5 reasons to use one-line paragraphs in fiction writing

One-line paragraphs are powerful tools that pull readers into your story and compel them to turn the page. This post explores why they work and offers some examples of smashing shorties that pack a punch!

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​​What’s in this post

In this post, I look at five reasons why it’s worth experimenting with very short paragraphs in commercial fiction writing and editing, including:

• to show rather than tell internal experience
• to decelerate reading speed
• to emphasize key information
• to create clutter-free immediacy
• to ​deliver suspenseful chapter finales

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Showing rather than telling internal experience

The narrative passages in a novel are often several lines long. This gives the author space for necessary exposition about the environment, the characters and the action. This is where we make sense of a scene and how it relates to the bigger story.
 
The staccato rhythm of one-line paragraphs is interruptive, both rhythmically and visually. Each short line is its own single beat, one that’s structurally visible on the page. Every time the reader moves onto the next, they take mental breath.
 
Because the lines are short, the breaths come quickly, and it’s there that the author can show rather than tell a character's internal experience in a way that's rich in mood and voice.
 
In this excerpt from Recursion by Black Crouch, p. 317 (Pan, 2019), look at how the structure of those two initial short lines in bold mirrors the meaning of the words. 

     The memories arrive in a blink.
     One moment nothing.
     The next, he knows exactly where he is, the full trajectory of his life since Helena found him, and exactly what the equations on the blackboard mean.
     Because he wrote them.
     They're extrapolations of the Schwarzschild solution, an equation that defines what the radius of an object must be, based upon its mass, in order to form a singularity. That singularity then forms an Einstein-Rosen wormhole that can, in theory, instantaneously connect far-flung regions of space and even time. ​

One minute the memories aren’t there; the next they are. The beat of their arrival is reflected in the way the prose is formatted. We’re therefore shown how the viewpoint character experiences the lightning-speed download of knowledge, and as a result we feel it all the more intensely.

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Decelerating reading speed

Those of us who read a lot are used to seeing chunks of ink on a page or pixels on a screen and learn how to zip through them and absorb the content without dissecting each word.
 
Such speedy reading can lead to skimming because we relax into the flow of the narrative. One-line paragraphs, however, stand out because they contrast so starkly with the longer passages, surrounded as they are by so much white space.
 
Text that stands out begs for our attention and forces us to slow down and focus on each word. And that means it’s not only the rhythm of the prose that’s changed; so has the rhythm of how we’re interacting with it as readers.
 
Take a look at this example on p. 470 of The Good Daughter by Karin Slaughter (HarperCollins, 2017).

     There was more tapping, more tracking, and then colours on the screen were almost too much. The blacks were up so far that gray spots bubbled through the midnight fields.
     Charlie suggested, “Use the blue on the lockers as a color guide. They’re close to the same blue as Dad’s funeral suit.
     Ben opened the color chart. He clicked on random squares.
     “That’s it,” Charlie said. “That’s the blue.”
     “I can clean it up more.” He sharpened the pixels. Smoothed out the edges. Finally, he zoomed in as close as he could without distorting the image into nothing.
     “Holy shit,” Charlie said. She finally got it.
     Not a leg, but an arm.
     Not one arm, but two.
     One black. One red.
     A sexual cannibal. A slash of red. A venomous bite.
     They had not found Rusty’s unicorn.
     ​They had found a black widow. ​

The non-bold text is what we’re most used to seeing. It makes for a comfortable, leisurely, skimmable read. But when we get to the bold single-line paragraphs, the contrast is visible on the page. Our reading pace decelerates and our attention zooms in on every word.

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Emphasizing key information

Very short paragraphs enable authors to place emphasis on key words and phrases that they want us to pay attention to. Perhaps it’s a clue or a moment of suspense. Maybe it’s to shock us. Maybe it’s to draw our focus towards an aspect of a character’s personality.

