Show Don’t Tell
As a photographer, I’ve learned to tell a story without a single caption. Just composition, expression, and movement. It’s one of my favorite parts of photography, that magic of communicating something unspoken.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how that translates to writing. If you’ve hung around the writing world for more than a day, you’ve probably heard the advice “show, don’t tell.” In writer-speak, this means finding ways to make the reader experience the story, rather than handing them the summary. It’s not a rule so much as a skill, and it’s one I’ve been working on a lot in my editing process.
Here’s what I’m noticing as I work through my own drafts:
1. Subtext
In life, we don’t always say what we mean, and neither should our characters. If a friend asks how you’re doing and you shrug and say, “I’ve been busy,” you might actually mean, “I’m exhausted and overwhelmed.” That gap, the difference between what’s said and what’s felt, is where subtext lives.
2. Body language
I could write, “She was nervous,” or I could write, “She twisted the paper napkin into a thin rope, fraying the edges.” One tells you, the other shows you.
3. Sensory detail
The tang of salt in the air, the hum of cicadas so loud it feels like a weight, the smell of rain on hot pavement… these details make a scene feel lived-in, even without dialogue.
4. What’s left out
Sometimes the silence between two characters says more than the conversation itself. In photography, it’s like cropping an image so you see just enough to understand, but not the whole picture.
5. Staying true to character
The same nonverbal cue can mean different things for different people. A confident character might cross their arms and lean back with a smirk; a timid character might do the exact same thing, but with their gaze fixed on the floor.
Examples from “Thirteen Weeks in Digby”
Now, here are some places I caught myself telling, and how I rewrote them to show instead.
Example 1: The Elevator Ride
Sometimes “telling” is the easy way out, like this moment where I tried to rush past a tense elevator ride.
Telling: The elevator ride to the ICU felt longer than it was.
Showing: The elevator crawled floor by floor, numbers blinking at a pace that made her jaw tighten. Stale hospital air pressed in from all sides.
Example 2: Emmett Ignoring Paige
In this one, I didn’t need to tell the reader he was ignoring her, his actions could do the heavy lifting.
Telling: He ignored her yet again.
Showing: His eyes stayed locked on the screen. One hand moved to adjust his earbuds, not to take them out, but to push them in further.
Example 3: The Edge in Her Tone
Emotions land better when you can feel them physically, not just read about them.
Telling: Paige felt the edge in that tone and looked away.
Showing: Heat pricked the back of Paige’s neck, and her eyes darted toward the floor.
Example 4: Jenson’s Shock
This one reminded me how tempting it is to sum up someone’s mental state instead of letting their body language speak.
Telling: Jenson nodded, but it didn’t seem to register.
Showing: Jenson nodded, his gaze fixed somewhere past the paramedic. His shoulders stayed rigid, like he hadn’t heard a word.
Why it matters…
When you swap “telling” for “showing,” you’re trusting your readers. You’re inviting them into the scene as participants rather than passengers. The bonus? Moments like these tend to linger longer in their memory because they’ve lived them instead of just reading them.
And I’m still learning. Every edit and rewrite is me trying to get better at this part… telling a story without saying everything out loud.
“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
