“Show, don’t tell” is one of the most widespread pieces of advice in writing. Even so, people forget to explain what it actually means.
Because sometimes, you do have to tell. And sometimes, it doesn’t just end there.
When you master “show, don’t tell” in writing, the emotional scenes of your story land harder, you provide an experience rather than a report of events, and your reader becomes an active participant in your world… which is the whole point.
What this article contains:
Author’s Note ✍
When I was writing the first few chapters of my book, the rule of “show, don’t tell” was always present in my mind. It was easy. I just needed to show instead of telling what was happening in my story, right?
So, that’s what I did. But the more I read other books with intention, the more I realized that maybe I didn’t understand this rule as well as I thought.
What “show, don’t tell” actually means?
The main purpose of “show, don’t tell” is to create an immersive experience for the reader. It means that you have to use sensory details, body reactions, or even dialogue to show what’s happening, instead of just saying it.
Stories are usually told, yes. But as with people, a reader remembers a story because of how it made them feel. And those feelings come from what they perceive and what they can piece together.
Oftentimes, you know you’re reading a great story because the feeling lands before it’s even mentioned.
In showing, the reader is active. They fill in gaps, draw conclusions, and feel emotions before they can even name them.
In telling, the reader is more passive. They get the information they need to move on, but aren’t immersed.
Now, not all stories are going to have a ground-breaking plot. And my favorite part about it is that it’s completely fine.
Showing vs telling is one of the elements that will make your story different from others in the same genre. Even with a similar plot. You choose what matters and when to show it or tell it.
Sometimes a plot can be as simple as:
A talented necromancer apprentice has to deal with her incompetent master’s misdeeds.
This isn’t new.
It’s the typical talented apprentice and the messy master, whose knowledge we question all the time. I’ve seen it. You’ve seen it. Everyone has.
But the same information delivered differently can create a completely different story. (More on the apprentice and master necromancer later). The premise doesn’t make the story; the experience does. And choosing between showing and telling helps you build that experience.
Is telling bad?
Telling isn’t bad. It’s necessary for clarity. Some paragraphs or scenes aren’t meant to make the reader feel something. They’re just meant to exist so the story can move forward, and they can carry important information.
The issue is when you tell too much. It signals that you may not trust your reader to piece things together.
Sometimes, you may want to tell because you’re the person who understands the story better than anybody else. And you want to share that with the reader.
But restraint is often better.
And restraint generates chatter.
Some things may be obvious to half of the readers. The other half may think more deeply and start coming up with theories. And readers coming up with theories about your story may be the highest praise as a writer. You wrote something that people are still thinking about.
Not explaining every single thing can be good.
When to show and when to tell: a best practice
A best practice that has helped me in writing my first book is this:
Show what creates emotion. Tell the information you need to move the story forward.
To recap, telling isn’t bad. And “show, don’t tell” isn’t a hard rule. The use of it depends on what the story needs in that specific sentence, paragraph, scene, or chapter.
If a scene is meant to make your reader feel something (like grief, dread, or particular ache), show it. Build around it so the reader can arrive at the feeling on their own. You can still tell; just don’t tell the feeling.
If you need information to get your reader from point A to B, tell it and move on. Not everything deserves the same weight.
Important note💡
While showing is most effective in emotional moments, it’s also important when trying to, shall I say, characterize a character.
Don’t say they’re annoying; show it by the way they act or the way they talk.
Sometimes a view is amazing in a fantasy story. Not because you say it’s amazing, but because of what it does to the character.
At the end of the day, “show, don’t tell” is about making the story belong to the reader too. When they’re active participants, the story becomes theirs. Because you’re not giving them a picture of a flower field, you’re inviting them to step on it.
Am I showing or am I telling? (examples)
Now, onto examples.
Let me not only tell you but show you how to apply “show, don’t tell”. I wrote some examples in which I’ll use our talented apprentice and the master necromancer.
Example 1: Just telling
The apprentice was frustrated with her master. Him being both incompetent and overconfident had proved to be a problem for her from her first day on the job.
