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Don’t just tell me your brother is talented… show me what he can do, and let me decide whether I’m impressed. To convince your readers, show, don’t just tell them what you want them to know.

There. I’ve just told you something. Pretty boring, huh? Now, let me show you.

(To be honest, the problem here is more the vagueness than the telling, but for now I’m working with the “Show, Don’t Tell” meme, rather than against it.)

But telling is good too, as long as it’s the right kind of telling. According to my colleague Timons Esaias , it all boils down to this:

Whatever the case, you didn’t sit there passively waiting for me to TELL you what you’re supposed to feel or think about my brother. Instead, I SHOWED you very specific details that I chose because I expect they will generate some response from you.

Or maybe you say something else. Maybe you think fooling with automobiles is a waste of time, or maybe you think competing in tournaments is brave, or maybe you think computer-assisted chess isn’t really chess.

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1) Choose Specific Details That Show Your Point

You won’t need to write a boring, uninformative and unpersuasive sentence like “You shouldn’t text while driving” if you can instead SHOW your point, through well-chosen details (such as statistics, specific examples, or personal stories) that SHOW in a persuasive way the negative results of texting while driving.

Let’s consider this point: “This tired child probably doesn’t want a nap.” That’s pretty dry, so let’s try to make it more vivid and persuasive.

The little girl looked crabby. Clearly, naptime would be difficult. This sentence gets right to the point, but nothing about it engages the reader. If this observation is important to the story, consider giving readers enough details to work out the connection for themselves.

The brown-eyed little girl wore a plastic Viking cap, and her mouth was sticky from candy. Standing there in her orange dress-up gown, she was quite a sight. She looked more tired than I had ever seen a child look. But she was so very stubborn, I could clearly see we were headed for a battle. This version expands on the girl’s appearance, but outside of a classroom assignment that asks you to describe something in detail, simply adding random specific details is not of much value. What does wearing a Viking cap or a gown have to do with being tired? Why does the color of the gown matter? Adding descriptive language — “The adorably elegant, pint-sized pumpkin-orange dress-up gown” — doesn’t help the author make any point. But what about calling it a “convict-orange dress-up gown”? The unusual word choice could hint at her temperament.

Her brown, sleepy eyes hardened into red slits. Brandishing a decapitated lollipop and a cardboard sword, she cocked her plastic Viking helmet so that the points stuck out a little more than her curls. “You mean dragon! You’ll never make me nap!” Most of the details in this version aren’t just randomly descriptive; they contribute to a theme, and thus help SHOW the reader what’s at stake — an epic naptime battle. (There is one detail that’s just random, and could easily be cut. Can you spot it? Answer below.) The important details provide clues that you can assemble, so that you say to yourself, “Wow, that little girl is stubborn, and she sure needs that nap!” But what if, when you read that version, the message you get is completely different ?

? You might say to yourself, “That horrible child deserves a spanking,” or “I hope naptime battles don’t crush her creative spunk.” The point is, you are interpreting what the details show, you are building on those details — you are engaging with the examples in a meaningful way .

. For a given writing task, if communicating a precise, factual, word-for-word message (such as “the red zone is for immediate loading and unloading of passengers only”) is more important than engaging the reader’s emotions, imagination, and/or intellect, then in that case, telling is more efficient than showing. The random detail is the color of the girl’s eyes. Unless it’s some kind of clue that will become important later in the story, cut it.

Showing well-chosen details can help drive home the message you want to tell. (Thus, the title of this page is “Show, Don’t (Just) Tell,” not “Show, Don’t Tell.”)

2) Give the Reader a Reason to Feel Your Emotions If you are writing a set of instructions or a professional e-mail, you don’t want to tease the reader by SHOWING indirectly. To convey complex technical details, TELL (“insert tab A into slot B”) and be done with it. But if you want to engage the reader’s heart, mind, and imagination, SHOW with vivid details that generate, in your reader, the emotions you want to express. Rather than classify and list all the emotions that YOU felt, use specific details that give the READER a reason to feel those emotions. I’ll never forget how I felt after Fido died. I was miserable. Simply naming the feelings that you experienced (telling your reader what you felt) is not enough to create interest in the reader. Can you find a way to generate, in your reader, the same feelings that you experienced? If I live for a thousand years, I’ll never forget how utterly and terribly alone I felt after Fido died. Months and months went by, and it seemed that every little thing reminded me of him. I don’t know whether I am ever going to get over his death. While the author has added specific details, those details merely assist the telling — they don’t actually give the reader a reason to love Fido,and to suffer along with the writer. Whenever puppies in the pet store window distracted me from our walk, Fido flattened his scruffy ears, growling. But he always forgave me. As his sight faded, the smell of fresh air and the feel of grass would make him try to caper. Eventually, at the sound of my voice, his tail thumped weakly on the ground. This morning, I filled his water bowl all the way to the top–just the way he likes it–before I remembered. Reading this last revision (schlocky, I know) always makes me sad. The carefully chosen details help us to understand the relationship between the pet and his owner. We see the dog is jealous of puppies, we see that he grows increasingly weak, and we see the author is still in the habit of caring for this dog.

