DividesByZer0
A cunning linguist
Show, Don't Tell. Yeah, that sounds easy, but what, exactly, does show mean?
Let's look at an example: John ate breakfast, then he took a shower and went to the store. At the store he met a girl and they talked for a long time. John liked her but she blew him off. Then he went home.
Tells you a lot about John, huh? Okay -- so this example is really exaggerated, but it hits home the necessity of showing and not telling. What can we do to fix it? We need more detail, especially dialogue and action.
Consider:
John studied the frozen dinners. He'd had turkey and dressing for the last four days, so Salisbury steak would be good for a change. But did he want the Big Man's or the regular?
A scent teased his nose. Not the overwhelming smell of fish and frostbite, but a fresh smell, like the smell of skin just out of the shower. He glanced sideways and saw the most perfect arm he'd ever seen in his life. Long, slender, graceful, full of sinewy muscle and smooth skin. His eyes followed the arm to the shoulder and then the head. Her head. A head covered with long blond hair and containing a face that made his heart stop.
"Hi," she said, her voice rich and melodious.
John's mouth didn't work. He tried to return her greeting, but only a grunt came out. He tried to smile politely, but his face erupted with a grin as large and toothy and goofy as a cartoon character's . . .
So now you have the idea. We need details. We need to know thoughts, feelings; we need to smell the perfume, taste the wine, feel the cashmere. Anything less cheats the reader from experiencing our imaginary world.
Let's look at an example: John ate breakfast, then he took a shower and went to the store. At the store he met a girl and they talked for a long time. John liked her but she blew him off. Then he went home.
Tells you a lot about John, huh? Okay -- so this example is really exaggerated, but it hits home the necessity of showing and not telling. What can we do to fix it? We need more detail, especially dialogue and action.
Consider:
John studied the frozen dinners. He'd had turkey and dressing for the last four days, so Salisbury steak would be good for a change. But did he want the Big Man's or the regular?
A scent teased his nose. Not the overwhelming smell of fish and frostbite, but a fresh smell, like the smell of skin just out of the shower. He glanced sideways and saw the most perfect arm he'd ever seen in his life. Long, slender, graceful, full of sinewy muscle and smooth skin. His eyes followed the arm to the shoulder and then the head. Her head. A head covered with long blond hair and containing a face that made his heart stop.
"Hi," she said, her voice rich and melodious.
John's mouth didn't work. He tried to return her greeting, but only a grunt came out. He tried to smile politely, but his face erupted with a grin as large and toothy and goofy as a cartoon character's . . .
So now you have the idea. We need details. We need to know thoughts, feelings; we need to smell the perfume, taste the wine, feel the cashmere. Anything less cheats the reader from experiencing our imaginary world.
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