By Jeff Gerke
If you’re around fiction instructors very long, you’ll encounter the phrase “Show, don’t tell.” Telling is when a novelist simply spoon-feeds the reader information: “Jim was a lying twerp who cheated on his taxes.”
Showing, by contrast, is when the novelist reveals clues that bring the reader to the same conclusion. So, for example, a scene might show Jim at the front door of his house talking to some Girl Scouts. We see a wad of $100 bills behind his back, but when the girls ask if he’d like to buy some Thin Mints, he says he’s broke. Then he slams the door and sits down at his desk, shoves aside stacks of cash like in ransom movies, opens a dog-eared copy of Never Pay Taxes Again! and resumes filling out his IRS 1040—with lots of zeroes.
The Problem with Telling
Personally, I dislike telling in all its guises. I don’t like telling as exposition, telling as backstory, or telling to explain everyone’s motivations. I don’t like flashbacks because they’re usually just telling, and I don’t like long “Oh, glad you asked” conversations, which I call “telling in quotation marks.”
Telling is bad because it stops the story and forces the reader to receive information she doesn’t care about. But even I won’t say that telling is always evil. Indeed, in my Operation: Firebrand novels I invariably have a briefing scene in which someone tells the characters, and thus the reader, what’s going on and what has to happen. Isn’t that telling?
No, and here’s why: Telling stops the story and forces unwanted information on the reader. When the briefing scene comes in the Firebrand novels the story doesn’t stop—it can’t actually go forward without it. And the reader is interested in what’s going to be covered. Your reader will tolerate telling to the degree that she is interested in what is being told and to the degree that the story can’t advance without the information.
Let’s say you’ve got a character who plays pro football. You’ve gotten us interested in his life and challenges. But then you launch into the story of his childhood. This doesn’t work because we don’t care about his childhood. So it’s telling because you’re stopping the story to tell us things we don’t care about and without which the story could proceed quite nicely.
But what if our player had been injured just before the big game and you have the doctor come in and tell us what the prognosis and treatment plan is. Is that telling?
It’s not telling because the reader wants to know and the story can’t go on until we learn this information. Your reader will tolerate exactly the amount of telling as interest in the topic you’ve built up in said reader.
Think of it as a bank account. If you give us zero deposits into our “interest account” on a topic and then try to make a massive withdrawal (by making us listen to exposition on a topic about which we have zero interest), you’ll be instantly overdrawn and you’ll get nasty letters from your banker, or in this case, you’ll get the disinterest of your reader.
Ah, but if you’ve made numerous deposits into that interest account and now you want to tell us a little about it (but be sure it’s something we must know to advance the story), then go ahead and make that withdrawal. But be careful: you might have deposited three units of interest into that account, but if you try to withdraw an amount of telling that requires four or more, you’ll be overdrawn again. You can blow the whole amount you’ve built up simply by lingering too long in telling mode.
When Exposition Works
A good example of this formula done right is in Star Wars: Episode I. We’ve had lots of action and adventure in the movie before we ever have a long exposition scene. We finally get one when Anakin has taken Qui-Gon and Jar-Jar and Padme to his house so Mom can make Jawa Bean Salad.
If you watch that scene carefully, you’ll notice that they’re basically talking about what needs to happen, what they’re going to do, and why they can’t do it in other ways. It’s a talky-talky scene, which might’ve come across as a momentum killer. But it plays out fine and we get our bearings about what’s going to happen for the next hour of the movie.
There are a number of reasons why this works. First, it’s fairly interesting to watch. Qui-Gon catching Jar-Jar’s tongue is a classic moment. There are also interesting interpersonal dynamics going on, like Anakin trying to get his mom to let him race again and Qui-Gon starting to put his Jedi moves on Anakin’s mom. So it’s not just pure exposition.
Second, we’re interested. How are our heroes going to get off this planet? How is this pure-hearted boy who loves his mom ever going to become Darth Vader? Why do we think Padme is more than she seems? The writer has built up enough interest in this moment that we can bear hearing a bit of jabber (the Hutt).
Third, the story simply can’t proceed without this information. The characters are stuck. But in this scene they come up with a plan for how to move forward.
Fourth, this scene comes pretty deeply into the story. The writer didn’t try to give it to us within the first ten minutes of the movie. We’re fully engaged in the story before it comes. Lots of aspiring novelists I work with like to explain everything within the first 20 pages, feeling, perhaps, that once all that’s out of the way they can get on with the story.
But the Star Wars scene works. The formula is honored and the exposition is successfully communicated.
