The substance of any piece of writing is its language, and the smallest choices of words and sentences carry enormous weight. Diction is word choice, and within it, denotation is a word's literal meaning while connotation is its emotional or cultural association. Syntax is sentence structure. Concrete language—specific, sensory words—creates vivid, believable worlds, while abstractions and jargon can alienate readers. A cliché is an overused expression that has lost impact; tropes, by contrast, are common patterns that may still feel fresh in capable hands. The antidote to clichés is to read one's own work and rephrase common expressions in fresh ways.
Figurative language extends meaning beyond the literal. A metaphor makes a direct comparison without "like" or "as"—for example, "time is a thief"—while a simile uses "like" or "as," as in "brave as a lion." Personification gives human qualities to non-human entities, and hyperbole exaggerates deliberately for effect. A metaphorical conceit is an extended metaphor running through a piece. Sound devices shape the music of prose: alliteration repeats initial consonant sounds, assonance repeats vowel sounds within nearby words, consonance repeats consonant sounds, and onomatopoeia imitates the sound it represents. Imagery and sensory detail—description appealing to sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch—create mental pictures that immerse readers in a scene.
Other techniques deepen meaning beneath the surface. Symbolism uses objects or actions to represent larger concepts, while a motif is a recurring element with symbolic significance. Allegory extends symbolism into a complete narrative whose elements consistently represent abstract ideas. Irony operates through contrast between expectation and reality: dramatic irony occurs when the reader knows something a character doesn't, situational irony when events contradict expectations, and verbal irony when speech intentionally contradicts meaning—sarcasm being a biting form of verbal irony. Foreshadowing drops hints about future events, flashbacks move into a time earlier than the main story, and subtext is the unspoken meaning beneath surface dialogue or action. Showing rather than telling conveys through action and sensory detail rather than explanation, immersing readers and letting them infer, though telling has its place: the show-don't-tell rule admits exceptions, and summary compresses events while scenes dramatize them. Dialogue carries spoken conversation, and pacing—the speed at which a story moves—is shaped by sentence length, with short sentences, dialogue, and action speeding it up and description, introspection, and exposition slowing it down.
Sentence-level choices matter as well. A periodic sentence delays its main clause to the end for emphasis, while a loose sentence places the main idea first and modifiers after. Rhythm in prose is the pattern of stress and pause in sentences, and varied sentence length prevents monotony and helps control pacing. Hemingway's style—spare, direct prose with short sentences and concrete nouns—stands at one end of the spectrum; purple prose, which is overly elaborate and ornate, lies at the other. Hemingway's iceberg theory holds that most meaning lies beneath the surface, with the writer showing only the tip. Reading aloud exposes rhythm and awkwardness invisible on the page. Even grammar can serve craft: a cliffhanger leaves a story unresolved to entice continued reading, while a hook opens a piece in a way that intrigues, sets tone, and invites reading further.