Why writers struggle with the assumption gap—and how to bridge it.
[Ideas in this post come from Frank Conroy’s essay “The Writers’ Workshop”—Featured in Dogs Bark, but the Caravan Rolls On.]“I definitely write with assumptions,” a writer told me recently. “I assume my reader knows what I’m talking about.”
He’d just discovered something that trips up most writers: the gap between what you know about your story and what you’ve actually put on the page for readers to see.
This writer had been working on a historical thriller for months. In her mind, every scene was crystal clear. He could see his characters moving through 1940s Germany, hear their conversations, feel the tension of their dangerous mission. But when he shared pages with others, readers kept asking questions that seemed obvious to her.
“Why didn’t they understand that this character is six foot seven?” he wondered. “Why couldn’t they tell he needed to duck through that doorway?”
The answer was simple: he’d never written it down.
The difference between a vivid scene and a vague one is what actually makes it onto the page.
The Writer’s Burden of Knowledge
When you write, you carry an enormous amount of information in your head about your story. You know:
- What every character looks like
- The layout of every room they enter
- The backstory behind every decision
- The emotional subtext of every conversation
- The historical context of every scene
This knowledge feels so complete and obvious that it’s hard to imagine anyone not having it. So you write assuming readers share your mental picture.
But they don’t.
The Assumption Trap
The assumption trap looks like this:
You write: “He crossed the room and grabbed the box.”
You see: A tall man with broad shoulders moving across a cluttered laboratory, his boots echoing on the concrete floor, reaching up to a high shelf to grab a wooden crate marked with Nazi insignia.
Your reader sees: Someone walking somewhere and picking something up.
The reader gets the basic action, but misses everything that makes the moment come alive. They’re operating with far less information than you think you’ve given them.
What the Reader-Writer Curve Teaches Us
The reader-writer curve is a concept that helps writers understand this dynamic. Imagine a graph where the x-axis represents how much information you provide, and the y-axis represents how much work the reader has to do to understand what’s happening.
At the left side of the curve, you provide very little information. The reader has to do enormous amounts of work—filling in gaps, making assumptions, trying to piece together what you mean. This is exhausting and often leads to confusion.
At the right side of the curve, you provide so much information that it becomes overwhelming. The reader feels buried in details they don’t need.
The sweet spot is in the middle: providing enough specific, concrete details that readers can clearly see what’s happening without drowning them in information.
That’s what Conroy calls “The Zone.”
The Physical Details Problem
One of the most common places writers fall into assumption is with physical description. You might write an entire scene without mentioning that your protagonist is unusually tall, then have him struggling to fit in a car. Readers who haven’t visualized his height will be confused by this detail.
The same writer I mentioned earlier had a problem I used to struggle with: I’m six foot six. Of course, all my characters are six foot six. Like, why wouldn’t you have understood that they need to duck down to get through that doorway?
The solution isn’t to dump a paragraph of physical description at the beginning. It’s to weave relevant physical details into the action as they become important to the scene.
From List to Scene
This writer also discovered another common assumption problem: information dumps. He’d written scenes where characters needed to discuss equipment for their mission, and his first instinct was to simply list the equipment.
“I thought, well, you know what, instead of them just telling the equipment list, but it’s needed information that reader needs to know this,” he explained. “I took it out, and I went to another scene where they’re getting ready to practice, and I made it a conversation.”
Instead of a list, he created a scene where characters unload a truck while discussing each piece of equipment. The reader gets the same information, but now they can visualize the characters handling the gear, see their familiarity with the tools, and understand the relationship dynamics between the soldiers.
The Visualization Test
Here’s a simple test for assumption writing: Can a reader create a movie in their head from what you’ve written?
If you write: “They argued about the plan,” readers know an argument happened, but they can’t see it.
If you write: “She slammed her hand on the table. ‘That’s suicide and you know it.’
He stepped back, his face flushing red. ‘You have a better idea?'” readers can visualize the scene.
The difference is specificity. The first version summarizes what happened. The second shows it happening.
Dialogue as a Bridge
Dialogue can help bridge the assumption gap by doing double duty—advancing the story while providing description. Instead of writing “He picked up the box awkwardly,” you can have another character say, “You can’t pick up the box like that. You’re going to drop it.”
This technique gives readers the same information (the box is being handled poorly) while keeping them in the scene through character interaction.
The Historical Fiction Challenge
Writers working with historical settings face an additional assumption challenge. You’ve done extensive research and know the period intimately. But readers might not know that 1940s German soldiers carried specific equipment or that certain buildings had particular layouts.
The temptation is either to dump historical information in exposition or to assume readers will understand references that seem obvious to you after months of research.
The solution is to trust that some readers will catch historical nuances while others won’t—and to make sure both groups can follow the human story regardless of their historical knowledge.
From Your Head to the Page
Bridging the assumption gap requires a fundamental shift in how you approach writing. Instead of asking “What needs to happen in this scene?” start asking “What does my character see, hear, feel, and do in this moment?”
This forces you to put concrete, sensory details on the page rather than assuming readers will fill in the blanks. That will thrill your readers as they connect with your story.
The Beta Reader Reality Check
One of the most valuable things a beta reader provides is assumption detection. When they ask questions like “Wait, where are they?” or “I thought he was short,” they’re showing you places where your mental picture didn’t make it to the page.
These questions aren’t criticism—they’re diagnostic tools showing you exactly where to add specific details. Go back and put them on the page.
The Practical Solution
The fix for assumption writing isn’t complicated, but it requires conscious effort:
- Write what your character experiences: Instead of “He was nervous,” write “His hands shook as he reached for the doorknob.”
- Ground readers in space: Help them see where characters are and how they move through that space.
- Use concrete nouns and specific verbs: “Vehicle” becomes “jeep.” “Walked quickly” becomes “ran.”
- Let dialogue carry description: Have characters react to things in ways that show readers what’s happening.
- Read your scenes aloud: If you find yourself explaining things that aren’t on the page, those explanations need to be written into the scene.
The Reader’s Journey
Remember that every reader comes to your story as a stranger. They don’t know your characters, your world, or your plot. Your job is to guide them into that world gradually, giving them enough specific details to build their own mental movie without overwhelming them with information.
When you successfully bridge the assumption gap, something magical happens: readers stop working so hard to understand what’s happening and start experiencing the story alongside your characters.
That’s what Conroy calls “co-creation.”
That’s when the reader-writer curve becomes your ally rather than your obstacle.
For more from Conroy and access to the essay this Reader-Writer Curve comes from email me or sign up for my Show, Don’t Tell class here.
