The Art of the Unsaid

What Hemingway Knew About Quiet

I spent the morning in my library looking at why some sentences feel like they have a heartbeat, while others just feel like ink on a page. It almost always comes down to what the writer didn’t say.

Ernest Hemingway had a beautiful way of looking at this. He called it the “Iceberg Theory.” The idea is simple: the words on the page are just the small part you see above the water. The weight—the real emotion—is everything sitting quietly underneath.

When we try too hard to explain exactly how a character feels, we actually take the power away from the reader. If I tell you someone is “devastated,” I’m doing the work for you. But if I show you the way they keep reaching for a hand that isn’t there, I’m letting you feel it.

The magic happens in the gaps.

The Monroe Minute: Go through your latest draft and find where you used an “emotion” word (like sad, angry, or excited). Delete it. Instead, describe one small, physical thing the character does that proves they feel that way.

Until the next page,
Sloane S. Monroe

Sloane Shay Monroe

I don’t write to idealize love, but to explore it honestly, with emotional precision and depth.