If there is one guiding light in excellent writing that almost everyone agrees on, it is the principle of “Show, don’t tell.” Telling is one of the most common mistakes new authors make, and it’s one of the main reasons manuscripts get rejected. It’s also one of the biggest reasons readers give up on a book. If you’ve stopped reading a book because it failed to hold your interest, there is a good chance the author was telling instead of showing.

Once you master this fundamental writing technique, you’ll have a stronger emotional impact on your readers. Readers will like your characters more, feel more connected to them, and will be more likely to finish reading your book. If they finish your book, they’ll be more likely to buy your next one and recommend your first one to a friend.

Author Tim Shoemaker is well acquainted with showing versus telling. He is the author of 14 traditionally published books and two self-published books and is a popular speaker at conferences around the country. His book Code of Silence, the first in a contemporary suspense series for youth, was named in the “Top Ten Crime Novels for Youth” by Booklist. 

What’s the difference between showing and telling?

Thomas Umstattd Jr.: Everyone has heard “Show, don’t tell.” But what is telling? Can you give us an example?

Tim Shoemaker: Sure. Telling sounds like this: “Katie was really cold while she waited for the bus.”  We’re not really showing anything. We’re just telling. We’ve got the facts. Katie is waiting for a bus, and she’s cold.

Now, here’s an example of showing those same facts: Katie rubbed her hands together, then cupped them over her mouth and blew on them. It didn’t help. She drove her hands in her pockets and jumped in place. She had to get her blood circulating. She looked down the block, still no bus. If she’d known the driver was going to be this late, she’d have brought her gloves. Or maybe some hot cocoa.”

You see the difference there? Telling is stating the facts. Showing presents a picture so the reader can figure out that Katie is cold. In the showing example, we never said that she was cold, but the reader will pick up on that.

They saw her rubbing her hands together and jumping up and down. She was thinking about hot cocoa and wishing she had gloves. Those are clues that paint a picture for the reader and they know that Katie was cold.

Readers want the full experience. They don’t want to just be told a story. They want to live it out. They don’t want a quick summary of what’s going on. They want to see it played out.

Thomas: Agreed. Readers want to feel cold. Which makes you feel colder? The statement Katie was cold, or all those descriptions of how she was trying to stay warm.

There’s a famous poem that my grandfather had memorized: “The Cremation of Sam McGee.” This epic poem takes place on the Yukon Trail and tells the story of a man who slowly freezes to death. His friend carries his corpse through the snow, creating a haunting and eerie atmosphere, much like ghost stories told around a campfire. My grandfather often recited it in the middle of summer, and we would start to feel cold as we listened. The poem vividly conveys the sensation of freezing, not just through the characters’ experiences but through its evocative language.

In your example, the reader is more likely to feel the cold because of how you showed it rather than just stating the facts.

Tim: That’s the key. You want them to experience it. Showing helps readers track with your story. Consider this example of an angry character:

“Kyle’s dad found out what he did and grounded him. Kyle’s dad was really angry.”

That’s a showing statement. We’ve got the facts. Kyle did something. Dad found out. Dad’s angry.

But let’s brainstorm for a second. What do people do when they get angry? What are some things you might see?

Thomas: Well, it depends on the person, and now we get to do some character development. Is this dad the kind of dad who shouts when he gets angry, or does he get really quiet when he gets angry? Maybe he’s passive-aggressive.

Suddenly, how we show his anger depends on how well the author knows Kyle’s dad, which forces us to flesh out his character.

Tim: That’s a great observation. If you’re writing for youth, they’ll interpret “Kyle’s dad was really angry” based on how their own dad acts when he’s angry. Some kids might imagine that Kyle’s dad walked out of the house, punched a wall, threw something, shouted, or even hit someone. As your story progresses, this can create a disconnect because the readers might think, “Wait a minute, I thought dad was punching a wall. He was really angry, wasn’t he?” Therefore, it’s better to show what’s happening and let the reader interpret it. Let’s try that again by showing Kyle’s dad’s anger:

“Kyle’s dad slammed his fist on the table so hard that coffee splashed out of his cup and splattered onto the floor. “How many times have I told you not to hang around that kid?” he shouted.

