What do getting naked in public, giving birth, flying, house painting, yoga, exercise, riding a bike, lifting weights, dieting, and “making love to computer” all have in common?
They all came up as similes on the first page of Google search when I typed in “writing is like.” Besides being sort of hilarious, this incident tells me something you probably already knew—people have a diverse range of ideas about writing. But regardless of what “making love to computer” is supposed to mean (and on second thought I don’t think I want to know), we’ve all heard the same few pieces of advice time and time again. “Show, don’t tell” is so ingrained into the collective consciousness of writers it’s become a tired cliché. But those pieces of advice are easier said than followed, and to follow them, you first need to know just what you’re supposed to be doing.
1. “Show, don’t tell.”
You’ve probably heard this so many times its mere mention prompts an eye roll. That’s okay. Roll them. Get it out of your system. But you’d be surprised at how few people have an idea of what this “rule” actually means, as well as when and how to break it.
“Showing” is conveying your story through the observable—action, dialogue, and descriptions of tangible settings or characters or facial expressions. “Telling” is narrating events, feelings, and exchanges. It’s analyzing your plot and characters as you present them. The reason people keep telling you to show and not tell is that the reader likes to figure things out for herself. You don’t need to tell her that Gertrude is a spoiled brat. You need to show her Gertrude’s tantrum. Now, this is where the line begins to grow fuzzy.
Some of the greatest novels of all time are extremely narrative, or extremely analytical, or both. You can practically see F. Scott Fitzgerald’s joyful drool on the page whenever he starts talking character psychology, and his ideas are a delight to read. But it’s very difficult to tell well, and very easy to tell poorly. That’s why you hear this advice all the time.
Sometimes, showing doesn’t work. Sometimes your characters are on a long uneventful leg of journey and you need to skim. If that’s the case, then tell about it. But in other realms, most readers will go crazy if you try to tell them your wimpy heroine is secretly sassy and awesome and likeable. What if they don’t like her? What if she never actually does or says anything sassy? Your readers are smart, and they should be able to figure out your character’s personality from what she does and says, her interactions with others and her environment. It’s when we tell that we drift into the treacherous zone of Mary Sue.
2. “Write what you know.”
If everyone wrote exactly what they knew, there would be a lot of novels about white middle-aged people sitting in coffee shops and typing on laptops. Movie soundtracks would be clacking keys and an occasional scream of frustration. Which flavor of tea to drink next and whether or not to bother showering would be the primary conflicts. Every now and then, main characters would read a blog like this one.
You: Okay, okay, we get it.
The glorious thing about fiction is that you don’t have to write exactly what you know. You can write about fantasy, or a period in history. But that’s why you hear this advice—you should know your fantasy world well, to the point that you can describe it with color and consistency. You should have done enough research on your historical period that you know what it was like to live there. You should know the slang and the costumes and the patterns of daily life.
You don’t have to write about your life. If your life is exciting and hilarious, then by all means, write about it, and it will be all the more vivid because of your personal experiences. But “write what you know” doesn’t mean you should only write what you know when you begin. Above all, you should write what inspires you to find out.
3. “There should be conflict in every scene.”
Conflict is what creates and drives plot. It can be as intense and high-stakes as Sauron vs. The Good Guys, or as seemingly unimportant as which girl to take to prom. But either way, they’ll tell you, it must manifest itself in everything you write.
The issue with this advice is that sometimes people take it too literally. There’s no reason to throw in a conflict that doesn’t serve the plot because your scene is on the quiet side. It just means that every scene should have an objective that ties it to the plot. It’s okay to have a scene where your characters reflect on the latest breakneck action, or get to know each other better through conversation. In fact, without such scenes, a story is often exhausting. They give the action greater meaning, and often the subtle conflicts between personalities are more fascinating than swordplay. But you still have to balance such scenes with the more obvious conflict and, most importantly, put them in for a reason.
4. “Start with a hook and end with a cliffhanger.”
Flirt, don’t tease.
I first heard this distinction in a workshop by Robert Dugoni, and I cannot think of one more perfect. Flirting is keeping your reader on their toes, increasing tension, and leaving conflicts without resolutions until the very end. Teasing is suggesting that MAYBE THIS LOVEABLE CHARACTER IS DEAD but not getting back to their part of the story until sixty infuriating pages later. In other words—flirting is what keeps your reader turning the pages. Teasing is what makes your reader skip sixty pages of your book.
Hooks are starting with fast-paced dialogue or action, a question of what’s going on and what will happen next. A hook means agonizing over your intriguing first sentence. That’s awesome. It draws the reader in. But if I never actually find out what’s going on, I’ll get frustrated and set the book down. Don’t tease your reader by overusing hooks and cliffhangers. Speaking of which…
TO BE CONTINUED???
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