Show, Don’t Tell: What It Actually Means (And How to Do It Without Losing Your Voice)
Let’s say the quiet part out loud: “Show, don’t tell” is one of the most overused, underexplained pieces of writing advice in existence. You’ve heard it in workshops, seen it scribbled in the margins of your draft (“show more here!”), and maybe even quoted it to other writers as if it were scripture. But if you’ve ever stopped and asked yourself, “Okay, but what does it actually mean?”—you’re not alone.
Because “Show, don’t tell” isn’t a rule. It’s a tool. And like any tool, it works beautifully when used correctly—and creates absolute chaos when misunderstood.
No one ever explains what “showing” actually looks like, or when it’s okay—necessary, even—to just tell the damn thing. So what we get is writers filling paragraphs with overly detailed hand gestures and eye twitches because they’re afraid of writing a sentence like "He was angry."
What It Really Means
“Show, don’t tell” is shorthand for: dramatize the experience instead of summarizing it.
Telling is saying: “She was sad.” Showing is: “She pressed her forehead to the glass, watching the neighbor’s dog play in the snow, unmoving until the frost had crept into her bones."
Telling gives us the answer. Showing gives us the evidence.
The goal isn’t to banish all telling. It’s to use showing for moments that matter—where the emotional temperature shifts, where tension brews, where the reader is supposed to feel something beyond the words.
Want a tool that helps you show more and tell less in seconds? Try Sudowrite—your AI writing assistant that’s surprisingly good at subtlety.
Why Showing Works
Because showing makes the reader a participant. When you show, you invite interpretation. You create a sensory pathway into the character’s interior world.
Telling gives readers information.
Showing gives them experience.
When you show, you slow down time. You give us texture, atmosphere, tension. You invite us to feel something rather than telling us what to feel. It’s not about being lyrical or poetic—it’s about being visceral.
Telling: He was terrified of the dark.
Showing: He hesitated at the threshold, staring into the hallway. The shadows stretched long and soft, like something breathing. He flicked the light switch twice, then again, just to be sure.
Telling: He was terrified.
Showing: "He gripped the doorknob like it might bite. The sweat down his spine had turned cold. He didn’t blink."
Telling is faster. Showing is immersive.
One sentence tells us what to think. The other builds dread we can feel in our bones. The best fiction blends them.
Show Don't Tell: Quick Fixes
Here are two simple rules that may help you get a handle on things.
1. Pretend you're watching a movie. What does this LOOK like right now? Are the characters frozen in place, without moving or speaking? Where is this information coming from? Has the author pressed "pause" to direct dazzle readers with information outside of the story? That's not great! Few modern commercial novels have that kind of overt, sneaky puppetmaster narration. The trick is to get all the information across through the scene action while things are moving, without needing to pause and explain.
2. Show emotion, tell information. Anything that makes an impact on the character should be shown (in the moving scene) so we can experience the character's immediate reaction. You can't tell us before, and then watch the characters react; you can't have a thing happen and then explain why it matters. You need to set things up so that we understand why this is so dramatic and emotional for the character. But if it's just info, you can squeeze it in, without making it a big thing - small pieces of "told" information can be fine and not distracting.
How to Actually Show (Without Just Writing Longer Paragraphs)
“Show more” is not a call to overwrite. It’s a call to reveal.
Here are tools that do that well:
1. Action That Reveals Emotion
Instead of writing “She was anxious,” give us:
She unwrapped the straw three times before using it. Her water glass had condensation halfway up. She hadn’t touched it.
You’re not listing emotions. You’re embodying them.
2. Dialogue With Subtext
Let the conflict live beneath the words.
“I’m happy for you,” she said, smiling with her mouth and nothing else.
Good dialogue isn’t just speech—it’s camouflage.
3. Charged Objects
The things characters notice—or avoid—carry emotional meaning. A lipstick tube. A broken watch. A voicemail they haven’t deleted. These objects act like emotional grenades.
4. Specificity That Stings
Don’t write: “He brought flowers.”
Write: “He brought two wilted carnations and a daisy with a bent stem, bound with a sticky piece of scotch tape.”
The more precise the image, the more real it becomes. And real is what readers feel.
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Showing in Action: Literary Examples That Actually Work
You don’t have to be purple and overwrought to show effectively. You just need control.
Toni Morrison – Beloved
“It was as though Sethe didn’t really want forgiveness given; she wanted it refused.”
This is technically telling, but it’s so emotionally precise and layered in implication that it feels like showing. Why? Because it opens a psychological doorway. Morrison gives you a loaded sentence, then trusts you to walk through it.