Kyle kept his eyes on the floor and his mouth shut. Did dad really want him to answer that?

“Look at me when I talk to you!”

Kyle forced himself to look up. There was something almost funny about his dad’s face. So incredibly red with that vein popping out of his neck like he’d swallowed an extension cord.

“So what am I supposed to do with you, huh?”

Kyle raised his hand. “Give me another chance?”

Dad leaned in close. “Go to your room, smart guy.”

Kyle didn’t wait to be told again. He bolted from his chair and stomped out of the kitchen.

“And you’re gonna stay there all weekend!”

Terrific. Kyle took the stairs two at a time.

“Did you hear me?”

How could he not? Everybody in a three-block radius probably heard him.

We didn’t say that dad was angry, but we showed it. We showed him slamming down the coffee mug. We showed his red face and that vein coming out of his neck. He’s loud and he’s grounded Kyle. We leave it at that so the reader can say, “Wow, Kyle’s dad is angry.” That’s the key. Show it and the reader will go along with it.

Thomas: That kind of writing helps readers enjoy the story more. They feel more connected. They feel more empathy for Kyle when they see his dad’s action.

In the first version, we assume Kyle must have done something bad, and he got his just punishment, but we don’t feel emotional about it. In the second version, we can see there’s more going on. That feeling of connection will cause the reader to want to keep reading. Otherwise, the readers don’t care. They think, “Kids get grounded every day. I don’t care.”

Tim: If you’re truly showing, you’ll reveal more about the character by sharing their interior thoughts and getting inside their head. This way, your readers will identify with the character more deeply and care about them, just as you mentioned. This is a key element because you always learn more about a character this way than through basic telling statements about what’s happening.

Thomas: In school, I had to read an essay by George Orwell about clichés. Interestingly, in his entire essay, he never once used the term “cliché.” Instead, he refers to them as “prefabricated hen houses.” I love this approach because it forces you to use language in a new way. Instead of saying “he was angry” or “she was cold,” you have to be more creative and use descriptive language. This circumlocution makes you avoid the straightforward word, which leads to greater creativity and makes the writing more interesting.

Tim: I make a game of it, so it becomes fun. For example, if somebody is feeling nervous or scared, rather than use that word, I’d rather show it and let the reader experience it and feel it for themselves. It doesn’t feel restrictive to me; it feels like a game.

Thomas: This goes back to the last episode we recorded about making your book less preachy and more powerful. Instead of saying, “Then she prayed a prayer, and she felt better,” you show that instead, which is more convincing for the reader and more compelling.

Tim: Right. Show that desperate prayer. Show what they’re saying, what they’re not saying, how they’re hesitating, and how they’re talking so quietly that they hope nobody hears them. In our last episode, we used an example from It’s a Wonderful Life featuring George Bailey. Do you remember that scene where he’s at the end of his rope? It’s the bar scene where he’s praying to God, rubbing his chin, and trying to avoid being overheard. The scene is so powerful because it shows his desperation through his actions and expressions rather than just telling us.

Won’t showing make my book too long?

Thomas: In both of your examples, the showing version was a lot longer. Won’t showing make my book too long?

Tim: There’s a time for telling and for showing. We want to tell when there’s nothing really exciting going on, but we have to convey some information to our readers. We can use telling when we’re transitioning from one scene to the next or trying to span a large gap of time. The best thing to do in those instances is tell so you can get your reader back to the action.

Most people don’t have a problem telling. Their problem is they continue to tell when they should have switched over to showing. When you get back to the action, show it.

Imagine you’re watching the post-game show for a football game you missed. You arrive just in time, and they start talking about an incredible play. All they’re doing is talking about it, saying things like, “That was the most incredible play I have ever seen. It was the best play of the game and the best of the season.” You’d be thinking, “Run the clip! Stop telling me it was so great and show me!”

That’s what happens with our readers. Often, we tell instead of show, which is fine sometimes, but we need to know when to show, especially during crucial moments. When you get to the action, or something significant happens where you’re really getting inside a character’s head, don’t rush through it by telling. Take your time and show what’s going on.

