Show Confronts Tell*
"Shut-up! Just shut-up!" Show said throwing a plastic purple flower power ring at Tell. It was lite and didn't travel far. Wasted energy. Just like Tell, Show secretly realized.
"I'm telling you...." Tell began
"No, don't tell me! That's what I'm saying to you, don't tell me. Damn it. Just show me. For once just show me. Action man! Words, words, words are all you've got. I need you to take me there not tell me about it. I want to see it for myself." fin
Tell Fights Back**
Show was upset and told Tell to shut-up. Show was mad because Tell only told stories and never let Show experience the story. Tell tried to explain to Show but Show interrupted and threw a plastic purple flower power ring. It didn't hit Tell. fin
The ubiquitous "show verses tell" is all to familiar in the writing kingdom. Until the concept is introduced, many writers pass carefree days at the coffee shop, freely penning stories, poems, emails, and memoirs across the page, completely oblivious to the fact that one day, sooner than later, someone is going to come along and be a big old buzz kill. You, too, will soon be caught. When you least expect it, someone will come along and write largely in the margins of your story: SHOW! DON'T TELL!
But "hey!" you say, "what do you mean SHOW?" Que'est qu c'est SHOW?
Again, the all-capped response in your once white virgin margins: CAN YOU GO DEEPER HERE? LINGER? WHAT DOES "SCARED" LOOK LIKE? WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'SUMMER WAS HOT'? WHAT DOES "LUSTING" LOOK LIKE?
And then it dawns on you: The writing life as you know it is no more. Long gone are the days of writing just to hear the sound of your own memorysong flying around the cloudless page.
Of course, I am among those who unexpectedly take your whimsical word freedom to a dead halt in the middle of a steamy romance just seconds before the next article of clothing (or preposition) is about to come off. Indeed I'm the big Hollywood word-director calling out CUT! just when things are heating up.
But Why?
Why?
"WHY?"
Because I want more, baby. I want to know just how hot that room is and how much sweat is falling off your brow and how it changes the color of the moon when it splashes into your eyes and smears away all reason. I want to see, relive with you on the page, exactly what passion feels like, high on that swirly hill in St Cristobol de las Casas, Mexico. I want to hear the stray dogs. I want to love those Southern desert stars as much as you do. Take me there. Show me there. I want to go with.
So yeah. I am part of the "Show don't Tell" Word Police, lurking on the sidelines of your pages, waiting to pounce on every last misused telling or overly told showing. I am dedicated to eliminating perfunctory unfelt language that sacrifices truth in order to sound or look good. I will force you to write "I WILL NOT ENGAGE OF TELLING SMALL TALK OR PERFUNCTORY DETAILS ON THE PAGE" over and over and take away your pens and notebooks if you insist on telling me what I already know or for telling me in cliches. AND IF YOU THINK I'M CUCKOO, PRETTY PLEASE READ GEORGE ORWELL'S POLITICS AND THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE for more details.)
But, why why why? Because I care. Oh, because I so so so so care.
I care because I, too, once told. And oh, I kicked and screamed and defended my right to tell and tell and tell. I care because I used to spend hours telling you over and over just to make sure you understood me. I told you in case you missed anything. And I told you so you'd fall in love with me and my writing because I could use the words ubiquitous and avuncular and kudos in one sentence. (It's no surprise that I tend to point out the obvious in real life and hit you over the head until you see it just as I do, but that's another story and clearly not one for the page if I am to make my point here at all!)
Then one gray Seattle evening in 2000, a classmate wrote in really small green fine point ink letters "we know," accompanied by a small happy face beneath one of my sentences.
I was enrolled in a weekly night class in creative nonfiction at U-dub—the University of Washington. I had written a story about me and Ma and a disastrous retreat we took to the ends of the earth that ended in a major medical crisis. After several scenes depicting how I wasn't sure if I was going to live or die, I ended one sentence like this: "Truth is, I was scared to death," beside which my writing companion kindly wrote the aforementioned, "we know." :) She was kind. She could have written "no shit!" or "duh hickey" or "dude, we've been reading this entire story for eighteen pages... don't you think we like know you're scared?"
But Why?
Why?
"WHY?"
Because I want more, baby. I want to know just how hot that room is and how much sweat is falling off your brow and how it changes the color of the moon when it splashes into your eyes and smears away all reason. I want to see, relive with you on the page, exactly what passion feels like, high on that swirly hill in St Cristobol de las Casas, Mexico. I want to hear the stray dogs. I want to love those Southern desert stars as much as you do. Take me there. Show me there. I want to go with.
So yeah. I am part of the "Show don't Tell" Word Police, lurking on the sidelines of your pages, waiting to pounce on every last misused telling or overly told showing. I am dedicated to eliminating perfunctory unfelt language that sacrifices truth in order to sound or look good. I will force you to write "I WILL NOT ENGAGE OF TELLING SMALL TALK OR PERFUNCTORY DETAILS ON THE PAGE" over and over and take away your pens and notebooks if you insist on telling me what I already know or for telling me in cliches. AND IF YOU THINK I'M CUCKOO, PRETTY PLEASE READ GEORGE ORWELL'S POLITICS AND THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE for more details.)
