I hate it when I end a chapter with a single line stranded on a new page — or worse, a single word.

The poor lonely word sits there, cut off from the rest of its chapter, doomed to spend its days in isolation. Its existence becomes a torment. It knows its friends are all just on the other side of the page break, but a cruel twist of fate has separated it from everything it’s ever known, even the very subject it was born to serve.

Only a vast plain of Arctic whiteness stretches before the lonely word. Maybe there are more words beyond, with exciting new clauses to join. But the lonely word can never know, because it’s stuck here. Banished from civilization.

At least until I inevitably revise the chapter.