We don’t need to know what color the dog is or how cute his nose is (just as we don’t need to know what the author looks like).

Because the author does not supply a sentence that announces, “I loved Fido and still can’t believe he’s gone,” the reader is left to make that connection. That means the reader has to engage with the author’s details, and becomes more intellectually and emotionally engaged in the story as a result.

3) Encourage the Reader’s Involvement: Show Details that Imply the Main Point

From the way she behaved in the crowded restaurant, you could tell Sally was attracted to the cute stranger in the black shirt. She tried a few things to get his attention, and eventually she thought she succeeded. The author wastes no time providing the information, but the story is very thin… nothing interesting seems to be happening.

That stranger had been scanning the room, and this time, Sally thought his eyes flickered in her direction. Wait — was that a half smile? Had he just put his hand on his heart? Or was he just brushing something off of his shirt? That shirt looked soft. Sally smiled. “He’s kind of cute,” her roommate giggled. Sally casually looked away, twirling a curl. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, letting her eyes rest on the artwork, the flowers, a random face in the crowd, and found another excuse to laugh. Carefully turning her profile, she crossed her legs like her friends had practiced in middle school. That ought to do it, she thought. The reader is left to figure out what’s going on, which is more engaging for a story. There is tension, and even a bit of character development.

The original version of Sally’s story tells me a few specific but isolated details — for instance, the color of the stranger’s shirt. But is that detail important? (It’s not.) Without coming right out and saying “Sally was attracted to the man,” the revision shows a series of different details (Sally notices the shirt, then wonders what it feels like) that come together to form a pattern– but the author does not come right out and announce what the pattern means.

Is Sally a sultry temptress at an embassy dinner, or a knobby-kneed waif about to embarrass herself at a high school dance? At this point, we can only imagine — and that keeps us reading.

Winning is important to me. It doesn’t matter to me what I do, so long as I win. Unengaging and unconvincing. This is like saying “I am a hard worker” or “I am a fast learner.” Anyone can make those claims, but without proof they have no persuasive force.

On the shelf in my bedroom is a first-place football trophy, and a first-place chess trophy. Above my bed on one side is the head of a four-point buck I shot when I was 16, and on the other side is a framed photo of me winning “Junior Chef of the Year.” Before you ask me to play cards, you should have a full wallet. If your son wants to play marbles with me, he should know I play for keeps. If your daughter starts crying while I’m playing house with her, I won’t stop until she looks me in the eye, and admits, “You won!” Okay, the bit about trying to “win” while “playing house” is a bit extreme — I wouldn’t recommend putting that in a resume, but my point in including it in this example is to demonstrate how well-chosen details can generate an emotional response in the reader that a dry statement cannot.

4) Show with Informative Details and/or Emotional Language

I like many different sports, from skiing to rock-climbing, but when it comes right down to it, I would have to say that ping-pong is my favorite sport. Telling (No Details) — Snooze. This kind of writing can help you meet a word count, but it really boils down to “I like ping-pong.” All the rest is filler. There’s nothing in this passage that expresses how the author feels about ping-pong, and nothing that informs or persuades the reader.

Ping-pong is a really interesting sport. Casual players may find it relaxing, but to get really good, you need manual dexterity, agility and endurance. Telling (Dry Details) — While the author has added details, those details merely assist the telling — this passage still starts out with “I like ping-pong.” A reader who doesn’t already love ping-pong will have no reason to change his or her mind.

Ping-pong may look like a relaxing pastime, but for experts, winning the game requires manual dexterity, agility, and endurance. Showing with Informative Detail — While there’s nothing particularly engaging in this opening, if the rest of the paper demonstrates that, in order to make the transition from “relaxing pastime” to “winning the game,” you need “dexterity,” “agility” and “endurance,” then you see that this sentence isn’t just a random list of stuff to talk about. This opening line isn’t just throat-clearing or filler — it’s a carefully chosen table of contents, mentioning the topic of each of the supporting paragraphs.

He’s drenched in sweat, his knuckles are white, he’s on the other side of the ping-pong table, and I’m about to bring him down. Showing with Emotional Language — There’s no need for the author of the last sample to write, “I like ping-pong” or “ping-pong is more serious than you think,” because the vivid details allshow these points. The fact that the opponent is sweating means you need endurance. The fact that his knuckles are white suggest he’s nervous. The author’s claim “I’m about to bring him down” suggests that attitude and psychology play a role in ping-pong. This document might not be as technically or factually informative as the “Showing with Detail” paragraph, but if your goal is to convey the idea that ping-pong is worthy of serious attention, then you might motivate your reader to reconsider their opinion of the game.

5) “Telling” states facts or observations. “Showing” invites much deeper understanding.

