Be a Better Writer--TELL, DON'T SHOW? WHAT?
Posted: Sun Jul 20, 2014 2:08 pm
One bit of advice that almost all fiction writers have heard at some point is “show, don’t tell.” Those three little words have a lot of wisdom, and they are good advice…sometimes. However, there are times when it’s okay to “tell”—even times when “telling” is preferred—and this lesson will cover some of those times.
First, however, let me explain the “show, don’t tell” concept, and when it’s good advice for a writer to follow.
Here’s an example of “telling” the reader (I’ve used a similar example to this in previous lessons):
Caleb was a seventeen-year-old high school student who was angry at the world and defiant to his teachers.
And here’s a sentence that “shows” the same information:
Caleb slumped into biology class, punk music blasting in his earbuds. He slammed his book on the desk.
Both sentences are 18 words long, but the first one is dry and uninteresting. You learn the same things about Caleb in the second sentence, but you do so by observing Caleb’s behavior and drawing your own conclusions about him.
One more example:
It was 1928, and old Wilma Connor was worried about the coming winter. She wasn’t sure that she had enough wood for the fireplace. She walked to the icebox in her kitchen. There was only one small piece of ham there, and nothing else.
And here’s version #2:
Wilma put a piece of wood on her dying fire and looked at the tinderbox. Empty. She pulled a threadbare shawl around her bony shoulders and thought about the small chunk of ham in her icebox. When it was gone, what would she do?
Again, both selections have the same number of words, but the first one tells you that Wilma is old and poor, and even what year it is. The second selection allows you to see Wilma, to get inside her thoughts, and you can deduce the other facts based on objects in the paragraph (her shawl, the icebox).
Incidentally, one misconception about “show, don’t tell” is that showing will take more words, because it is more descriptive. While this is often the case, it’s not necessarily so. I’m a big fan of tight writing, writing that is not overly descriptive, and I believe that you can show without using long, descriptive passages.
Showing is particularly useful in characterization, as I’ve done above. You might want to go back through your previous writings and see if there are a lot of places where you’ve told your readers what emotions your characters were feeling, or what events were happening to them. See if there are ways that you can rewrite those passages to include more showing.
By the way, one of my pet peeves—and a prime example of telling—is when fiction writers include their characters’ ages (as I did in my first example). It’s rarely necessary for the reader to know a character’s precise age; usually a few words about their behavior (holding mama’s hand) or their dialogue (I was, like, totally into it…) or their clothing (orthopedic shoes) will show the reader what she needs to know about the character’s age. Ages aren’t interesting reading; save your precious words for something better.
So…Show, don’t tell is often very, very good advice. However…
There are times when telling is exactly what you want to do.
1. You don’t need to show, in great detail, every detail of the setting. Rooms, clothing, weather, the characters’ movements—that sort of thing doesn’t need to be constantly deduced by the reader.
Telling: Jan looked out the window—raining. She grabbed a jacket and ran for the car.
Showing: Jan saw tiny droplets hitting the window, heard a syncopated tappity-tap. She rummaged through the closet for something to wear—settling on a too-small denim jacket—then headed for the car with her head down, dodging the insistent raindrops all the way.
2. You don’t need to show when the pace of your piece needs to be brisk. The above example demonstrates this point, too. It’s raining, and Jan is running. No need to slow the narrative for all that showing.
3. Most importantly of all—you don’t need to show if you’re cultivating a writer’s voice in which sparse prose is what you’re going for. I’ve mentioned before that I used to write a blog called “100 Words” for which every post was a tiny story, exactly 100 words long. I had to be very precise in my word choices, and I didn’t have room for a lot of description. So there’s a lot of telling there, but I hope that it was still pretty good writing. Here’s an example of a little story that’s almost all telling:
When Emily was six, her parents took her to the Grand Canyon. She looked over the edge, gripping her mother’s hand, and felt like she was falling.
When she was eight, she rode the Ferris wheel. She didn’t want to go up so high, but Sadie teased her. The wheel swayed at the top, and Emily upchucked on Sadie’s shoes.
Now she is standing on a high platform, buckled into a harness. She remembers the fear, but when the attendant says 1-2-3, she steps into the air. The bungee trails behind her, and her white hair whips in the wind.
(Yes, I know that I've included the character's age--twice--in that story. See point #4 about not holding tightly to rules--even rules I've set for myself!)
There are many writers whose voice tends toward tight, lean writing, and who can tell in a compelling manner.
4. Finally, I’m just not fond of holding too tightly to “rules” in an activity, like writing, that is more art than science. This may seem odd coming from someone who desperately wishes that people would stop putting commas after “but” and that they’d figure out when to use semicolons correctly. But I hope I’ve also conveyed in these lessons that rules are meant to be broken—by good writers. Too many people, I think, learned “show, don’t tell” and have adopted it as their mantra, when there are times when telling is not only okay, but preferable.
