‘Show, Don't Tell'

'Show, Don't Tell': A Quick Definition

Show, don't tell is a writing technique in which story and characters are related through sensory details and actions rather than exposition. It fosters a style of writing that's more immersive for the reader, allowing them to "be in the room" with the characters.

In his most commonly repeated quote, Chekhov said, "Don't tell me the moon is shining. Show me the glint of light on broken glass."

In short: showing illustrates, while telling merely states. Here's a quick example of showing versus telling:

Telling: Michael was terribly afraid of the dark.

Showing: As his mother switched off the light and left the room, Michael tensed. He huddled under the covers, gripped the sheets, and held his breath as the wind brushed past the curtain.

In the "showing" example, rather than merely saying that Michael is afraid of the dark, we've put him in a situation where his experience of that fear takes centre stage. The reader can deduce the same information they'd get from the "telling" example but in a much more compelling way.

The Benefits of 'Show, Don't Tell.'

Showing also helps develop characters in a way that isn't just listing their traits. For instance, rather than telling your readers that "Gina was selfish and immature," you could show this side of her by writing a scene where she whines about how everyone forgot her half-birthday. Or if you have a character who's extremely determined, show her actually persisting through something — don't just say, "She was persistent."

Overall, when done right, showing draws readers into the narrative with a truly immersive description. It contributes to story development but also leaves certain things up to the reader's interpretation, which is much more interesting than making everything explicit. (Though, of course, you can still use language to alter their perception. 

The bottom line: telling might be quicker, and it's certainly necessary to have some telling in every story (more on that later), but showing should almost always be your prime strategy.

 Here are five key tips on how to show rather than tell in a story

Tip #1. Create a sense of setting

One of the best ways to show rather than tell is to create a sense of setting. You can do this by writing about how characters perceive and interact with their surroundings, weaving plenty of sensory details and occasional action into the scene. This is a particularly good way to lend immediacy to your story, as the reader should be able to imagine themselves in that very setting.

Telling: I walked through the forest. It was already Fall and I was getting cold.

Showing: The dry orange leaves crunched under my feet as I pulled the collar up on my coat.

Tip #2. Use dialogue to show character

In addition to setting, you can also use dialogue to demonstrate story elements beyond the surface conversation. A character's speech will tell the reader a lot about them, especially when they're first being introduced.

Do they use long sentences and polysyllabic words, or do they prefer short, punchy replies? Are there likely to use slang and call an authority figure "dude" or "fam", or will they address them respectfully as "Mr So-and-So"?

Tip #3. If in doubt, always describe action

"Telling" almost always grinds your narrative momentum to a halt. Imagine having to describe the setting every time your characters enter a new space — any pace you had built in your chapter would be destroyed. However, it's still important to evoke the setting and put your scene in context. And that's where showing action comes in handy.

Let's say you start your scene with your character walking through St Mark's Square in Venice. Instead of describing the pigeons, the tourists and the layout of the space, you can evoke it through action:

He was late. St Mark's clock tower had struck one and Enzo found himself pushing against the tide of tourists milling towards the cafes lining the Piazza San Marco. A clump of pigeons scattered in front of him.

Through action, you're able to describe the setting of the scene while also maintaining your story's forward motion.

Tip #4. Use strong details, but don't overdo it

Strong, vivid details are crucial to the process of showing. However, that doesn't mean you should include too many details, especially those that are overly embellished. This kind of ornate language can be just as bad as "telling" language that's too basic, as it may cause the reader to lose interest in your super-dense prose.

Too much detail: The statue felt rough, its aged facade caked with dust and grime as I weighed it in my hand, observing its jagged curves and Fanta-colored hue.

Just right: It was heavier than it looked. Some of the orange facade crumbled in my hand as I picked it up.

Strike the right balance by alternating between simple and complex sentences and ideas, and different types of sensory detail, so the reader doesn't get overloaded on one type.

'Show, Don't Tell' Examples.

To break down this technique even further, here are a few additional "show, don't tell" examples of authors showing rather than telling in their writing. If you want to analyze even more examples of this tactic, just crack open the nearest novel! Pretty much every work of fiction involves showing, and observing the tactics of successful authors is one of the best ways to learn for yourself.

Example #1. 
The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

I once had a garden. I can remember the smell of the turned earth, the plump shapes of bulbs held in the hands, fullness, the dry rustle of seeds through the fingers. Time could pass more swiftly that way. Sometimes the Commander's Wife has a chair brought out and just sits in it, in her garden. From a distance, it looks like peace.

This passage uses various senses (smell, touch, and sound) to recreate the atmosphere of Offred's old garden, romanticizing the act of gardening to show that she misses those days. It also connects that peaceful past time to the present day, implying that many people no longer feel at peace, including the Commander's Wife.

Example #2. 
IT by Stephen King

In this early scene, young Georgie is running after his toy boat as he is unwittingly being lured by a malevolent force. 