Thomas: It’s your chance to control the focus of the camera, so to speak. It’s your opportunity to zoom in or out. In a movie, there are scenes where the camera zooms in close to show someone’s face, capturing the tear rolling down their cheek during an emotional moment. But there are also times when the camera zooms out. These decisions should be made intentionally to enhance the story, and you need to understand the story you’re telling.

Take, for example, the famous sci-fi series The Foundation by Isaac Asimov. The premise is that with enough understanding of history, you can predict the future over the long run. This social science concept forms the backbone of the story.

In Asimov’s books, the focus is on intense dialogues between people with opposing views. Occasionally, there’s a space battle, but Asimov often describes these battles in just a sentence or two because these books are not about space battles; they are about the intricate, mysterious conversations that surround them. Asimov consciously chooses to focus on these dialogues, layering mystery upon mystery.

On the other hand, your book might do the opposite, showing the space battles in detail, with phasers on full blast and shields up—more traditional sci-fi elements. The key is to know the story you are writing and to write it purposefully, not just make it up as you go.

Tim: Backstories are a crucial issue when deciding whether to tell or show in your writing. One important decision is determining how significant the backstory is to your present story. If the backstory is not critical, a simple telling statement might suffice. However, if it is pivotal, you may need to reconsider your approach.

For instance, I have a book coming out next year, and I completely revised the beginning because I realized that the little bit of backstory I planned to include was essential for understanding the main character. It became clear that the story needed to start with that backstory because it was so important. And that change made all the difference.

You have to be careful not to sidetrack your reader with unnecessary details. If the backstory is not essential to where your story is headed, showing it can lead you down a bunny trail. Make sure your decisions about including backstory serve the overall narrative and keep the story on track.

Thomas: That reminds me of The Avengers when Black Widow says to Hawkeye, “This is just like Budapest,” and he responds, “You and I remember Budapest very differently.” We don’t need a flashback scene of them shooting arrows and guns in Budapest. One line tells us there is some backstory, which intrigues us. You want to make these decisions consciously. Sometimes, you absolutely have to show Superman as a child growing up because it’s key to understanding him as an adult. Other times, you just mention Budapest and move on, focusing on the main story of aliens falling from the sky trying to blow up New York City. Being conscious of when to show and when to tell is crucial.

Where do authors commonly slip into telling when they should be showing?

Tim: One of the biggest traps authors fall into is telling instead of showing when it comes to their character’s feelings. If it’s your point-of-view character or your key character, be careful about just telling what’s going on in their head. Instead, show me what’s happening, show me their internal struggles. This approach will reveal the character much more deeply. Yes, it will take more words, but it’s likely to be very important.

Regarding backstory, sometimes, to understand your character, you don’t necessarily need to go back and show the past scene directly. Instead, you can show how the character is reflecting on it in the present. Let me provide an example of this in both a telling and a more showing way.

If it’s essential to understand our character, we don’t always have to go back and show the incident. But if we want to explain how this character is, we need to delve into more detail.

For instance, here’s a telling statement:

“Two-year-old Nicky drowned in the pool in his own backyard. Even three years after the accident, Tony grieved the loss of his son.”

That’s really tough. And maybe that’s all the farther I want to go because that’s really hard. But I have glossed over so much in that summary statement.

If we want to show how that tragedy is impacting the father, we don’t have to necessarily go back to the drowning, but I better be showing more what he’s feeling. What if the father is by his pool in the backyard, hearing his neighbor’s kids:

“Children’s laughter rose from beyond the fence that blocked the neighbor’s yard from view. Tony sat slump-shouldered on the deck chair alongside the pool and listened, propping the framed portrait on one knee. He stared at his son’s face, eyes full of mischief with a smile to match. Little Nicky gazed back at him like he was ready to play, like he had wanted to still play that day in the pool, even after Tony told him it was time to get dressed. But Nicky would never play again. The laughter on the other side of the cedar barrier morphed into squeals of delight, like someone was getting tickled.