What are your thoughts, comments, or questions about “show, don’t tell?”
First, however, let me explain the “show, don’t tell” concept, and when it’s good advice for a writer to follow.
Here’s an example of “telling” the reader (I’ve used a similar example to this in previous lessons):
Caleb was a seventeen-year-old high school student who was angry at the world and defiant to his teachers.
And here’s a sentence that “shows” the same information:
Caleb slumped into biology class, punk music blasting in his earbuds. He slammed his book on the desk.
Both sentences are 18 words long, but the first one is dry and uninteresting. You learn the same things about Caleb in the second sentence, but you do so by observing Caleb’s behavior and drawing your own conclusions about him.
One more example:
It was 1928, and old Wilma Connor was worried about the coming winter. She wasn’t sure that she had enough wood for the fireplace. She walked to the icebox in her kitchen. There was only one small piece of ham there, and nothing else.
And here’s version #2:
Wilma put a piece of wood on her dying fire and looked at the tinderbox. Empty. She pulled a threadbare shawl around her bony shoulders and thought about the small chunk of ham in her icebox. When it was gone, what would she do?
Again, both selections have the same number of words, but the first one tells you that Wilma is old and poor, and even what year it is. The second selection allows you to see Wilma, to get inside her thoughts, and you can deduce the other facts based on objects in the paragraph (her shawl, the icebox).
Incidentally, one misconception about “show, don’t tell” is that showing will take more words, because it is more descriptive. While this is often the case, it’s not necessarily so. I’m a big fan of tight writing, writing that is not overly descriptive, and I believe that you can show without using long, descriptive passages.
Showing is particularly useful in characterization, as I’ve done above. You might want to go back through your previous writings and see if there are a lot of places where you’ve told your readers what emotions your characters were feeling, or what events were happening to them. See if there are ways that you can rewrite those passages to include more showing.
By the way, one of my pet peeves—and a prime example of telling—is when fiction writers include their characters’ ages (as I did in my first example). It’s rarely necessary for the reader to know a character’s precise age; usually a few words about their behavior (holding mama’s hand) or their dialogue (I was, like, totally into it…) or their clothing (orthopedic shoes) will show the reader what she needs to know about the character’s age. Ages aren’t interesting reading; save your precious words for something better.
So…Show, don’t tell is often very, very good advice. However…
There are times when telling is exactly what you want to do.
1. You don’t need to show, in great detail, every detail of the setting. Rooms, clothing, weather, the characters’ movements—that sort of thing doesn’t need to be constantly deduced by the reader.
Telling: Jan looked out the window—raining. She grabbed a jacket and ran for the car.
Showing: Jan saw tiny droplets hitting the window, heard a syncopated tappity-tap. She rummaged through the closet for something to wear—settling on a too-small denim jacket—then headed for the car with her head down, dodging the insistent raindrops all the way.
2. You don’t need to show when the pace of your piece needs to be brisk. The above example demonstrates this point, too. It’s raining, and Jan is running. No need to slow the narrative for all that showing.
3. Most importantly of all—you don’t need to show if you’re cultivating a writer’s voice in which sparse prose is what you’re going for. I’ve mentioned before that I used to write a blog called “100 Words” for which every post was a tiny story, exactly 100 words long. I had to be very precise in my word choices, and I didn’t have room for a lot of description. So there’s a lot of telling there, but I hope that it was still pretty good writing. Here’s an example of a little story that’s almost all telling:
When Emily was six, her parents took her to the Grand Canyon. She looked over the edge, gripping her mother’s hand, and felt like she was falling.
When she was eight, she rode the Ferris wheel. She didn’t want to go up so high, but Sadie teased her. The wheel swayed at the top, and Emily upchucked on Sadie’s shoes.
Now she is standing on a high platform, buckled into a harness. She remembers the fear, but when the attendant says 1-2-3, she steps into the air. The bungee trails behind her, and her white hair whips in the wind.
(Yes, I know that I've included the character's age--twice--in that story. See point #4 about not holding tightly to rules--even rules I've set for myself!)
There are many writers whose voice tends toward tight, lean writing, and who can tell in a compelling manner.
4. Finally, I’m just not fond of holding too tightly to “rules” in an activity, like writing, that is more art than science. This may seem odd coming from someone who desperately wishes that people would stop putting commas after “but” and that they’d figure out when to use semicolons correctly. But I hope I’ve also conveyed in these lessons that rules are meant to be broken—by good writers. Too many people, I think, learned “show, don’t tell” and have adopted it as their mantra, when there are times when telling is not only okay, but preferable.
What are your thoughts, comments, or questions about “show, don’t tell?”