Freya Robertson
Today in Wednesday’s Writer’s Workshop (and this week I’ve remembered to post it on Wednesday and not Thursday—at least, it’s Wednesday here, it’s probably Tuesday where you are…oh, never mind) I’m going to look at the instruction every new writer is given to “Show, Don’t Tell.”
What does this mean? Well firstly, let me say that even now, after writing 36 books, I still struggle with it (and still get criticised about it) so if you have the same trouble, you’re certainly not alone. But I found out something the other day that really helped me, and so I thought I’d pass it on.
The basics of it are fairly easy to grasp. It’s when you tell the reader something that you could otherwise describe with action, and quite often (but not always), it involves the verb “to be”.
Jack was tired.
The first thing I should say is that there are often times when you don’t need any more than that. If you spend the whole of your novel showing everything, you may highlight events that aren’t important and make the story incredibly long-winded. If it’s not important that Jack is tired—if it’s the subsequent action that you want to get to, then by all means leave it as it is. But if Jack being tired is essential to the story, if this leads to him falling asleep at the wheel or missing a clue because he’s dozing off, then you might want to describe to the reader how we know that Jack was tired. Don’t just tell me—show me!
Jack yawned, stretched and sighed loudly.
Or
Jack’s eyelids drooped, his breathing slowed and eventually the pen he was holding fell to the floor.
The best way I’ve heard this described (and unfortunately I can’t find the original article—if this sounds familiar, by all means let me know!) is to pick your favourite actor and imagine you’re directing him or her on set. Let’s choose Hugh Laurie from House, as I’m watching season seven at the moment. I’m going to pretend that I’m directing Hugh. Let’s make him miserable (well, more miserable.)
House was unhappy. He didn’t want to go Cuddy’s party.
How can we make that more action-packed? Let’s imagine we’re directing Hugh in a stage play. How would we instruct him to act “unhappy”? What directions would we give him so he could show us that the last thing he wants to do is go to this social gathering?
House sat slumped in his chair, his face sullen, twirling his cane. From time to time his gaze strayed to the party invitation that sat on his desk. He glared at it, then returned his gaze to the cane, which twirled and twirled.
This really gives the impression of his irritation about going to this party. He knows he has to go, but every bone in his body is resenting that fact. We could also have him scrunch up the invitation and throw it in the bin, have him snap at one of his colleagues, or have him go and throw it at Wilson and demand that Wilson go in his place.
Let’s pick another example. How about Steve Carell who plays Michael in The Office? Poor Michael is a disaster when it comes to social situations. Let’s have him worried about a new date.
Michael was nervous. He had a date with Holly and he just knew it would go badly.
Let’s imagine we’re directing Steve in an episode of the series. How do we want him to act? When’s someone’s nervous, what do they do?
Michael paced his office, nibbling on a nail. He glanced up at the clock and his eyes widened—jeez, only ten minutes to go. Running a hand through hair that already stood on end, he strode out of his office and over to the man who had just thrown a paper plane at the receptionist to get her attention. “Jim!” Michael snapped. “Leave Pam alone—I need help!”
Now, the next step is to take your own story and imagine you’re directing your favourite actor in the movie version of the novel. Let’s take Sunstone. I’m going to imagine that Hugh Laurie is playing Demitto, Heartwood’s ambassador, and Lisa Edelstein (Cuddy) is playing Cat, the Chief of the Guard.