All the kids knew that Lucinda was the meanest kid in the third grade. She was prissy and cute, and she thought that meant she could get away with anything. She would always go out of her way to torment me. I wasn’t one of the “cool” kids, and the few kids I knew were just the guys I played chess with during recess — they weren’t really friends. Plus, I was clumsy. So I was a good target. She tormented me so much she made the third grade a living hell. Okay, we understand the author wants us to think Lucinda is mean, but we don’t actually see her do anything. Does the narrator have a good reason to fear Lucinda, or is the narrator a whiner-baby? There’s not enough information for us to know (or care).

When the recess bell rang, I grabbed my chess set and dashed to freedom, eager to win the daily tournament of outcasts. I didn’t look, but I was sure I could feel those curly locks swaying as her head tracked me. Of course, I tripped in the doorway. Tennis shoes and sandals stepped around me as I scrambled after pawns and bishops. And there was Lucinda, waiting for me to notice her. She smiled, lifted her shiny patent-leather shoe, and slowly, carefully ground her heel right on the head of my white queen. Here, we get details that indicate that the narrator and Lucinda seem to be paying a great deal of attention to each other. The narrator feels her presence, and she waits until she has his attention before crushing his queen. These details are specific, but we aren’t told what we should feel, so we can judge for ourselves.

Both passages make the same point, but the second does a much better job of engaging the reader.

The second passage focuses in detail on one specific event. Instead of simply calling himself clumsy (as in the first passage), the author shows us one specific occasion when he trips, and the writing brings us down to the ground with him, so that we see what he sees and feel what he feels.

The second passage never comes out and says “I didn’t have any friends,” but the fact that nobody stops to help the narrator makes us gather that the guy is an outcast. We learn quite a bit about the author in just that passage.

Ultimately, there is no need to call Lucinda mean in the second passage, because that concept is conveyed effectively by the surprising detail of the shiny patent-leather shoe crushing the queen. There is no deadwood — it is packed with details, creating a more vivid emotional picture than the first one.

We actually learn something about Lucinda — she is not just being mean, she wants the narrator’s attention, too. Notice that she attacked the queen, of all pieces. Does she consider the chess set to be her competition?

6) Showing Prefers the Specific to the General

He looked at me in a way that wasn’t exactly threatening, but still made me uncomfortable. This is just a fancier way of telling the reader a feeling by stating something that happened and spelling out exactly what effect it had on you. What, exactly, did this guy do with his eyes, face, and body that made you uncomfortable? Describe his actions, and show your reader exactly what made you uncomfortable. Did he waggle his eyebrows at you in a vaguely sensual manner?

Did he stare directly at you while taking a gigantic bite out of a chicken wing, so that bits of cartilage crunched in his mouth as he chewed?

Did he keep glancing up at a point just above your head, as if something was about to drop on you, and then laugh when you looked up to see for yourself?

Clearly, something must be done about this terrible crisis. The words “clearly” or variations (“nobody can doubt that…” or “as we all know”) are often signs that the writer isn’t entirely sure the point that follows is persuasive enough. (I confess, I use such words myself, so they can’t be all bad… obviously.)Instead of just announcing that a certain thing is “terrible” or “horrendous” or “the most hideous thing you can possibly imagine” and expecting your reader to believe you, a good writer should present evidence (vivid examples) that lead the reader to conclude, on his or her own, that this thing is terrible.

7) Sometimes, “Telling” Is Good

When our goal is simply to inform, not to persuade or engage, TELLING does the job quite well — particularly if it’s part of an overall strategy.

That’s the reason I didn’t call this handout “Show, Don’t Tell” — I called it “Show, Don’t (Just) Tell,” because it’s perfectly acceptable to TELL the minor details that add up to the point you want to SHOW. In fact, it’s necessary to TELL.

For instance, in the opening example, I simply TOLD you that my brother modifies sports engines. I could have SHOWN his interest in cars instead: “His hands are grease-stained, he owns NASCAR posters, and on Saturday afternoons, he’s usually under his car.” But to SHOW you his interest in cars, I had to TELL you details about his hands, how he decorates his house, and what he does with his time.

I carefully chose what details to TELL, expecting those details to add up in a meaningful way that SHOWS you something in an engaging way.

“Our coach is a former champion wrestler, but now he is overpaid, overweight, and over forty.” —Dena Taylor This example TELLS a string of details, carefully organized for humorous effect — and the speaker’s choice to present the coach this way gives us a glimpse of their relationship.Based on the speaker’s attitude, how do you think the team has been faring so far this season? What relationship does the speaker have with the coach? The combination of details and tone SHOW far more than what any individual detail TELLS.So this is an excellent use of TELLING minor details in order to SHOW a bigger point.

“These are the times that try men’s souls.” —Thomas Paine In stark contrast to the flowery language in political tracts designed for the nobility, Tom Paine uses stark, plain language to engage the common citizen.Later in the piece, he SHOWS with details exactly why he feels men’s souls are tried, and he persuades his audience what they should do about it. But here, he is TELLING something that the audience already agrees with, so that he can capture their attention and get them to listen to his bigger points.

“I am your father.” — Darth Vader The bluntness of this statement adds to the dramatic punch as Luke reacts to the news in “The Empire Strikes Back.”

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