Because the one-liner stands out, it’s an opportunity for centre-staging. Here’s a great example from Harlan Coben’s Win, p. 38 (Century, 2021). ​

     Respect, yes. Bow, no. I also don’t use these techniques,
per the platitude, “only for self-defense,” an obvious untruth on the level of “the check is in the mail” or “don’t worry, I’ll pull out.” I use what I learn to defeat my enemies, no matter who the aggressor happens to be (usually: me).
     I like violence.
     I like it a lot. I don’t condone it for others. I condone it for me. I don’t fight as a last resort. I fight whenever I can. I don’t try to avoid trouble. I actively seek it out.
     ​After I finish with the bag, I bench-press, powerlift, squat. When I was younger, I’d have various lifting days—arm days, chest days, leg days. When I reached my forties, I found it paid to lift less often and with more variety. ​

Coben wants us to know something about his protagonist Windsor Horne Lockwood III, something we might find distasteful and hard to fathom. Nevertheless, it’s central to the characterization; Win’s actions throughout the novel don’t make sense unless we know this. Coben ensures we don’t miss it.

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​Creating clutter-free immediacy

Very short paragraphs pull the reader through each moment of the action, second by second, step by step. This can reduce narrative distance – the space between the reader and the viewpoint character.
 
Here’s beautiful example from p. 296 of The Cold Cold Ground by Adrian McKinty (Serpent’s Tail, 2012)

     ​“You had to stick your fucking neb in, didn’t ya? You had to open your big yapper. Can’t you fucking take a hint? After all them ciggies we give you too,” he said.
     He raised the gun.
     I closed my eyes.
     Held my breath.
     A bang.
     Silence.
     ​When I opened my eyes again Bobby Cameron was staring at me and shaking his head. Billy White was dead to my left with the back of his head blown off. ​

The narration is first person, so it’s already immersive. But the one-line paragraphs in bold drive us deeper into Sean Duffy’s experience. There’s no fluff, no filtering, no cluttering description.
 
Each moment of the action is presented oh so precisely, slamming us into the now of the novel – the weapon being raised, Duffy’s physical response, then what he hears: first a bang, then nothing.

In five lines and fourteen words, McKinty shows us something powerful – that he trusts us to get it. We don’t know for sure what Duffy is feeling. It could be sadness, terror, anger, resignation, or a combination of some or all those things.
 
The author’s had the courage to leave it to us, to allow us to imagine what this moment means internally for Duffy, rather than forcing us one way or another. In doing so, we get to be Duffy for a while rather than a fly on the wall. The narrative distance is so small, it’s barely perceptible.

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Delivering suspenseful chapter finales

A smart one-liner at the end of a chapter can create suspense. Perhaps it’s a question, a shocking statement or a realization. Regardless, it leaves the reader aching for answers. When that yearning is encapsulated in one line, it stands out and demands that we turn the page.
 
Here are the final two paragraphs from p. 132 of David Rosenfelt’s Open and Shut (Grand Central Publishing, 2002):

     The next morning, to my undying shame, I did not withdraw my request. I had the time of my life at camp that summer, and I know now that my father, so desperate for me to go that he was in terrible pain, had millions of dollars that he refused to touch.
     ​Money that he did not make delivering newspapers.
     ​[Chapter ends]

There is only one question on the reader’s mind as the chapter closes: So how did his father make all that money?

And because the answer lies beyond – maybe in the next chapter, maybe right at the end of the book – we turn the page.

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Why less is more

Overdependence on any literary device risks reducing its dramatic effect, and short paragraphs are no exception.
 
One-liners pack the biggest punch when they’re used now and then as a tool with which to vary the pulse of your prose and deepen your reader’s immersion in the world you’ve created.
 
Save them for best so that they stand out.

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More writing and editing resources

• 6 ways to improve your novel right now (blog post)
• 7 ways to write chapter endings that hold readers in suspense  (blog post)
• Author resource library (includes links to free webinars)
• Becoming a Fiction Editor (free booklet)
• Editing Fiction at Sentence Level (book – listen to a free audio chapter)
• Making Sense of ‘Show, Don’t Tell’  (book – listen to a free audio chapter)
• Playing with the rhythm of fiction: commas and conjunctions (blog post)
• ​Switching to Fiction (course for new fiction editors)

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About Louise Harnby

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.

She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

• Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
• Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
• Learn: Books and courses
• Discover: Resources for authors and editors

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