Raymond Carver, Cathedral
“His fingers rode my fingers as my hand went over the paper. It was like nothing else in my life up to now.”
That sentence is about drawing a cathedral. But it’s not. It’s about connection, surrender, insight. That’s the power of indirect showing—letting subtext do the heavy lifting.
Shirley Jackson, The Lottery
“It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,” Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.
It’s a casual line. Delivered flat. No dramatic exposition. No hand-wringing. But because you’ve just spent pages watching a community gather cheerfully for what turns out to be a public stoning, it hits like a hammer. The genius is in the restraint—Jackson never tells you it’s terrifying.
If your characters sound stiff or on-the-nose, this guide to adding dialogue to description-heavy writing shows how to keep emotion simmering just below the surface.
Tools for Showing (That Aren’t Just “Use More Description”)
1. Action That Reveals Emotion Don’t say they’re nervous. Show them tapping the table, checking their phone, smiling too wide.
2. Dialogue That Doesn’t Match the Subtext
“I’m fine,” she said, digging her nails into her palm.
3. Objects With Emotional Charge What a character notices—or avoids—reveals more than internal monologue ever could.
4. Specificity Don’t write "He brought flowers." Write, "He brought two bruised carnations and one daisy with a bent stem, all bandaged together with a rubber band."
SHOW vs. TELL: Side-by-Side Examples
Here’s where we go all in. A few moments rewritten both ways:
Emotion: Grief
🧍♂️ TELL:
He missed her.
🎭 SHOW:
He still reached for the second coffee mug every morning. He always remembered to set it out—and always put it back, unused.
Emotion: Jealousy
🧍♂️ TELL:
She was jealous of her sister’s success.
🎭 SHOW:
She liked all the Instagram posts. Even the ones with the book deal. Even the one with Reese’s Book Club in the caption.
Emotion: Shame
🧍♂️ TELL:
He was ashamed.
🎭 SHOW:
He laughed too loudly at the joke, but his ears were red. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes when he took his seat.
Emotion: Desire
🧍♂️ TELL:
He wanted her.
🎭 SHOW:
He memorized the pattern of freckles on her collarbone. Never touched. Just knew.
When Telling Is the Better Choice
Yes, telling is allowed. Sometimes it’s even better.
Telling can be effective when:
- You’re bridging time.
No one wants to read five pages of bus rides. “She spent three weeks drifting from town to town” works just fine. - You need to control pacing.
Not every scene deserves a slow burn. Sometimes, a declarative sentence is the cleanest path forward.
You want to punch the reader in the throat.
“She hated him. Not for what he did. But because it worked.”
Good telling can be sharp, brutal, poetic, and devastating—when used with intention.
The problem isn’t telling. The problem is when telling replaces showing at moments that should land with weight.
Genre Notes
- Literary fiction: Leans heavily on showing. The whole point is the emotional subtext.
- Thrillers/Mysteries: Use showing for clues and tension, telling for information dumps (but try to make those elegant).
- Fantasy/Sci-fi: Worldbuilding often leans on telling—but great SFF uses showing to reveal cultural detail through behavior, ritual, and conflict.
Common Mistakes
1. Confusing detail with depth. Just because you described the sunlight doesn’t mean you’re showing anything meaningful.
2. Showing everything. If every cup of tea takes a paragraph, your story will drown in description.
3. Forgetting what the moment is for. Show when emotional stakes are high. Tell when you need to move.
Writing Exercises (You Should Actually Do)
- Strip the Tell
Take a page from your current WIP. Highlight every line that names an emotion. Then rewrite half of them using physical actions, gestures, or sensory cues instead. - Subtext Drill
Write a conversation where one character is furious—but can’t say it. Let the dialogue stay civil. Let the anger bleed through everything else. - Object Game
Pick a random object in your room. Now write a scene where a character uses, touches, or avoids it—and in doing so, reveals something they’d never admit out loud. - Rewrite the Sentence
Start with:
“She was afraid.”
Write three different versions of that moment: one in body language, one in internal monologue, one in metaphor.
- Emotion Map
Choose a chapter and draw an emotional arc. Now identify the key moments of emotional shift—and make sure you’re showing, not summarizing, at each pivot.
For more ideas on how to write characters who bleed on the page, not just act, check out this deep-dive on crafting real, unforgettable protagonists.
Final Thought: Show Where It Hurts
The most important use of showing isn’t in describing landscapes or eye color. It’s in emotional moments.
Don’t tell me your character is heartbroken. Show me the voicemail they haven’t deleted. Show me the way they avoid the second toothbrush in the bathroom.
That’s what readers remember. Not the words. The ache underneath them.
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