Writing the Silence Between the Lines

Some of the most powerful things in Broken Glass are never actually said. Not aloud. Not clearly. And not without consequence. That’s because silence—intentional, weaponized, or simply broken—is everywhere in this book.

It’s in the pause before a lie. It’s in the room after a betrayal. It’s in the way a character closes a door without slamming it.

When I started writing Broken Glass, I didn’t expect silence to become one of the loudest characters. I thought I was writing tension, control, survival. And I was. But I was also writing the language we use when we don’t speak.

Silence became a tool for power. A boundary. A punishment. A scream with the volume turned all the way down.

I realized that my characters—especially Nessira—don’t always express what they feel with words. They use actions. Glances. Absences. And as a writer, that meant learning to let the silence carry weight without explaining it away. It meant trusting the reader to feel what isn’t said.

So if you’re reading Broken Glass and find yourself pausing at a scene that seems “quiet,” know that the quiet is never empty. Sometimes the most dangerous truths are the ones no one says out loud.

Because in this story, silence doesn’t mean peace. It means something is shifting.

And if you listen closely—you’ll hear it crack.

Have you ever read a book where the silence said more than the dialogue? I’d love to hear about it. Drop a comment below or message me with your favorite quietly powerful scene—from any book.

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