The lump in Tony’s throat burned as it swelled. He wiped the glass of the frame clean with his t-shirt. Nicky would never climb in daddy’s lap and have tickle wars. He would never ride a bike, drive a car, graduate high school, or get married. The last rays of the sun skipped along the surface of the pool before drowning in the shadows. The kids next door started singing Happy Birthday. A barely audible groan escaped his lips. Tony clutched the edge of the frame. Nicky would have been five years old this week if not for the accident. Tony tried to imagine how Nicky would look now, but all he could see was how he looked at two. Tony pulled the portrait close and hugged it to his chest. I miss you, Nicky, he whispered. God, how I miss my boy.”

That’s how to show feeling rather than tell about it. We could tell the reader that he’s grieving the loss of his son, but it’s more powerful to show a little scene where he’s grieving, and we understand Tony so much more.

Thomas: This is even harder when you’re writing a memoir because to really show it, you have to relive it. If this story happened to you in real life, that’s an incredibly emotional sentence to write because you know everything that’s happened. But the reader who doesn’t know won’t have that same emotional experience if you simply say that you were grieving.

Tim: Retelling a personal experience can give you a false sense of “I am showing it!” especially if it’s a personal experience. You know how you wrestled through the whole thing. But we have to think of our readers as blind to what’s inside our heads. They can’t see that story of your experience. They want to be there to experience it with us, but we have to give them a bit more to imagine.

Thomas: This is one of the biggest reasons to have an editor, especially a developmental editor. They provide an outside perspective and can help you understand where you thought you were showing but actually need to dig deeper into the story.

In fact, it’s crucial to bring in multiple rounds of editors. The longer someone looks at the story, the more familiar they become with it, and they may lose the beginner’s perspective. Every reader who picks up your book for the first time is encountering your story for the first time, and it needs to make sense to them. They won’t know the earlier versions, which is another reason why new editors are helpful. After working with the same editor through multiple rounds, it’s easy to forget whether you cut something, referenced a scene, or altered a character. That’s why a fresh set of eyes is invaluable.

What’s a common myth about “Show, don’t tell” that you want to debunk?

Thomas: What do authors commonly misunderstand about this concept? This is your chance to set the record straight.

Tim: The number one mistake I see is that authors just give more description, thinking they’re showing, but that’s not it.

Your readers don’t want to see every detail in the room. It’s not about describing everything. You may need to show some things and provide more description, but the best type of showing involves getting inside the protagonist’s head. What are they thinking? How are they reacting to their surroundings?

There’s a technique to help you show more and not just tell, which I read about in Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight Swain. It involves using motivations and reactions, or what you might call cause and effect, stimulus and response. This method ensures that we are showing instead of just telling.

The idea is to show something outside your character—a motivation, something that our character should react to. If you don’t show that reaction, it won’t seem real. So, you show the character reacting to what they saw or heard. However, don’t spend too much time on this because you might start telling instead of showing again. Alternate between showing external events and the character’s reactions. Let me read you an example to illustrate this, and then I’ll show you how we went back and forth between the outside events and the character’s internal reactions.

Here’s a telling statement:

“Cheryl’s golden retriever walked over and lay down next to her. Cheryl loved her dog.”

Here’s one example of how you might show the same information using a motivation and reaction pattern:

The golden retriever padded over to where Cheryl sat on the top step of the porch. Cheryl smiled and reached for her. “Hi, Candy girl.”

Candy’s tail answered happily. The dog curled up on the warm deck and snuggled close.

Cheryl cradled her dog’s head in her lap. “I’m going to tell you a secret, Candy girl,” she whispered. “Something I haven’t told anyone.”

As if eager to hear, Candy raised her head slightly.

Gently working one hand behind Candy’s ears, Cheryl stroked and caressed the soft folds. Glancing over her shoulder, Cheryl leaned in close. “I think I love him,” Candy looked at her with an unblinking, almost dreamy gaze, “And I think you like him too. Cheryl kissed the top of her retriever’s head. “I just wish Mom would see him like you do.”

We can clearly see that she loves this dog. We don’t have to say it explicitly. Instead, we show it through actions: the dog wants to go to her, she pets the dog, and she confides in the dog, sharing her secrets. You only do that with someone you really care about.

Applying this motivation-reaction principle, we see something external— the dog approaching. Then, we show Cheryl’s reaction: she smiles, reaches for the dog, and talks to it. We don’t just stay on her reaction. We shift back to the external and the dog: it’s happy and lies next to her. Then, we return to Cheryl’s reaction: she cradles its head and starts to share her feelings. This back-and-forth between external actions and internal reactions effectively shows her love for the dog.

