The fire was roaring, and Simon kneeled before his master.

“You are to go to Jerusalem.”

Simon flinches.

“Do you have a problem with that?” his master asks.

“It’s just… my brother is in Jerusalem.”

(I condensed the scene to give you only the parts needed for this letter.)

For a bit of context, Simon’s brother can’t walk. And Simon grew up taking care of him; sleeping in the same room, using a wheelbarrow to help his brother get from place to place, making sure he had food to eat, water to drink.

But then Simon abandoned his brother. Wrote him a letter, and left.

Simon hasn’t seen his brother in a decade. And without his care, Simon’s brother becomes a beggar. He can’t work a job. Can’t travel. Can’t take care of himself in any way. Simon knows this, but he still avoids going to see him. Guilt gnaws at Simon. Then his master orders him to the city where his brother begs.

And all that history, all that emotion, comes out in the flinch and that one line, “It’s just… my brother is in Jerusalem.”

I got the shivers watching that scene. Not because of the scene itself, I think, but because of the context the scene left out.

The show didn’t tell me, “By the way, Simon’s feeling pretty darn guilty at this point because he knows his brother is a beggar and, in a very real way, that’s because he abandoned him.”

There was no flashback. No belabored explanation of the meaning. Instead, I, the Viewer, had to construct that meaning on my own rather than passively absorbing it. The creators of the show trusted you, the Viewer, to feel the weight of what wasn’t explicitly stated.

Great stories are full of this sort of thing. Moments where the Reader must engage imaginatively, where the Storyteller leaves intentional gaps for the Reader to fill in.

The challenge I’ve found is knowing what to leave out.

Too much omission, and a story becomes cryptic and confusing. Too little omission, and a story becomes overweight and boring. The best stories strike a balance. You give just enough for the Reader to grasp the stakes while leaving room for them to connect the dots.

So, you may ask, where’s the line?

Let’s first try to define subtext in regards to story.

Guidelines for Using Subtext in Storytelling

1. What Can Be Said (Objective Reality)

• This is what is factually true in the world of the story. The full weight of history, relationships, motivations, and emotions.

• If you wrote everything explicitly, this is what would be laid bare. But doing so robs the story of mystery, tension, and emotional impact.

2. What a Character Will Say (Socially or Emotionally Filtered Truth)

• This is the negotiated version of reality. What the character is willing to admit, shaped by their personality, circumstances, and stakes.

• This is where coded dialogue lives. A character might say “I’m fine” instead of “I feel abandoned.” They might ask, “You going to be around later?” instead of “I need you.” 

• The real meaning is between the words.

3. What a Character Won’t Say (Hidden or Suppressed Truth)

• This is where subtext is most powerful. When a character has emotions, knowledge, or motivations that they refuse (or are unable) to express.

• Sometimes this is due to shame, fear, pride, or repression. Other times, it’s about power dynamics.

• The reader senses this absence. The truth presses against the edges of dialogue and action.

The strongest moments happen in the gaps between these layers, where words falter and the Reader is left to feel what isn’t spoken.

How to Apply This in a Scene

When writing, consider:

• What is the full truth of the situation? (What can be said?)

• How much of that truth is the character willing to express? (What will be said?)

• What does the character refuse to say, and how does that show up instead? (What won’t be said?)

In the Simon scene, for example:

• What can be said? “I abandoned my brother, and I know he’s suffering terribly because of it.”

• What will be said? “It’s just… my brother is in Jerusalem.”

• What won’t be said? Everything else. The guilt, the self loathing, the knowledge that seeing his brother will force him to confront his painful past.

Subtext lives in that collision — between what can be said, what a character will say, and what they won’t say. While writing this, I realized how much this idea mirrors real life communication. We rarely express everything outright, and our unsaid thoughts often speak volumes.

Have an awesome weekend,

Nathan

PS. This wonderful scene comes from The Chosen, Season 2, Episode 4 around the 15 minute mark.

PPS. Here’s a similar technique used by a very famous writer.

Trivia — A Sentence I Wish I Wrote

For my fellow people who like to have the answer to every question. What book does this line come from?