But, why why why? Because I care. Oh, because I so so so so care.
I care because I, too, once told. And oh, I kicked and screamed and defended my right to tell and tell and tell. I care because I used to spend hours telling you over and over just to make sure you understood me. I told you in case you missed anything. And I told you so you'd fall in love with me and my writing because I could use the words ubiquitous and avuncular and kudos in one sentence. (It's no surprise that I tend to point out the obvious in real life and hit you over the head until you see it just as I do, but that's another story and clearly not one for the page if I am to make my point here at all!)
Then one gray Seattle evening in 2000, a classmate wrote in really small green fine point ink letters "we know," accompanied by a small happy face beneath one of my sentences.
I was enrolled in a weekly night class in creative nonfiction at U-dub—the University of Washington. I had written a story about me and Ma and a disastrous retreat we took to the ends of the earth that ended in a major medical crisis. After several scenes depicting how I wasn't sure if I was going to live or die, I ended one sentence like this: "Truth is, I was scared to death," beside which my writing companion kindly wrote the aforementioned, "we know." :) She was kind. She could have written "no shit!" or "duh hickey" or "dude, we've been reading this entire story for eighteen pages... don't you think we like know you're scared?"
Ooooooooooooooh. I see. I get it. Trust your reader. Don't tell us when you already just showed us.
Alas, the show v tell debacle remains one of the most controversial, confusing, and frustrating among writers. It's like the thing you are always aware of once you know it exists. However...
Of course it's really rather harmless. It's intended to make you a more confident writer and to trust in yourself and your story. And it's all about balance. There's nothing hard and fast about it other than write your truth, slow down, know that we are here reading and/or listening to your words because we want to be here and we want to see it all. If you went all the way to India and are writing about it, by God I've never been there, so show me everything. Get me to feel for you and whoever else is with you by showing me the color of the sky and what your expression looks like reflected in the Ganges. Show me enough so I can have a relationship with you as you relate to others on the page. Show me so I can really care. Show me so I can root for you and hope you fall in love and find your way home and rescue yourself.
PROMPT ONE in case I have totally lost you and you have no idea what I am talking about, how about a little bit of intuitive writing?: "Show me so I can... "(and keep going)
Alas, the show v tell debacle remains one of the most controversial, confusing, and frustrating among writers. It's like the thing you are always aware of once you know it exists. However...
Of course it's really rather harmless. It's intended to make you a more confident writer and to trust in yourself and your story. And it's all about balance. There's nothing hard and fast about it other than write your truth, slow down, know that we are here reading and/or listening to your words because we want to be here and we want to see it all. If you went all the way to India and are writing about it, by God I've never been there, so show me everything. Get me to feel for you and whoever else is with you by showing me the color of the sky and what your expression looks like reflected in the Ganges. Show me enough so I can have a relationship with you as you relate to others on the page. Show me so I can really care. Show me so I can root for you and hope you fall in love and find your way home and rescue yourself.
PROMPT ONE in case I have totally lost you and you have no idea what I am talking about, how about a little bit of intuitive writing?: "Show me so I can... "(and keep going)
*PROMT TWO, borrowed begged and stolen from a brilliant student in my Friday Writers** who came up with this amazing dialogue to illustrate the frustrating and ever elusive dynamic between showing and telling: (Create your own show v tell dialogue)
Show Confronts Tell
"Shut-up! Just shut-up!" Show said throwing a plastic purple flower power ring at Tell. It was lite and didn't travel far. Wasted energy. Just like Tell, Show secretly realized.
"I'm telling you...." Tell began
"No, don't tell me! That's what I'm saying to you, don't tell me. Damn it. Just show me. For once just show me. Action man! Words, words, words are all you've got. I need you to take me there not tell me about it. I want to see it for myself." fin
Tell Fights Back
Show was upset and told Tell to shut-up. Show was mad because Tell only told stories and never let Show experience the story. Tell tried to explain to Show but Show interrupted and threw a plastic purple flower power ring. It didn't hit Tell. fin
This was submitted via my student's blog... enjoy! It's awesome!!
ReplyDeleteWEDNESDAY, APRIL 18, 2012
Jessie Really Likes Jesus
Jessie's got this white Bible that zips up, and it's open on the bed because she's looking at her bills, the ones she keeps in the Bible. I can smell her Jungle Gardenia perfume that she always wears mixed with the special smell of the Bible.
She's shaking her head and her mouth is in a line. She doesn't like looking at her bills, I can tell, because usually she's smiling or laughing. Even when she says she's fed up with us, she looks like she's smiling. The way she says "you're all in the dog house" makes me feel okay even though I know we're in trouble.
Jessie's room is cozy. I'm lying on the nubbly bedspread, with little round balls on it that I like to wiggle between my fingers while I keep her company. The radio next to her bed is black plastic, and it's playing music like the kind they sing at her church. She always listens to that and she doesn't let us play with the dial. Jessie really likes Jesus. Almost as much as she likes us kids.