I have a strange habit of taking seemingly simple blog post ideas and expanding them into multi-post essays without meaning to or even realizing it. That’s what happened with this “simple” post on showing and telling. Here’s part 1 of a new, unplanned series.

Show, don’t tell. Personally, I kinda hate this phrase.

To be clear, I don’t hate it because it’s bad advice. I just hate how it’s presented. The phrase makes it sound like telling is this grave, terrible sin that must be avoided at all costs. But no. It really isn’t. Telling won’t hurt you or your stories. Honest.

I also hate how it’s become this thought-terminating cliché among writers. A lot of people just repeat this like it’s one of the Ten Commandments and assume that everyone else knows what they mean. But that is rarely the truth. It took me years to find definitions that finally stuck with me.

I’m convinced that these gripes I have with the presentation of this particular axiom are why this is a perennial topic in writers’ circles. It’s not simply successive waves of new blood taking up the craft. It’s that these beginners aren’t easily finding the answers they need.

I’m not foolish enough to believe this series of blog posts will change much. But I do want to introduce you to the essay that put my fears about showing and telling to rest: “The Telling that Shows” by Peter Rock.

Rock’s Definitions

Rock defines showing and telling a few different ways in his essay — each time looking at the concepts from slightly different angles. This instance, though, are the most concise definitions as well as the ones that clicked with the best.

“Telling is the narration. It can involve exposition, commentary, reflection, and more. Showing is action and dialogue, what we often refer to as ‘scene.’”

That final word — scene. That’s where it all finally made sense for me. Why? Because Rock put it in terms my imagination could understand.

In an earlier post, I described my imagination working like a radio or TV. My stories are the metaphorical broadcasts my brain receives. Problem is that the scenes are always out of order. Thus, a big part of my creative process is figuring out how to order these scenes and tying them together cohesively.

When I saw Rock connect showing to scenes, my imagination immediately recognized it as the metaphorical broadcasts it’s used to receiving. By process of elimination, telling was all of the prose I’d write to tie all of those scenes together. Those sentences that establish time and location, describe the set dressing, and convey details of things that are “off screen” as it were.

With this new emphasis on scene, I decided to try something different with my first drafts. Instead of writing exclusively in sentences and paragraphs, I tried writing in a script format — a format that would force me to think in scenes, not chapters. And guess what? It worked. Really well. Funnily enough, Rock himself recommends taking this route — though, admittedly, not to the extent I do.

“… I believe that writers must first think and write in scene before we narrate, to figure out how to approach our narration.”

How I Write a Planning Script

The nice thing about scripts is that, once you understand the format, they’re pretty intuitive to write. Those of you who have read scripts before — a Shakespeare play in high school, for instance — likely already have some idea about how to write your own. Yet I want this blog to a resource for complete beginners. So, in the interest of being thorough, I’m including this section on the core elements of a script. I also published my planning script for my latest Friday Flash, “To the Capital”, as a companion piece to this series. Feel free to reference it and use it as a model when writing your own planning scripts.

The first thing you must do before writing a script is to name all of the characters present in the scene. “To the Capital” only has two characters: Silas and Kiki. If you don’t have names for your characters yet — or the scene includes characters who aren’t important enough to be named — you need to give them some kind identifier so you can keep track of who is saying and doing what. “Random girl”, “Juror 4”, and “Salesman” are all perfectly serviceable character identifiers in a script.

Next comes the fun part — writing the dialogue. Make sure to put the character’s name and a colon before their lines. Also make sure that each character has the paragraph all to themselves when they’re talking. I like to bold character names in my planning scripts, but this is just personal preference and by no means required.

Silas: I’m not doing this for myself.

Kiki: I know. You’re doing it for him.

Lastly, put everything else you want to include in your script that isn’t spoken dialogue into parentheses. In an actual stage play, the text within parentheses is called “stage directions.” However, for a planning script that’s destined to become a fiction piece later, I propose the name “narration notes” as an alternative. The new name has a broader connotation, thus making it a better fit for our particular use case. (I’ll demonstrate why later in this series.)

Some narration notes can go ahead of or in between lines of dialogue. Most often, it’s adjectives that indicate the tone or quality of the character’s voice.

Silas: (confused) Didn’t you say that all fairies are excellent judges of character? That you can read someone instantly?

Other times, it’s minor actions the character is doing at (more or less) the same time.

Silas: (laughs) Testing me?

This technique is useful whenever you want to show the difference between what a character thinks and what they say.

Kiki: (thinking) Nobody should ever have to get used to that. (Aloud) You’re awfully brave, you know. The capital of all pieces. I bet a lot of Lijani wouldn’t dare go there.

If a narration note doesn’t fit any of the above scenarios, it should be split off into its own paragraph.

Silas: Sure, sure. Whatever you say.

(Silas lies down on his side, facing the wall.)

Kiki: What kind of answer is that?

Silas: Good night.

What ought to go into the narration notes? What should the dialogue aim to accomplish? The answers to those questions bring us back to our discussion of showing and telling. Specifically, how Rock defines the concepts, as well as how and when to use them in a story.

Unfortunately, that will have to wait until next time. I make no promises of when that will be, but I have this entire series outlined, so it shouldn’t take me too long. For now, what do you think of Rock’s definitions of showing and telling? Have you ever heard of (or tried) writing a script for your fiction? I’m sure you have thoughts, so feel free to share them down in the comments.