Literary Hospitality: 6 Ways to Treat Readers Well

Today I’ll explain a writing technique I call “literary hospitality.”

Literary hospitality is … the practice of helping readers feel understood, helped, and cared for.

Why does this matter?

It matters because—like it not not—there is an inevitable distance between you and your readers. If you learn to bridge that gap through warmth, empathy, and relatability, you will win over readers.

If you don’t, there are thousands of other gifted authors vying for your readers’ attention. If you don’t woo them, you lose them.

Good writers think like a host.

As a writer, think of yourself as a host. Your writing is your home, and readers are your guests. Just like hosting a dinner party, you want it to be a memorable, inviting, enjoyable experience.

Imagine preparing a stunning 5-course meal, but despite the excellent fare, by the time your guests leave they feel:

• Bored because you just talked about yourself the whole time
• Insulted because you showed little interest in their lives, dreams, or concerns
• Unseen because you didn’t greet them, take their coat, or say goodbye

My point: Good writing is about invitation, not just information. It’s about care, not just content. In a word, it’s about hospitality.

Let’s look at some examples from two books I’m reading right now: Practicing the Way by John Mark Comer and The Lord of Psalm 23 by David Gibson.

While not exhaustive, here’s 6 ways to be hospitable in your writing.

6 examples of literary hospitality …

1. Refocus/emphasis

Good teachers know when a lesson is dragging—when students are checked out. So they often refocus the class with a statement like: “Heads up everyone, this will be on the test.”

It works brilliantly. Heads snap back to attention. For a few seconds, everyone’s on the same page again.

Comer does this well, at moments he really wants readers to pay attention:

This may not seem like hospitality, but it’s actually a kind thing to do. Rather than expecting your readers to evaluate everything you’re saying—putting the burden on them to figure out what your key message is—do the work for them.

When you’re making a crucial point, let them know with phrases like:

Don’t miss this … This is my point … Here’s the takeaway … Now stay with me …

2. Reassurance

I love this moment in Comer’s book, when he realizes he’s about to unpack something a bit technical—which readers may struggle with.

So brilliantly, he reassures them: Hey, I get it. This is kinda boring. I’ll keep it short.

One of my favorite preachers does the same thing in every sermon. When explaining something technical, he says: “We’re going to the classroom for a moment, but I promise, we’re going to church today.”

It’s a lighthearted way to reassure listeners that, while this information matters, he promises to drive home why it matters and how it applies to everyday life.

In your writing, be aware of those moments when readers will be tempted to tune out. Reassure them in those moments—it will hold their interest.

3. The polite plea

Sometimes being a good host means engaging your guests on topics they may initially disagree with.

For example, when Comer senses his readers may accuse him of “splitting hairs” or being “nitpicky” about theology, he simply pleads, “Please, hear me.”

It’s a small gesture, but far more effective than shouting your opinion in ALL CAPS.

Sometimes a gentle hand on someone’s shoulder—a simple “please”—provides the needed warmth so that readers will hear you out.

4. Journey language

Rather than talking at readers, I love how David Gibson invites them to join him in discovery:

Don’t make the common mistake of reporting what you’ve learned in the past tense. There’s a place for that, but if you really want to capture the hearts of readers, invite them to discover with you.

Turn facts into adventure. Data into discovery. Info into treasure.

5. Prayer

If you’re a follower of Jesus, few things are as hospitable as praying for your readers—right there in the text. David Gibson does this beautifully:

Good hosts are intentional, not passive. While jovial and lighthearted, they steer conversations past the superficial, into the eternal, in a way that’s comfortable.

Readers should walk away from your writing with a sense of being poured into, loved, prayed over.

Don’t hesitate to pray for those who have taken the time to digest your words.

6. Address the elephant

In his book, as Comer unpacks what a “rule of life” is, he wisely anticipates pushback from his readers: Aren’t rules a bit rigid, legalistic, stodgy?

Instead of ignoring the elephant in the room, he addresses it:

The takeaway is: Know your readers. Anticipate their objections. Empathize with where they’re coming from. Relate.

How’s your hosting?

Evaluate your writing.

Ask yourself:

Is my writing a warm experience, in which readers feel seen, welcome, understood, stewarded?

Or do my literary guests feel awkward, lost, unseen, and talked down to?

The good news is, literary hospitality is an acquirable skill any writer can cultivate. With a little intentionality—sprinkling in any one of these 6 hospitality hacks—your writing will give readers a warmer experience.

You got this.

See you next week!