How is it in your story? Are you asking your reader to stomach large (or even small) quantities of telling about something in which she has zero interest? And I mean story interest here. A reader might be inherently interested in the inner workings of the internal combustion engine—but she might not be. You can’t assume your reader will automatically be interested in something just because you put it in a book. You have to make the reader interested in the subject by making it important and interesting inside your story.
Chances are, the six people who enjoyed Operation: Firebrand—Crusade were not, before they read my book, terribly interested in the plight of persecuted Christians in Sudan. But it was my job as a novelist to get the reader to invest in a character there so she would begin to care. When the time came for the briefing, the reader’s interest was high.
This is how technothrillers work, incidentally. And historicals. They educate as they entertain. But the education can’t start until the entertainment is in high gear.
You can give backstory information (i.e., telling) to exactly the same degree as you’ve built up reader interest in the topic and as the reader must know this information for the story to proceed.
Excerpted from The Art & Craft of Writing Christian Fiction by Jeff Gerke. Jeff is a veteran editor and novelist who has been working in the Christian publishing industry since 1994. He is publisher of the small indie publishing house Marcher Lord Press and writes fiction under the pen name Jefferson Scott.
Flickr photos: whatmegsaid/ pagedooley
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In my opinion, if most writers could master just THIS, the art of showing, they’d see remarkable leaps in their writing!
Thanks~
Jordan
I’m not sure if anything about Episode I could be considered a success. :)
Interesting that this came up just a few days ago over on a Fountain Pen Network forum. Here’s what I wrote there:
It depends on what you want to write. If you’re writing popular fiction, then ’show, don’t tell’ works well as long as you don’t use it ALL the time, but rather when it has some impact. Showing trivial things will often just slow the story down and you don’t want to bore your reader. Sometimes you want to get over your ground fast.
Literary fiction often uses a narrative voice that does indeed tell rather than show, but the voice of the telling added to the story itself is often what makes that work stand above the crowd.
In the end, it all depends on what effect you want to have on the reader and how you choose to create it.
Mark McGurl’s recent book, The Program Era: Postwar Fiction and the Rise of Creative Writing, covers the rise of that particular fashion (show, don’t tell) during the 50s. Interesting that it’s now a given in fiction writing classes, when, in fact, it is one of many choices that a writer makes. Good fiction can be made in a wide variety of ways.
LOL, Jim.
The one instance of telling that I recall that worked was a scene from FRASIER. Frasier had gone to a karaoke bar with some people from work (I think, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen it) and came home to relate the events to Martin. Hearing the exploits told in Frasier’s dry tone was funnier than seeing it played out (which I believe they showed at the end credits.)
I am amazed. I think that I might have just read the first positive “Episode I got X right” segment ever written. ;)
You’re right, though. I am getting ready to teach my Freshman Comp students descriptive essays and the importance of “show, don’t tell” so this is a great way for me to keep it in mind.
This is the bane of my existence. I invariably will tell about something during a thought interlude. For example, a character in my current project just received a notice that his uncle died. I had him think about the uncle and their relationship for a couple of sentences because it seems natural that he would; and, I have a chance for a little foreshadowing. I think, as Mr. Gerke points out, if it is used judiciously it can be effective.
Thanks for the great guidance Jeff.
I’m one of those wannabe writers who is still trying to figure out some of the basic universals that make good fiction. It seems I may have just stumbled clumsily across an important one.
And thanks Maria for bringing this to EU.
Best,
Sid.
There’s a difference, Langley, between telling that comes in the form of heavy exposition and interior monologue–or character’s thoughts. It’s definitely about using it judiciously, but I don’t think anyone is arguing that all “telling” examples can be cut from one’s work. It’s more important to get the balance right so that the reader experiences that sense of “real time” passing and doesn’t get dropped into the bog of pace-slowing summary that takes the lazy way out.
A good writer, or better said, a “praticed” writer can “tell” well.
Thanks Jordan, that does clarify the point nicely. I can usually tell when the pacing is off because I have a generally tight writing style. So based on what you said, I think I’m in good shape to catch this sort of error.
I have three problems with this article.
1. I’m not writing movies. Movies HAVE to show.
2. The article contradicts it’self. Here: “Your reader will tolerate telling to the degree that she is interested in what is being told and to the degree that the story can’t advance without the information.”
And that is ONE of the times you SHOULD be telling. Among others.
3. Orson Scott Card, one of the best writing teachers AND writers out there, says it much better than I can both in his book Viewpoint and Characters and in this “class”.
http://www.hatrack.com/cgi-bin/print_friendly.cgi?page=/writingclass/lessons/2000-08-02-4.shtml
One of his most salient comments is this: “But remember, the cinematic point of view is weak in novels. So … show-don’t-tell is a really bad idea, except in the scenes that you choose to show because they are the key scenes that give the drama.”
