Everyone always says “show don’t tell” when writing. However, the truth is that to tell a good story you have to both show AND tell.
But what are the real differences between “showing” and “telling?”
To find out, let’s write the same scene three different ways: only telling, only showing, then using both.
Scene: Terrified and desperate to keep quiet, a man tries to shush his mentally disabled brother or else risk attracting hordes of the undead.
ONLY TELLING
Robby and I were in the basement. The zombies were coming. I could hear them outside. They’d been getting closer every day. I knew this day would come. And now that it’s here, Robby is being as loud as possible. I need to get him to be quiet, or else the zombies will find us. I manage to make him shut up, but only for a minute, then he’s back even louder. I hear the zombies break into the house. I’m scared. We try to run but they find us and they bite us. Now we’re zombies too.
You can tell right away that there’s two things wrong here: (1) it’s way too fast and (2) it’s too general.
That’s what “telling” does. It makes the story go by quickly with fast pacing, and it can clarify things for the reader (ie: “The zombies were coming.”) But when an entire story is “telling,” it can be a miserable experience.
ONLY SHOWING
Robby and I huddled together in the cold, damp basement. The lights were off and we were sitting in a corner. Robby was playing with his toy airplane, holding it in his hand and making it fly through the air as he spat raspberries through his vibrating lips.Low grumbles came through the basement walls from outside. The soft smoosh of unsteady feet against the dying grass. The occasional growl that sounded like a feral dog. The noises grew louder and louder. Scratching against the walls of the house. Toenails scraping against the windows that peered into where Robby and I were hiding.
I grabbed the toy airplane out of Robby’s hands and he immediately started screaming. He smacked his hands all over me as I held the airplane just out of reach, pressing my other palm against his mouth. I was stronger than him, but he was relentless, yelling for his toy until he was red in the face and his eyes started leaking.
Upstairs, the sound of the door opening made my blood turn cold.
This is a little better. We feel like we’re there with all the specific details, but it’s still a little unclear exactly what’s going on. We aren’t told that they’re zombies, we aren’t given any introspection, we aren’t given any clarification, and we aren’t told any motivation for the characters’ actions (ie: why does he grab the plane?)
BOTH TELLING AND SHOWING
Robby and I huddled together in the cold, damp basement. The lights were off and we were sitting in a corner. Robby was playing with his toy airplane, holding it in his hand and making it fly through the air as he spat raspberries through his vibrating lips.I knew Robby’s sounds could attract the zombies, but it was a chance I had to take. Without his toy airplane, Robby was a mess. He’d be screaming and throwing a tantrum. I just had to hope that his bubbly mouth sounds weren’t loud enough to get the attention of the horde outside.
But they were.
Low grumbles came through the basement walls from the backyard. The soft smoosh of unsteady feet against the dying grass. The occasional growl that sounded like a feral dog. The noises grew louder and louder. Scratching against the walls of the house. Toenails scraping against the windows that peered into where Robby and I were hiding.
This was it. After weeks of managing to stay safe inside our house, they’d finally found us. We were probably the only fresh meat left in town; it was only a matter of time. And now, Robby’s plane noises were cutting away at the few precious minutes we had left. I needed to try something drastic!
I grabbed the toy airplane out of Robby’s hands and he immediately started screaming. He smacked me all over as I held the airplane just out of reach, pressing my other palm against his mouth. I’d hoped that I could muffle his tantrum or calm him down, but it was useless. I may have been stronger than him, but he was relentless, yelling for his toy until he was red in the face and eyes.
“Robby, please!” I begged. “You need to be quiet!”
I knew he didn’t understand my words. He didn’t understand what was going on outside. All he understood was that I was depriving him of his toy. Seeing him in such pain broke my heart, but it was our only hope.
A creak. It was loud enough for me to hear above Robby’s wails. My heart skipped a beat when I realized what it was: the sound of the door opening upstairs.
Footsteps shuffled into the living room above us. The groans of the undead were so loud I felt them echoing inside my chest. We couldn’t just stay here in the basement and be devoured like livestock!
I grabbed Robby’s arm and bolted up the basement stairs, dragging him behind me. He was still screaming for his toy, but I couldn’t even hear him anymore over the howls of the zombies. I reached for the knob on the basement door, prepared to see what horror lay on the other side.
It was even worse than I’d expected. There were at least ten zombies coming in the front door, piling in like a flood of decaying flesh. Their arms were outstretched toward us and their sickly mouths were dripping with drool at the thought of me and my brother’s flesh.
I gripped Robby as hard as I could and dashed the opposite direction to the kitchen. If we could just make it out the side door, then maybe we could run to another house. Maybe we could find shelter somewhere. Maybe we could–
A horde of twenty or more zombie smashed through the sliding glass door into the kitchen. They piled in, climbing and crawling over each other like a circus act from hell. They dripped bile and other putrid liquids over the tile floor as they inched their way toward us.
I stopped in the hallway, stuck between the zombies from the only two exits. They came closer by the second, their foul breath stinking up the air like a thousand dead cats.
Next to me, Robby was still crying. But he wasn’t crying because of the zombies, it was because of his toy airplane. The one I still held in my other hand.
My heart pounding in my chest, I swallowed back tears, and handed the toy to Robby. The zombies were just feet from us on either side, scraping against the walls and carpet, their moans like memories from a torture chamber.
As soon as Robby touched the plane, he was all smiles again. He blew raspberries and he flew it around in front of him. I couldn’t help but smile. I crouched down and gave my little brother a hug.
“I love you, Robby,” I said as the horde overtook us.
You can see how the “telling” and “showing” come together to form a coherent story. We use “showing” to give the juicy details, and use “telling” to clarify and guide the reader.
If you’d like to see the story broken down into exactly where we’re telling vs. showing, then take a look at this video of the exercise from the stream
After that exercise, chat voted that we write this terrible prompt: It’s Shark Week, but instead of sharks, it’s Shrek.
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you. We stream on Twitch every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday at 7:30pm-10:30pm (U.S. Eastern Standard Time).
And you missed the stream, you can still watch Rubbish to Published, the writing exercises, or the writing prompts on YouTube, or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Featured image: Pakutaso