This is the fourth and final part of a surprise series. If you’re just turning in now, I highly recommend reading at least part 1 before reading this post.

In the previous posts, I covered the concepts of showing and telling and how Peter Rock advises using them in his essay “The Telling that Shows.” I could’ve ended this series at part 3, but that would mean willfully ignoring one of the central tenets of Rock’s essay. I’d also be omitting one of the most important lessons experience has taught me about showing and telling. So, indulge me one more time as I conclude this multi-part discussion with my final thoughts.

Blur the Line Between Show & Tell

I’ve noticed that the distinction between showing and telling in my planning scripts often gets blurry, especially within narration notes. Those of you who’ve read my planning script for “To the Capital” in full have likely picked up on this fact too. And you know what? That’s a good thing. You want show sections and tell sections blending together, flowing in and out of each other, so the story doesn’t feel rigid and predictably patterned.

The paragraph below is the most concise example I could find of where this blurring happens in “To the Capital.” Can you identify which parts are show and which are tell? You may think that certain verbs and quotation marks will act as signposts, but they aren’t as reliable as they may seem. Remember that exposition counts as telling (as explained in part 2), and exposition can take the form of dialogue. Once you have an answer, drop it in the comments. I’m curious to see them.

Those words struck Kiki in the heart. She remembered what the station master had said earlier that day. Nobody should ever have to get used to hearing such things. She told Silas, “You’re awfully brave, you know. Going to the capital of all places. I bet a lot of Lijani wouldn’t dare do that.”

Trust Your Readers’ Intelligence

Multiple times in his essay, Rock emphasizes the apparent agency of characters and the independent existence of the story’s setting (be it real or imaginary). That is the illusion that the best stories weave in the reader’s mind. I believe the more important point Rock makes is about respecting your readers’ intelligence and free will.

“Those moments in writing classes when ‘show, don’t tell’ is invoked, however disguised, point to the places where the narration has gone awry, where our authorial anxiety has forced us to try to take control from outside the story, to limit the free will of our characters and our readers so they will understand things as we intend them to, or, equally evil, to impress them with how wise or funny or dexterous we are.”

Peter Rock, “The Telling that Shows”

As a writer, you have to trust that your readers can connect the dots between the bits of information you provide. You must trust that they will put the pieces together for themselves. Assuming that they can’t inevitably leads to clunky, unenjoyable storytelling.

Respecting the reader’s intelligence isn’t solely trusting them to “get it right.” It also means allowing them to “get it wrong.” The reader interpreting something in your work that you didn’t intend doesn’t mean your story is bad or that you failed as a writer. It’s more a reflection on the reader — the perspective and worldview they lay on top of your work.

For example, those of you who’ve read “To the Capital” in its entirety — did you catch that Silas faced ethnic discrimination before the story began? If not, go back and re-read the flash with that fact in mind. Do you see it now? Feel free to share your answers down in the comments.

The sentence below is the closest I come to outright stating this fact within the piece itself.

Or would they just see his golden eyes and make assumptions like everybody else does?

That one sentence reveals that golden eyes are a distinguishing feature of Silas’ people — the Lijani, as Kiki later identifies them. That one sentence also implies that there are enough stereotypes about Lijani floating around the wider culture for people to see Silas’ eyes and immediately form an opinion about the kind of person he is.

Conclusions

Each story is its own beast, so figuring out what you can tell and what should be shown will differ from piece to piece. You could carefully study your favorite stories or ones in the genre you’re writing and look for patterns. But the only way to truly learn how to show and tell is through practice, trial, and error.

When you’re writing your first draft, follow your instincts. Tell what you want to tell; show what you want to show. Then set the draft aside for a couple of months or (better yet) get some fellow writers to look at it. In my experience, people are very willing to ask questions about what they want to know more about and point out the places where excessive descriptions cause the story to drag. If multiple people point out the same issues, it’s worth investigating and making revisions.

Thus ends another blog series. I do have a follow-up post in the works tackling a tangent that didn’t fit into the main discussion. But for now, please share any lingering thoughts or questions in the comments below.