And let me add something from Orson Scott Card’s excellent book Viewpoint and Character about why so many people have this impression:
“You’ve no doubt heard the slogan, “Show, don’t tell.” Under some circumstances that advice is good; under others it’s exactly wrong. Storytellers constantly have to choose between showing, telling and ignoring.
Of these, showing is what you do least often; but since showing is also what takes up the most space, it deceives many critics into saying “The good writers show much more than they tell”….”
With all respect to Mr. Gerke who I’m sure believes everything he is saying, I’ll take Orson Scott Card’s advice over his.
I think the issues between Gerke and Card, shown in the comment above, are the exact basis of the problem here. I think the show, don’t tell issue has been muddied over time.
There are times when you need to show and times when you need to tell. When you get those instances mixed up is what results in poor writing. Perhaps the rule should really be:
Don’t tell when you should show, don’t show when you should tell.
Of course, that then leads to the bigger problem – when should I tell and when should I show?
:)
Interesting
; I like the Star Wars reference … yes, sometimes some exposition, explaining/showing is needed, and I’ve used my characters to do the showing through dialog to push the story along. Thanks for the advice!
Well put, Alan. Mr. Card did not say that you should always tell and wouldn’t be a best selling author if he thought such a thing, so he didn’t absolutely disagree with Mr. Gerke.
It is indeed in the knowing when should one tell and when should one show and doing both WELL that makes the difference.
Alan, I think your point is most valid.
An easier way to think of show don’t tell is “Demonstrate, don’t lecture.” In other words, when a character can do or say what your exposition is doing–show. When you’re relying on adverbs and easy adjectives to convey something, stop!
More often than not “telling” is a kind of lecturing where no action is unfolding, and everything is being done in broad strokes.
Agreed. Avoiding the “info-dump” is more important than if you’re showing or telling.
Interesting comments!
As a writing instructor for Mt. Hood Community College, I warn my students to watch for over-use of “was” and “had,” two giveaways that you’ve slipped into the passive “telling” voice. However, repetition can become a problem in a writer’s efforts to “show” everything. It’s a huge balancing act, to be sure, one that’s successfully accomplished better through instinct than rules. My students hate it when I get vague like that on them!
I just have one question. When you write a story from the first person POV, isn’t the narrator actually telling most of the time? The narrator already knows his own motivations, so when he is alone in a scene isn’t it more realistic to tell and not show?
David,
What you’re talking about in terms of a first person narrator “telling” is that we hear the author’s inner conversation; his or her thoughts. However, in that “conversation,” the narrator still shows: we hear dialogue as filtered through his mind; we see/experience actions, filtered through his thoughts, and we see visual descriptions of setting and characters. Don’t confuse “narrating” with “telling.” It’s endlessly confusing, I know!
This was a timely article for me. I’d been leaning too heavily upon telling in my novel and didn’t realize it was the huge suckhole for energy I was experiencing. “Aha!” I said and then, “Ohno! What do I do to fix this?” Well, fixing it meant ripping huge sections out, becoming more clever and rewriting to great extent. It’s a much better story now. Thanks for taking the time to write the article.
Quite possibly the best description of “show, don’t tell” I’ve ever seen (it has to be, I actually retained the information for once…). Brilliant, thank you.
Hmmm. Well, sorry, but telling has its place…make that places. Nothing sets my limited hair on fire faster than an unbridled attack on telling. It’s so easy to beat up the helpless.
While telling may be all the evil things suggested, when an author wants to communicate some facts quickly, cleanly, and without ambiguity, telling works. It’s just that simple.
I’d much rather be told in one or maybe two sentences that so-and-so is a rat-bastard, than sit through three paragraphs showing so-and-so acting rat-bastardly. Particularly, if so-and-so isn’t all that important to the storyline. In the end, the information gets to the reader, but, one method is much simpler.
So, I’d say, prefer showing, but use telling where needed. Maybe I’m the only one that works for, but, well…it wouldn’t be the first time.
Best regards, Galen
Imagineering Fiction Blog
I don’t think anyone’s dissing telling outright, Galen. The reason there’s so much push to show and not tell is that telling comes instinctively to most people. Or by default, you might say. It’s where most writers start out before they learn how to render vivid the world/characters they’re creating. Showing, however, often falls by the wayside. But I agree that no story can be told without some exposition and that one needs to learn to show wisely–not everything!