Vague writing is forgettable. It floats on the surface, never quite anchoring the reader. Specific writing, on the other hand, grabs you. It paints a clear image, evokes a feeling, and makes the moment feel real. The more specific you are, the more universal your story becomes—because readers don’t connect to generalities, they connect to the details that feel true.
Vague Doesn’t Mean Mysterious
Some writers confuse vagueness with subtlety. But vague writing isn’t intriguing—it’s empty. Saying “She felt bad about what happened” doesn’t pull the reader in. It leaves them floating outside the moment. What happened? What does badmean? Regret? Guilt? Embarrassment?
If your reader has to guess what a character is feeling, thinking, or doing based on vague placeholders, they’re not emotionally engaged. The writing becomes harder to trust—and easier to skim.
Specificity doesn’t ruin mystery. In fact, it can deepen it. Saying “She ran her fingers along the edge of the broken glass, eyes unfocused” gives the reader something to feel, even if they don’t know the full story yet. It builds tension through image, not abstraction.
The Right Detail Makes Everything Real
Readers don’t need five paragraphs of description. They need one right detail. Not “He was poor,” but “His shoes were taped at the toes.” Not “The room was messy,” but “Half-eaten cereal sat on top of a stack of overdue bills.”
The right detail anchors the reader. It gives them a place to stand. Generalizations fade fast, but specifics linger.
Instead of saying “It was a perfect day,” say “The sun hit the pavement in a way that made everything feel possible.”Make us see it. Let us feel the temperature, the texture, the atmosphere—not in lists, but in choices.
Show Don’t Tell Starts With Specifics
We hear “show, don’t tell” all the time. Specificity is how you do that.
Don’t tell us “He was nervous.” Show us “He wiped his palms on his jeans for the third time before knocking.”
Don’t write “She loved him.” Write “She memorized the pattern of freckles on his shoulders like a map she might one day need to follow.”
The more clearly your reader can picture the scene, the more emotionally invested they’ll be.
Characters Are Revealed Through Specific Choices
Specificity isn’t just for setting and action—it’s how you reveal character. Everyone loves. Everyone grieves. But not in the same way.
If a character deals with stress by alphabetizing their bookshelf, that says something different than if they go outside to scream.
Let your characters’ behavior, dialogue, and even word choices reflect them. A character who says “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” is different from one who says “Screw this. I’m done.” Same emotion, different voice. That’s where specificity lives.
Abstract Language Loses Power Fast
Words like nice, weird, bad, good, big, small are fine in conversation, but weak on the page. They don’t give the reader anything to hold onto. Instead of “a big house,” give us “a three-story brick house with a porch swing that never stopped squeaking.”
Instead of “She wore a weird outfit,” show us “a tutu over camo pants and a sequined vest with blinking lights.” Even if the reader doesn’t know the character yet, they’ll remember her.
Avoid filler phrases like “a sense of” or “some kind of.” These dilute your sentences. Cut them and get to the point.
❌ “There was some kind of tension in the air.”
✅ “Everyone fell quiet when he walked in.”
Specific Doesn’t Mean Wordy
Being specific doesn’t mean writing more—it means writing better. Tight, clean sentences filled with intentional details have more power than paragraphs full of vague description.
You don’t need to name every item in a room. Just pick the one that tells us what we need to know. If a character’s house is spotless but there’s a single lipstick-stained wineglass on the counter, that one image says more than a full inventory.
Use the Senses
One of the fastest ways to add specificity is through sensory detail. What does it smell like? What does the floor feel like under bare feet? What sound keeps interrupting the moment?
Engaging the senses pulls the reader in—and it keeps them there. It doesn’t take much. Just one sensory beat per scene can make your world feel lived in.
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