My wife Cathy is in Chicago this week, visiting her sister, so, the house, without her to talk to, is filled with much more silence than usual. This has me thinking about how fiction writers sometimes rush to get the plot onto the page, neglecting the benefits of putting space around significant events through the use of silence. I suspect this might be particularly true when it comes to the writing of first novels, although I’ve also seen the same with short stories.

I understand the inclination to rush through a plot. After all, we’re always thinking about what’s going to happen next in our narratives. If we proceed at a breakneck speed, eager to get to the next big thing that’s going to happen, we often neglect the more vertical part of writing that takes us into the characters’ thoughts and emotions. We risk ending up with a plot that may indeed be a consequential one but doesn’t have any lasting impact on our readers. We must remember that stories are about human beings who should be able to move us as we watch them deal with the events of the plot. “What is character,” Henry James said, “but the determination of incident. And what is incident but the illumination of character.” Our characters should create the plot by virtue of their own choices. The plot, then, should reveal more of the characters than we’d have without the narrative. That’s what makes a piece of fiction memorable.

So, space and silence. Space comes from staying in the moment longer so that moment resonates. If we write more, we create a visual clue that something important has happened. Silence comes because we’ve stopped trying to push the plot ahead. Instead, we’re pausing before moving on toward the next significant event.

Here, then, are a few ways writers create space and silence in a narrative:

By using interiority. We access the thoughts and emotional responses of a character. Think of Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby or Gabriel in James Joyce’s “The Dead,” or a number of other characters from literature who feel and feel deeply the events of their lives.

By using the landscape. We could look once more at Gabriel in “The Dead” with his description of the snow falling over Ireland at the end of that story. Our descriptions can empathize the significant turns in a plot.

By using reflection. This is especially useful in first-person narratives when the narrator, speaking from a position beyond the time of the narrative, can look back upon it with a clarity and wisdom that they didn’t have then. This can also happen with the third-person point of view

By flashing forward. Moving the readers into the future so they see where a character ends up can also slow the narrative and put space around an important plot point.

Charles Baxter, in his book, Burning Down the House, says, “. . .silence is an intensifier—that it strengthens whatever stands on either side of it.” A pause in the action, then, calls our attention to plot events and how they matter. By making space and reaching a point of stillness, we enhance the plot. We make it more than merely entertainment. We make it unforgettable because we let the readers feel why the narrative matters.