Showing v. Telling

As I said in last month’s blog, it’s been a delight to catch up with former students on Facebook. A small group of students I taught many years ago in a creative writing class remain my all-time favorite—and through the magic of Facebook, I’ve become reacquainted with a few of them.

They came to my classroom eager, precocious and word-smart. All I had to do was give them a writing prompt, a few good examples and they set their pens to scratching. They were a teacher’s dream. After leaving high school, all of them used their writing skills—either as students or aspiring authors—and several continue to write for a living. Alas, I can take none of the credit. They were gifted from the start. All I had to do was nurture their talents.

Back in the day (a perfect cliché for pre-technology), teachers rarely had the chance to discover if their efforts paid dividends for students later in life. So you can imagine how thrilled I’ve been to discover that most of my students remember at least one writing tip I stressed in creative writing class. One student, who works in public relations as a technology writer, told me, “I still live by the “Show, Don’t Tell” mantra—and my clients are quite tired of hearing it!” I admit, I preached “show, don’t tell” like the gospel.

But when I wrote my former student back, I asked, “Now that you can’t get the ‘show, don’t tell’ mantra out of your head, have you spotted reasons for flouting the rule when it serves a good purpose?” (Of course she has!) Like any rule, it’s sometimes meant to be broken—especially when narration, argumentation or interpretation are the most logical means to an end.

But before flouting “show, don’t tell,” make sure you’ve mastered it and know when to use it for maximum effect. Instead of droning on about a time you were nervous, “show” us how your heart quivered, your stomach plunged and the blood throbbed in your temples. Instead of “telling” us about a serious car accident, help us “hear” the screeching tires, the shattering windshield, the crunching metal, and “see” the driver as she unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs out of the broken window, shards of glass raining down on her head. Instead of describing an argument with a co-worker, insert the actual dialogue so we can “hear” the heated volley of words. Invite readers inside by engaging their senses. In short, “show, don’t tell.”

Writers would be foolish not to “show” dramatic action, dialogue and vivid description whenever possible, but don’t be afraid to move beyond it when it serves your purpose. Sometimes, the only way to unearth the underlying story is to “tell” your readers about it, to suggest or interpret its larger meaning. Consider Ralph Ellison’s opening line, “I am an invisible man,” to his 1953 novel, “Invisible Man.” Rather than “showing” the color of the character’s skin, he “tells” us how society views him because he is a man of color.

Also, never try to “show” every detail in an effort to stick to the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth (whether real or imagined). If the crux of your story is a car accident that occurred at midnight, do you need to “show” the driver as she wakes up, stretches and yawns the morning before the crash? Probably not. Be selective.

So it boils down to this: “Show, don’t tell,” unless telling is the best way to show. Proceed with caution.