The "That" Epidemic: How a Tiny Word Clutters Your Prose
There's a word in your manuscript. It's small. It's innocent-looking. It's grammatically correct. And it's probably there more often than it needs to be.
That word is "that."
The "that" problem.
"She knew that he was lying." "He thought that she was beautiful." "I hope that you're happy." "The fact that she left was surprising." "It was the kind of day that makes you want to stay in bed."
"That" is a conjunction, a pronoun, a determiner. It's a useful word. But it's also a word that sneaks into our prose without us noticing. It's a filler. It's a habit. And in most cases, it can be deleted without changing the meaning of the sentence.
When is "that" necessary?
Let's be clear: sometimes "that" is necessary. Sometimes it clarifies meaning. Sometimes it prevents confusion.
"I know that you're lying" is different from "I know you're lying"? Not really. Both are clear.
But consider: "She said that he was late." versus "She said he was late." Both are clear. Both are correct.
Now consider: "He believed that she was innocent." versus "He believed she was innocent." Both are clear. Both are correct.
In most cases, "that" is optional. And when it's optional, it's usually better to cut it.
When is "that" necessary?
"That" is necessary when it prevents ambiguity. For example: "I know that you know" is clearer than "I know you know" (which could be misread as "I know you, know?"). "He said that that was the problem" is necessary because the first "that" introduces the clause and the second "that" is the subject.
But these instances are rare. Most of the time, "that" is just filler.
Why do we overuse "that"?
Because it's comfortable. Because it's how we talk. Because when we're drafting, our brain defaults to the most familiar construction. "She knew that he was lying" feels natural. "She knew he was lying" feels slightly more formal, slightly more deliberate.
But writing isn't talking. Writing is more crafted. And cutting "that" is one of the easiest ways to tighten your prose.
The "that" test.
Here's a simple test: read your sentence without "that." Does it still make sense? Is it still clear? If yes, cut it.
"She knew that he was lying" → "She knew he was lying." Clear. Cut it.
"He thought that she was beautiful" → "He thought she was beautiful." Clear. Cut it.
"I hope that you're happy" → "I hope you're happy." Clear. Cut it.
"The fact that she left was surprising" → "The fact she left was surprising." Hmm. This one is trickier. "The fact that" is a common construction, but it's often wordy. Better: "Her leaving was surprising." Or better yet: "She left, which was surprising." Or even better: "She left. It was surprising."
"That" as a filler word.
Sometimes "that" isn't even a conjunction. Sometimes it's just filler. "It was the kind of day that makes you want to stay in bed." The "that" is unnecessary. "It was the kind of day that makes you want to stay in bed" → "It was a stay-in-bed kind of day." Tighter. Stronger.
How to fix the "that" problem.
Use Word Census to count how many times you've used "that" in your manuscript. You might be shocked by the number. Then, do a pass specifically for "that." Read each sentence. Ask yourself: is this "that" necessary? If not, cut it.
You'll be amazed at how much tighter your prose becomes.
A note on "which" and "who."
While we're at it, let's talk about "which" and "who." These are also words that can clutter your prose. "The book, which was on the table, was red." Better: "The book on the table was red." "The man, who was wearing a hat, walked by." Better: "The man in the hat walked by."
Relative clauses are useful, but they can also be wordy. Cut them when you can.
The bottom line.
"That" is a tiny word with a big impact. Overused, it clutters your prose, slows your pacing, and makes your writing feel flabby. But it's also easy to fix—once you see it.
Run your manuscript through Word Census. Count your "that"s. Then start cutting. Your prose will be tighter, cleaner, and more powerful. And your readers will thank you.