation, and non-verbal cues. If your dialogue feels flat, it's probably on-the-nose. If it feels mysterious and loaded, it's likely subtext. For more on this, check out our section on Common Mistakes.
Q2: Can you have too much subtext?
A: Yes, absolutely. Too much subtext can make a scene feel confusing or frustrating. If the reader has no idea what's happening or what the characters are talking about, you've gone too far. Subtext should add to the tension, not obscure the plot. A good rule of thumb is that the deeper emotional truth should feel clear to the reader, even if the characters never state it. For a good read on this, I’d suggest visiting Writer's Digest.
Q3: How does subtext work in a thriller or mystery?
A: In a thriller or mystery, subtext is your best friend. Characters are constantly hiding things. The dialogue is a game of cat and mouse. A seemingly innocent question from a detective might be loaded with the suspicion that the character is lying. The subtext is what makes the reader suspicious, what makes them question every word. It's about building paranoia and mistrust. The conversation about sandwiches in a car, as discussed in our toolkit section, is an example of this at a micro level.
Q4: Does subtext change the character's voice?
A: Subtext shouldn't change a character's voice, but it should reveal it more deeply. A character who is naturally sarcastic will use subtext in a sarcastic way. A character who is emotionally repressed will use it to avoid emotional truths. The way a character uses subtext is an extension of their personality and their worldview. It's a key part of what makes their dialogue unique.
Q5: Is subtext only for dramatic scenes?
A: Not at all. Subtext is what makes comedy work, too. A character might be saying something polite, but their internal thoughts—and the subtext—are pure chaos. This contrast is the source of a lot of comedic tension. Think of a character trying to be a perfect host while everything around them is falling apart. Their dialogue is about the food, but the subtext is their rising panic. Subtext is a tool for every genre.
Q6: Are there any specific exercises to practice writing with subtext?
A: Yes. A great exercise is the "Silent Scene" exercise. Take a scene where a character needs to express a strong emotion—anger, fear, love—but they are not allowed to say it out loud. Then, write a conversation where they are forced to talk about something mundane. The more mundane, the better. See how much of the original emotion you can convey through their words about the weather, or a recipe, or a broken lamp. You can also try taking a scene from your favorite book or film and rewriting it without any of the subtext, just to see the difference. Another great resource is The Guardian's guide to writing dialogue.
Q7: What’s a good way to use subtext in a sales or marketing context?
A: In marketing, subtext is about addressing the customer's deeper needs and fears without explicitly stating them. For example, instead of saying, "Our software will make you more productive," you might say, "Get your evenings back." The subtext is that their current tool is costing them personal time. Instead of, "This course will make you rich," you might say, "Learn the secrets that hedge fund managers use to build wealth." The subtext is that they'll gain an advantage, a peek behind the curtain. It's about appealing to a desire for freedom, control, or status rather than just a functional benefit. It’s what gives great copy its persuasive punch. You can find out more by exploring a good copywriting blog like Copyblogger.
Final Thoughts on The Unspoken
When I finally got the hang of writing subtext, it felt like I'd been given a secret decoder ring. It transformed my writing from something that felt a bit like a chore to something that felt like a puzzle, a game, a conversation with the reader that was just as much about what was left out as what was put in. It's not easy. It’s messy and it’s frustrating, and you will make mistakes. But the effort is more than worth it. Because when you get it right, your dialogue won't just tell a story—it will live. It will breathe, and it will have a heartbeat. The words on the page will feel like they have a history, a soul, and a secret. And that, my friends, is when the magic happens. So, go forth. Don't tell your characters’ secrets. Make your readers work for them. Trust me, they'll thank you for it. Now, go pour yourself a cup of coffee and start hiding some secrets in your dialogue. You've got this.
writing subtext, dialogue, character development, storytelling, writing skills
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