Do you believe in coincidences? Nah, me neither. Sure, oddball things can happen. But the same oddball thing? Over and over? Sure, when (according to legend) an apple fell on Ike Newton’s head, he might have thought, ouch, imagine that. Until he remembered that he’d seen (and probably felt) apples falling year after year, from tree after tree, and figured there had to be a reason for such repeated phenomena.
Writers being as fixated on such oddities as scientists or conspiracy theory hawkers, when I saw the issue of “show vs. tell” twice in the past month, from different writers in two separate writing critique groups, I didn’t laugh it off as coincidence. But unlike Newton, instead of pulling out what mathematics I remember from school to address the issue, I turned to notes from author Lori Freeland’s presentation about show vs. tell at a pre-pandemic meeting of the Writers Guild of Texas earlier this year.
At this point, I know some readers are wondering, what the heck does “show vs. tell” mean? It’s all words, after all, isn’t it? I hope one of Freeland’s favorite quotes from master storyteller (ooh – should be a better word), Anton Chekov will make things clearer: “Don’t tell me the moon is shining. Show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
image: un-mimo from Pixabay |
“Actions
(that glinting light) speak louder than words,” Freeland told her audience.
“So, if you want the reader’s attention, show!”
However, there is a caution, which is, sometimes you just need to get something out fast, without, frankly, catching a reader’s attention with it. But how do you know when to show and when to tell?
In
“telling,” we writers put on our journalist’s hats, reporting and summarizing
information. We can also “tell” when we need/want to let readers know how they
should feel.
In
contrast, when we “show” we put on our artist’s berets to paint word pictures
that convey sensory and emotional information. In other words, when we don’t
want to tell readers how to feel something, instead allowing them to feel
it along with our characters.
“If
you’re saying an emotion word,” Freeland said, “you’re telling.”
In
other words: She was angry vs. Her fists clenched; her eyes narrowed. See the
picture? Feel the picture?
However,
this doesn’t mean that “telling” is necessarily lazy writing. If used well, it
can:
· Summarize
· Increase the pace of the story
· Minimize the mundane
· Keep down word count
Don’t,
Freeland warned, make something mundane seem overly important by describing it.
And if you find yourself needing to keep the word count of your tale under, say
300,000, look for those mundane parts and tell, tell, tell!
However,
when something in a story is a really big deal, the writer must use her “show”
hat. And when he wants to evoke an emotion? Show it! (Freeland is a romance
writer, so showing emotion is a really, really, REALLY big deal for
her.)
Somewhat
contradictorily, Freeland also noted that showing doesn’t always take more
space on the page than telling, nor does it always slow down the pace of the
story.
The
major issue in deciding whether to show vs. tell is whether what is happening
in the story is important or not. Don’t make something mundane overly important
by describing it. However, if what’s happening in the story is a big deal, it
must be shown.
If
writers are undecided, Freeland suggests writing a brief summary of what needs
to happen in a scene, marking what’s important, and then making a point of
showing at those marked places.
“If
you want something to be a big deal to the reader, make sure it’s a big deal to
your character.”
OK,
now we’re excited about showing, but how to do it?
Freeland’s
tip: avoid using emotion words. No angry, sad, glad, excited, sorry, blah,
blah, blah. Instead, use:
· Sensory words
· Descriptions
· Actions
· Internal thought (but only for
the point of view character)
· Internal body reactions (sometimes
called visceral reactions, these are always involuntary)
· Similes and metaphors
· Subtext
Subtext?
It’s one of those things like “voice” that writers talk about but never seem to
pin down. It’s the implicit, unstated meaning lying beneath the written text,
as when a character states that she feels perfectly fine when we as readers
know she’s miserable. Or when a Hemingway character notices the fat hardening
on a strip of bacon while his mother is trying to discuss her concerns about
him. Hmmm.
“Sometimes
it’s more powerful to show what doesn’t happen,” Freeland said. “Subtext evokes
emotion and emotion keeps your readers involved.”
I’m sorry I can’t share Freeland’s entire presentation with my own readers, including her illustrative exercises. But workshops are some of what she does for a living (she has a separate one on subtext) so why not ask your critique group to host her. Virtually speaking.
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