Unlearning “Show, Don’t Tell”

In my last blog post, I wrote about speech tags and how, despite what many of us learned in school, the most effective dialogue is that which abandons flashy speech tags in favour of “said” or “asked.” This time, we’re going to tackle another piece of elementary school writing advice: the infamous rule of “show, don’t tell.”

What’s wrong with “show, don’t tell”?

For young writers, “show, don’t tell” is excellent advice. It helps them to visualise their stories and convey that image to their readers. “Show, don’t tell” pushes new writers to engage with description and develop the skills they need to entrench their readers in the landscapes of their stories.

Like most writing “rules,” however, “show, don’t tell” is problematic when it becomes an ironclad law that we stick to no matter what. “Show, don’t tell” is great for learning the ropes, but once we’ve written enough that describing the sparkle of frost on a tree branch in winter is second nature, it’s time to let go of “show, don’t tell” for some subtler techniques.

Not everything needs describing.

Have you ever looked around your house and noticed, for seemingly the first time, something sitting on a shelf that has undoubtedly been there for years but that you have never, to your knowledge, registered? There are so many things all around us that if something is unworthy of notice, our brains will sometimes ignore less important objects entirely.

The same should be true of your writing. Description of your characters’ surroundings is important, but only to the extent of the things worthy of notice. In the story “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, we wouldn’t expect to see detailed descriptions of the hardwood floors or the rolling hills outside the window. Instead, we get specific and evocative descriptions of the wallpaper, because that’s the element necessary to craft her story and explore her protagonist’s mental state.

Is this description adding to your story?

As readers, we’re accustomed to books leaving out unnecessary details. When was the last time a book you read mentioned a character using the toilet? Unless something plot-related happens there, like a character getting their period for the first time, we assume that character pees in the unmentioned spaces between the lines. We already understand that not everything needs to be described, so, when writing, it’s important to consider whether a description is useful or not.

In her Neapolitan novels, Elena Ferrante makes the unusual choice to even apply this to dialogue. Rather than writing out every interaction between characters, at times Ferrante skips the dialogue to save space for descriptions that she feels are more important to the plot.

Consider the following, in which Ferrante summarizes several conversations in the space of a paragraph:

But [Pasquale] was an honest soul, he thought it over again and again. He talked to his mother, he discussed it with the whole family. Giuseppina, who had been a tireless, good-natured worker, relaxed and exuberant, had become after her husband’s imprisonment a slovenly woman, depressed by her bad luck, and she turned to the priest. The priest went to Stefano’s shop, talked for a long time with Maria, then went back to talk to Giuseppina Peluso. In the end everyone was persuaded that life was already very difficult, and that if it was possible, on the occasion of the new year, to reduce tensions, it would be better for everyone.

– Elena Ferrante, My Brilliant Friend (2012)

Now, this is not how I write, and, in all honesty, I found this aspect of Ferrante’s writing a bit jarring. (Her aversion to semicolons is a separate issue, but that will have to wait for another blog post.) But the result of this choice is that we learn all of the relevant information about Pasquale’s talks with his mother and her talks with the priest and the family’s decision-making, all of which would have taken up several pages if written out in conversation. What’s relevant here is not specifically what Giuseppina said to the priest or what he said to her, but simply that the conversation happened.

When we write, we make choices about what is important enough to describe fully and what can be summarized or left out. Does a specific conversation help to advance your story or help your reader get to know a character? If not, consider leaving it out.

What does your character notice and pay attention to?

Description can be a great way to characterize your protagonist. Think about what your character would notice when entering a new space. Would your teenage protagonist pay attention to the crown moulding on the walls? If not, leave it out. This can also be an effective way to reveal or hide clues. Maybe the scuff marks on the floor are a clue to a hidden door, but your character doesn’t notice them and someone else points them out later. 

Maybe your character is empathetic and thoughtful, and pays attention to the photographs on the wall. Maybe your character is an architect, and the construction of a house is more interesting to them than the flowers in the garden. Consider how you can use description to reveal things about your character, and choose what to describe accordingly.

Save your dramatic descriptions for the big moments.

Few writers are as fond of description as J.R.R. Tolkien. Many readers struggle with Tolkien because his descriptions can, at times, feel overwhelming. While I would not suggest to anyone that they should try to imitate Tolkien’s style of expansive description, Tolkien was undeniably an expert at describing the biggest, most dramatic scenes in his story.

Consider the following description, in which Frodo sees Lothlórien for the first time.

When his eyes were in turn uncovered, Frodo looked up and caught his breath. They were standing in an open space. To the left stood a great mound, covered with a sward of grass as green as Springtime in the Elder Days. Upon it, as a double crown, grew two circles of trees: the outer had bark of snowy white, and were leafless but beautiful in their shapely nakedness; the inner were mallorn-trees of great height, still arrayed in pale gold. High amid the branches of a towering tree that stood in the centre of all there gleamed a white flet. At the feet of the trees, and all about the green hillsides the grass was studded with small golden flowers shaped like stars. Among them, nodding on slender stalks, were other flowers, white and palest green: they glimmered as a mist amid the rich hue of the grass. Over all the sky was blue, and the sun of afternoon glowed upon the hill and cast long green shadows beneath the trees.

– J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, “Lothlórien” (1954)

Now there’s a description. As Frodo stares out at this stunning sight, Tolkien takes the time to relish in describing the entire scene. This feels completely appropriate here; Frodo, as the protagonist of this section, is paying attention to all of these details.

You know best what needs description.

As your story’s author, it’s up to you to decide if something is important enough to describe fully, like Frodo looking at Lothlórien, or if it can be summarized or left out, like Pasquale’s mother talking to the priest. When thinking about description, ask yourself the following questions:

• • Does this description help the reader understand my characters?

  • Is this description important to some aspect of the plot?

  • Does this description explore something that my character would notice and pay attention to?

  • How does my story change if I take this description out?

Descriptions are often where writers let their most beautiful writing shine, where metaphors dance across the page and intimate details of an imagined world blossom. We can get lost in the pleasure of our own descriptions, which means this is is often where we need to rein ourselves in.

As Joanne Harris wrote in an excellent tweet, “Beware teachers who tell you: ‘Don’t tell me the moon was full, give me the gleam of moonlight on broken glass.’ Sometimes you just need to get on with your story, not dick about with lighting.”

Are you looking for ways to make your descriptions more effective?

Sometimes the best way to assess whether a description is helpful or unneeded is to let someone new take a look at it. Get in touch today and together we’ll make your writing the best it can be.

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Molly Rookwood is an editor, reader, tea drinker, and cat mum in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She loves Jane Austen and epic fantasy, and her bookshelves are forever overburdened. When she’s not playing D&D or taking turns about the room, she can be reached at [email protected] or by following @RookwoodEditing on Twitter.