Show, Don't Tell

 

“Show, don't tell" is such overly-prescribed writing advice that even non-writers have heard the expression. Good writers both show and tell in order to create believable and lifelike characters, situations, and worlds. The important thing is that there's a fine balance between showing and telling so that these combine to form the full experience. Either one out of balance will produce off-balance fiction: too much showing is like reading stage directions, and too much telling is like reading a freshman essay.

So what is the balance, and how does one go about finding it? Let's look at both showing and telling separately, determining what each does well, before figuring out how to find that optimum balance.

Showing the Right Thing

One problem for inexperienced fiction writers—particularly those for whom “show, don't tell" has become ingrained—is that they want to overcompensate by showing everything they possibly can. They show every mundane and unimportant movement, every fidget, every gesture, to the point where characters look like a collection of tics rather than people.

Effective showing is selective showing—finding just the right action or movement or moment that conveys what it is we want the reader not just to understand but to experience, identify with, recognize, and feel. 

Consider this: you're going to write about a man uncomfortable on a date—let's say a first date—through showing. What kinds of actions or mannerisms would reveal this particular brand of discomfort? How would you convey first-date jitters through description of behaviors and small actions? Maybe absentmindedly beating Morse code with his fork on his plate? Or shaking his leg nervously so that the table shook and ice against the water glasses chimed? It's about showing us selectively and with focus in order to create a specific understanding of the characters and the scene.

Telling Us What We Need To Know 

One can accomplish a good bit about a character or situation by telling us something in a way that still makes us puzzle and think-for example, we know precisely what a writer means when we're given a line such as: “She was beautiful." The problem with such direct telling, though, comes from the fact that we do know precisely what it means. The line is nothing less or more than what it appears to be, and thus we simply shrug and accept it. But what about a line like the following: “She was so beautiful that men often seemed mad at her." What does that mean, exactly? How beautiful is someone in order to simultaneously attract and repel suitors? This line is pure telling, but it's also complex and intriguing. When we come to a line like this, we don't simply shrug and accept it but have to consider its full meaning and implication.

Effective telling opens up possibility, nuance, and complexity, whereas ineffective telling shuts possibility down.

The Balancing Act

The full experience of any scene thus comes from a fine balance of showing and telling, both directed toward giving the reader a total picture of the characters and situation. Both showing and telling only go so far to explaining everything to the reader; it is when they work together that your writing shines.