Chekhov's gun in nonfiction

There are two fundamental problems I keep seeing in nonfiction writing:

1. Content that says too much

This can take the form of obvious statements, tangents, bloated context, or points the writer finds more interesting than the reader ever will.

2. Content that says too little

This shows up as vague generalities, missing specifics, or ideas introduced too late for the reader to understand or care.

Both come from the same issue: the writer not being clear on what the reader needs - or when they need it.

A useful fix comes from Anton Chekhov, the playwright and short story writer. His advice has become a rule for foreshadowing in fiction, but it’s even more useful in nonfiction. It’s known as Chekhov’s gun:

“Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there.”

The core principle: If something is included, it must serve the purpose of the piece. If it doesn’t, it shouldn’t be there.

This applies to blog posts, reports, whitepapers, essays - anything that asks for a reader’s time.

Saying too much (overpacking)

This usually happens in the introduction, which often tries too hard to connect, sound smart, or feel comprehensive. Three common causes:

• The writer doesn’t understand the audience, so they rely on obvious statements. Example: “As a business owner, you’re busy trying to run your company and manage your team.” It’s filler, not insight.

• The writer doesn’t understand the topic, so they compensate with surface-level summaries, stats, or vague generalizations. It looks like research, but it doesn’t build to anything.

• The writer doesn’t know the purpose of the piece, so they make too many points that never go anywhere. The result is a pile of narrative dead ends - the gun that never fires.

The introduction’s job isn’t to impress or entertain. Its job is to tell the reader: You’re in the right place. Keep going. And the rest of the piece needs to justify that promise.

Here’s the cost of getting it wrong: if your intro gives the reader four new terms, three stats, and two open questions, they’ll assume each is critical. They’ll try to carry it all. When only one of those items turns out to matter, you’ve wasted their effort - and possibly lost their trust.

A better approach: treat your content like a journey. The introduction is where you pack the reader’s bag. They don’t know the route, but you do. They’ll carry whatever you give them, even if it’s dead weight. So give them exactly what they’ll need, no more and no less.

Saying too little (underpacking)

This problem often slips under the radar. It shows up when important terms, concepts, or arguments appear without warning. The reader suddenly hits something they weren’t prepared for - an unexplained acronym, a new framework, a core argument introduced halfway through.

It happens because:

• The writer assumes the reader knows what they know (the curse of knowledge).
• The idea emerged late in the writing process, so it shows up late in the draft.

The fix is simple: if a concept will matter later, introduce it early. Even a passing reference can act as a cue. Readers don’t mind complexity - they mind surprises that feel like mistakes.

Underpacking also happens when writers forget that clarity is part of the job. If a reader has to scroll back, re-read, or guess what you meant, you’ve made them do extra work for no reason. That’s a form of friction. Enough of it, and the reader drops off.

Make the journey easier

Nonfiction is at its best when every part earns its place. When ideas are planted before they grow. When every quote, stat, and section builds toward something. That makes your content a lot easier to follow. And content that’s easier to follow is easier to remember, easier to share, and a lot more fun to write.