Now here he was, chasing his boat down the left of Witcham Street. He was running fast but the water was running faster and his boat was pulling ahead. He heard a deepening roar and saw that fifty yards farther down the hill the water in the gutter was cascading into a storm drain that was still open. It was a long dark semi-circle cut into the curbing, and as Georgie watched, a stripped branch, its bark as dark and glistening as sealskin, shot into the storm drain's maw.

King renders the fast-running rivulets of a rainy day by having Georgie run alongside them, unable to keep up. Then he sees the storm drain, which King aptly calls a "maw" (a spot-on metaphor), and its threat is heightened by the sound of its "deepening roar" and the fact that it swallows an entire branch. Needless to say, poor Georgie's boat doesn't stand a chance.

Example #3. 
Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

In this scene, a suburban husband awakens to the sound of his wife's cooking.

My morning breath warmed the pillow, and I changed the subject in my mind. Today was not a day for second-guessing or regret, it was a day for doing. Downstairs, I could hear the return of a long-lost sound: Amy making breakfast. Banging wooden cupboards (rump-thump!), rattling containers of tin and glass (ding-ring!), shuffling and sorting a collection of metal pots and iron pans (ruzz-shuzz!). A culinary orchestra tuning up, clattering vigorously toward the finale.

This passage starts off fairly simple, building up to the grand metaphor of the kitchen noises as a "culinary orchestra." It's also noteworthy for its use of onomatopoeia, which is a great tactic for "showing" sound.

However, this passage isn't just what Nick hears: it's also what he feels ("my morning breath warmed the pillow") and thinks ("I changed the subject in my mind"). The intimate description pulls the reader in, and the rhythm (quite literally!) of the passage keeps them engaged.

Example #4. 
Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

In this passage, Kristen contemplates her loneliness.

She had never entirely let go of the notion that if she reached far enough with her thoughts, she might find someone waiting, that if two people were to cast their thoughts outward at the same moment, they might somehow meet in the middle.

The theme of loneliness is evoked by with specific details: the character is shown desperately thinking about human connection. Her use of language — "reached far enough," "cast their thoughts outward" — illustrates how extreme the character's isolation is. This also ties into the post-apocalyptic novel's theme of societal breakdown, which naturally results in isolation. Overall, this description gives us a much better idea of the character of Kirsten and the world of Station Eleven than if Mandel wrote, "She wished that she weren't so lonely."

Example #5.
Charlotte's Web by E.B. White

In this early scene, Fern, the very young daughter of a farmer, learns of a new litter of piglets.

"Where's Papa going with that ax?" said Fern to her mother.

"Out to the hoghouse," replied Mrs. Arable. "Some pigs were born last night."

"I don't see why he needs an ax," continued Fern, who was only eight.

"Well," said her mother, "one of the pigs is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it."

"Do away with it?" shrieked Fern. "You mean kill it? Just because it's smaller than the others?"

From this brief conversation, E.B. White clearly characterizes Fern and sets the central plot in motion. After realizing that her father is about to kill a runt pig, Fern steps up to save Wilbur (as she'll soon christen him), who will become the main character of the story. This passage also introduces the themes of empathy toward animals and the prospect of death, which pervade the rest of the book. White could have simply written "Fern cared a lot about animals," but from the dialogue, we see it for ourselves — plus we get a sense of how the plot might unfold from here.

A dirtier or more wretched place he had never seen. The street was very narrow and muddy, and the air was impregnated with filthy odours. There were a good many small shops; but the only stock in trade appeared to be heaps of children, who, even at that time of night, were crawling in and out at the doors, or screaming from the inside. The sole places that seemed to prosper amid the general blight of the place, were the public-houses… Oliver was just considering whether he hadn't better run away, when they reached the bottom of the hill.

Oliver's initial impression of London hits us like a train: you can almost taste the filthy air and hear the children screaming for yourself. And if London's extreme depravity wasn't already evident enough from the description, you can tell from Oliver's reaction that it must be pretty bad — for context, he's just walked 30+ miles to reach London, and this is the first thing that's really fazed him.

Of course, Dickens might have just written, "Oliver reached London. It was dirty and crowded." But while this more or less summarizes the above passage, it completely loses the visceral sense of setting and Oliver's feelings toward that setting. Without these details, the description would be totally generic.

Is telling ever acceptable?

Of course, sometimes you have no other choice but to do a bit of "telling" in a story. Yes, it's a narrative shortcut, but sometimes shortcuts are necessary — especially when you're trying to explain something quickly, with no fanfare or immersive evocation for readers. Writers often "tell" at the beginning of a story to get the exposition across, or after a "big reveal" where certain details just need to be clearly stated.

The important thing is balance; as long as you don't have too much of either telling or showing, you should be fine.

Thanks to Jericho Writers, Curtis brown and Masterclass for these tips and hints.