We’re showing something outside of our character and then something back inside of our character. In a key scene where I want to ensure I’m showing rather than telling, I write the scene and then review it. When you go back, make sure you’re not spending too much time on one area or the other. Don’t just describe external events without showing the character’s reactions. If your character should react to something, make sure they do, or you’re just telling. Similarly, if you focus too much on the character’s internal thoughts without showing what’s happening around them, you’re not really showing either. Balancing between external events and the character’s reactions helps me maintain this balance. In scenes where I want to show, I review to ensure both elements are present.

Thomas: If you don’t review the scene for balance, it’s very tempting to have the entire story take place inside the head of your protagonist. While some stories can work this way and be successful, it means your story will never be made into a movie because there’s nothing visual to put on the screen. The more you show and get outside of your protagonist’s head, the more material you create for potential adaptations, like a Netflix series, Disney+ series, or a movie. This may not be your goal, and that’s okay. Just realize that keeping the story inside the protagonist’s head limits its potential for adaptation into other mediums down the road.

Tim: Not only is there not much to show, but it’s harder to hold a reader’s attention even in the book.

Thomas: There’s a certain kind of reader who pictures the story in their head while they’re reading, as if they are watching a stage and the play is happening in their mind’s eye. That’s not how I am, but that’s how my wife is. She dreams in color and always thinks in very visual ways. I’m more conceptual, which is probably why I prefer audiobooks to written books. But remember, there are many more people like my wife who want to see the story. If you don’t give them material to visualize the story, they won’t feel it, enjoy it, or want to come back to it.

Tim: The key to the art of writing is knowing when to show and when to tell. It’s about understanding what your readers want to see. We’ve all experienced countless greetings. You could include a very realistic greeting between two characters who are meeting, but it can be incredibly boring. Just tell me there was a quick greeting, and move on to the good stuff. Then, take your time to show the important and interesting parts.

What is something about “Show, don’t tell” that you had to learn the hard way?

Tim: It was that whole thing. I started as a telling writer and didn’t understand the power of showing until I saw its impact. Point of view and showing versus telling go hand in hand, and they can unlock a story’s potential.

Here’s a quick example of how much more powerful showing is than telling: imagine two girlfriends who really want to see a movie. One goes with her family before the other can, and she texts her friend afterward, saying, “Oh my goodness, this is the greatest movie! I just loved it. It was so good,” and she might mention a few things about it. Now, the friend who receives that text is not going to reply, “Oh my goodness, now it’s my favorite movie, too. I love it.” One girl saw it, and the other was only told about it. The girl who saw it was impacted more powerfully than the one who was only told about it.

The lesson I learned is to show the audience the movie—let them experience the story. Don’t just tell them the story.

Another thing I had to learn was the difference between telling stories aloud and writing them down. I used to tell stories aloud to my kids, and there’s a difference between telling stories aloud and writing them. Making that transition was crucial for me.

Thomas: Once you understand the concepts of showing and telling, you’ll watch movies differently. You’ll see why some movies work and others don’t. You’ll also read books with a new perspective and be able to recognize when a book is well written. Often, you’ll be able to predict what’s going to happen because you understand where the author is focusing attention. For example, if there’s a lot of emphasis on a gun on the mantel, you’ll suspect it’s foreshadowing. You’ll think, “This gun is going to go off in act two or act three,” because otherwise, why describe it in such detail?

This understanding makes reading literature more enjoyable. Hanging out with authors and doing these podcasts for the past 15 years has helped me appreciate good literature even more. It has also made me more critical of bad literature and TV shows, and I can often predict what’s going to happen in a poorly written TV show.

Any final tips for encouragement?

Tim: Our readers desperately want to experience the stories, and that’s great news. Let them. Allow them to enjoy the narrative by making it engaging. Instead of spoon-feeding them everything, give them the chance to figure things out on their own. Show them what’s happening. Readers are smart, so let them have the fun of discovering the story themselves.

You can find out more about Tim at TimShoemaker.com.

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