The case for white space in writing (and in life)

How writers and readers can take advantage of it.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about white space and using it more in my writing. I’ve been teaching my students about it, too, encouraging them to pay attention not just to their words but to the space surrounding them.

White space is the empty space on a page — at the ends of paragraphs, in between paragraphs, in the margins. But it’s not really empty; it’s full of levity and light, especially in prose that is heavy or dark. It’s where readers pause to consider meaning and interpretation. It’s breathing room.

At a time that feels especially divisive, it seems we could all use more white space in the stories we read and write. In recent months, several family members and friends have told me they’ve had to take a break from the news. I understand this, and as my friend and fellow journalist Katie Hawkins-Gaar wrote this week, taking a break from media consumption is not a moral failing. I’ve continued to consume media coverage because it’s in my nature to do so, but I’ve found myself craving more white space — built-in breaks to pause and process what I’m reading. And I’ve gravitated toward stories that provide it.

Credit: Unsplash

We use white space a lot in journalism, relying on short paragraphs that are more inviting than their long, dense counterparts. As a journalist by trade, I learned early on that when readers see lengthy paragraphs, they’re more likely to consider the story to be “a heavy lift” that requires too much time and attention. By contrast, shorter paragraphs invite readers in, beckoning them to engage with prose that will afford them more room to interpret information. White space is so valuable that newspaper designers have long referred to it as “white gold.”

White space is especially helpful in stories and chapters that explore complicated topics. At the points of greatest complexity, writers should use the shortest paragraphs, the shortest sentences, the shortest words. I learned this years ago from my longtime mentor Roy Peter Clark, and the lesson has carried me far.

When writing about complex subject matters in my forthcoming book — especially around the neurobiology and genetics of eating disorders — I made a conscious effort to keep my sentences and paragraphs short. I wanted to lighten my readers’ load and incentivize them to stay with me. I saw white space as an outstretched hand, a visual promise that readers would be guided through complicated passages.

Outstretched hands with cupcakes are especially nice. Credit: Unsplash

The best writers offer this outstretched hand. One good example is author Maggie Smith, who has talked about her abundant use of white space in her memoir You Could Make This Place Beautiful. In a “Totally Booked with Zibby” podcast episode that aired last week, Smith explained:

I feel like I invited the reader into a room; it might have only been one paragraph long, that room, but I handed them something very heavy in that room and I want to give them time to sit with the heavy thing and then either set it down before moving to the next room, or have enough time and space to love that thing I just handed along without moving too quickly.

I’m always advising people to think about time on the page — like, how much time are you taking with something? How much room and space are you giving your reader to kind of process something? And it may be that they need some white space, a paragraph break, a stanza break, a new page, a new chapter, in order to get from Point A to Point B comfortably without feeling like they’re being herded along in a TSA line. We don’t want readers to feel that way.

White space can be especially helpful in that progression from Point A to Point B, where you’re trying to move the reader from one scene to another, or from one time period to another. I first realized this in graduate school, when wrestling with how to note the passage of time in one of my book chapters. My professor told me something to the effect of: “I have a simple solution for you: Create some white space.”

Up until that point, I had been accustomed to recognizing white space in news and feature stories, but I hadn’t paid as much attention to it in books. I began to appreciate how authors insert an extra space in between paragraphs to suggest movement — of time, of place, of mindset. And I began using this same technique in my own writing.

Using more white space in my book felt freeing. When writing paragraphs about heavy topics that weighed me down, white space lightened the load a bit. It gave me space to think on the page, space to sit with my words and reflect on them. During the editing process, I sometimes built in even more white space when I got the sense that readers might need it.

Right now, a lot of us might be needing some white space in the stories we read, in our calendars, in conversations with others whose views may run counter to our own. And so, I suppose more than anything this piece is an invitation — to seek out that space, to take that much-needed deep breath.

I’d love to hear from you! How do you use white space in your writing? How does it help your reading experience?

My book Slip: Life in the Middle of Eating Disorder Recovery is now available for pre-order! Pre-orders help expand a book's reach, and my hope is that this book reaches and helps as many people as possible. You can pre-order Slip wherever you buy books: