The first proof copy I ever held looked… off. Not broken, not unreadable, just uncomfortable. I remember flipping through it thinking, “Why does this feel like a cheap book?” The margins were technically correct, the text was aligned, everything passed a quick glance on screen.
But in your hands, it told a different story.
Margins Will Make or Break Your Book
This is the one people underestimate the most.
Your margins decide whether your book feels professional or cramped. And I don’t mean just setting equal margins all around — that’s the mistake. The inner margin (the gutter) needs more space because part of it disappears into the binding.
I didn’t give it enough the first time.
The text near the spine felt squeezed. You could read it, but you had to push the book open slightly to see everything clearly. That tiny bit of friction adds up over hundreds of pages. Readers won’t complain about it directly — they’ll just feel like something’s off.
Give your gutter more room than you think. Seriously.
Stop Treating Word Like a Design Tool
I know it’s convenient. I used it too.
But Word isn’t built for book layout. It can work, but it fights you on consistency. One small change and suddenly spacing shifts three pages later for no clear reason. If you’re not careful, your formatting becomes fragile.
If you can, move to something like InDesign or at least learn how to lock styles properly in Word. Styles are everything. Headings, body text, spacing — define them once and apply them consistently.
If you’re manually adjusting things line by line, you’re setting yourself up for problems.
Fonts Are Not the Place to Be Creative
I’ve argued this with people and I’ll stand by it.
Use boring fonts.
A book is not where you experiment with personality in typography. You want something that disappears while the reader is reading. Serif fonts like Garamond or something similar exist for a reason — they’re easier on the eyes over long stretches.
I once used a “clean modern” font because it looked good on screen. Printed, it felt harsh. Slightly too sharp, slightly too tight, and after a few pages it became tiring.
Readers don’t think “this font is bad.” They just stop reading sooner.
Line Spacing Is Subtle but Critical
You won’t notice good spacing.
You will feel bad spacing.
Too tight, and the page looks dense and intimidating. Too loose, and it looks like you’re padding your page count. Somewhere in the middle is where things feel natural, but finding that balance depends on your font, size, and trim.
I usually start around 1.3 line spacing and adjust from there. I’m not 100% sure that number works for every book, but it’s a solid starting point.
Print a few pages and read them. That tells you more than any setting.
Paragraphs Need a System
Pick one style and stick to it.
Indented paragraphs with no extra space between them, or block paragraphs with spacing — both are fine. Mixing them makes your book look like it was formatted in a rush.
I’ve seen books where the first few chapters used indents, then suddenly switched to spaced paragraphs halfway through. It’s distracting, even if readers can’t explain why.
Consistency is what makes formatting feel invisible.
Page Breaks Deserve More Attention
This is one of those things that doesn’t seem important until it is.
New chapters should always start on a new page. Sounds obvious, but I’ve seen people let chapters continue mid-page just to save space. It looks wrong immediately.
Also watch where your chapters begin. Starting a new chapter with only a couple of lines at the bottom of a page feels awkward. Give it space to breathe.
I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit nudging text around just to make chapter openings feel right.
Orphans and Widows Will Annoy You
They’re small, but they matter.
An orphan is a single line of a paragraph stranded at the bottom of a page. A widow is a single line at the top of the next page. Both break the visual flow.
Fixing them is tedious. You adjust spacing, tweak line breaks, maybe rewrite a sentence slightly. Sometimes fixing one creates another somewhere else, and suddenly you’re chasing layout issues across the entire book.
It’s frustrating.
But cleaning most of them up makes the whole book feel more polished.
Always Export to PDF (And Check It Twice)
Never send editable files to a printer.
Export a print-ready PDF with embedded fonts. That locks your layout so nothing shifts unexpectedly. What you see is what gets printed.
But don’t trust the first export.
Open it. Scroll slowly. Zoom in. Look for weird spacing, missing elements, anything that feels off. I’ve had clean layouts in my working file that somehow broke during export.
It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s annoying.
The Physical Proof Will Humble You
Screens lie.
Everything looks better on a screen. The lighting is perfect, the zoom is adjustable, and your brain fills in gaps. Print removes all of that. Suddenly you notice margins, spacing, alignment — things you thought were fine.
The first time I held a proof, I realized how different a book feels in your hands compared to on a monitor. It changed how I approach formatting completely.
Always get a physical proof.
Even if you’re confident.
The Part That Takes Longer Than You Think
Final adjustments.
You think you’re done, then you notice something small. A page looks slightly dense. A paragraph breaks awkwardly. A chapter opening feels too tight. None of these are big problems, but they stack.
You fix one thing, and it shifts something else. Then you go back and adjust again. It’s a loop, and it’s hard to know when to stop. At some point, you have to accept that it’s good enough — but getting to that point takes longer than expected.
Formatting isn’t hard in a technical sense.
It’s just unforgiving.