When her first customer came into the shop, the master misread bone divinations, even insisting on wrong interpretations when she corrected him. He also used the wrong materials during summoning rituals, which caused serious mistakes like summoning a ghost that wasn’t even related to the customer. And the potions he usually sold to clients, promising an outcome, were often completely off.
She had tried to help. Tried to suggest alternatives. Tried to explain. But he would dismiss her and tell her that everything would be fine.
This one is an example of pure telling. I’m just giving you information here and already telling you that the apprentice is frustrated and the master is both incompetent and overconfident.
Does that mean it’s wrong?
No, maybe this is what your story needs. Maybe this is just information to move on to the story. But now, let’s try the same example with showing.
Example 2: Just showing
“Someone is talking behind your back.” The apprentice traced the curve of the tooth in the cloth. “See how it points away from…”
“That’s a long journey.” The master leaned over the table and pointed at the tooth. He then gave one of his signature smiles to the customer.
The customer smiled back, nodded, and left.
The apprentice looked at the table for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the tooth that was pointing away from the customer. But she said nothing and collected the bones.
Three days later, a woman came wanting to talk to her deceased grandmother. The apprentice had already set the bone dust at the table, but the master shook his head.
“Use grave dirt.”
“But bone dust is better for…”
“Grave dirt, trust me.” The master winked.
And moments later, what came through wasn’t a grandmother.
Then, on another day, the master asked her to create a potion for slow aging. But when the customer came to retrieve it, he was paying for a potion to cheat death temporarily instead. Needless to say, she never saw that customer again.
This one is mostly showing (telling is very necessary). While this example uses dialogue and the characters’ actions to tell the story, it still sounds somewhat flat. Like it needs grounding or it’s missing context. We don’t know enough about the world, the apprentice, or the master to feel the weight of these moments.
Now, here’s how it looks when you combine both telling and showing effectively.
Example 3: Showing and telling
The apprentice had been working under her master for three months now. And while he was the most sought-after necromancer in the city, she was quickly learning that he was also one of the worst.
Her very first customer was a man looking for a divination service using bones.
“Someone is talking behind your back.” The apprentice traced the curve of the tooth in the cloth. “See how it points away from…”
“That’s a long journey.” The master necromancer leaned over the table and pointed at the tooth. Then he flashed a smile with very white teeth, which made the customer more confident about the prediction. So, he smiled back, nodded, and left.
The apprentice looked at the table for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the tooth that was pointing away from the customer. That usually meant that someone was positively talking behind his back. But she said nothing and collected the bones. Maybe she had gotten it wrong. It was her first actual job after the academy, after all.
Three days later, a woman came wanting to talk to her deceased grandmother. The apprentice had already set the bone dust at the table, but the master shook his head.
“Use grave dirt.” He crossed his arms and smirked, clearly satisfied.
“But bone dust is better for…”
“Grave dirt, trust me.” The master winked.
The apprentice raised her eyebrow. That couldn’t be right. Using grave dirt could summon anything but the deceased family member. Bone dust was more certain. But he was the master. So, she bit her tongue and put the bone dust aside.
Moments later, what came through wasn’t even a grandmother. It was something worse, which resulted in the woman swearing she would never resort to powers from the beyond again.
Then, on another day, the master asked her to create a potion for slow aging, which had very similar effects to a potion to cheat death temporarily, but was certainly not the same.
When the customer came for the delivery, he paid for a potion to cheat death. And the master handed the slow aging potion she had prepared the other day. Needless to say, she never saw that customer again.
That evening, the apprentice grabbed her coat and went out for a long walk.
In this example, the telling and showing work well together. We get more explanation of how the necromancer services actually work and why the master is wrong. But we also experience the uncertainty and the frustration from the apprentice.
Neither showing nor telling works well without the other. The two are necessary to provide a great experience for the reader. You just have to choose which one the moment needs.
So, read your own work as a reader would. The more you write (and read), the more you’ll come to find out what the story needs. Things will feel off, sometimes flat, and others will land. The secret, most of the time, is just to keep writing and find out.
And scene
If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% read their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)
If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.
And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.
Were you able to grasp showing and telling from the get-go or did it take you some time? Do you have any other tips for showing vs telling?
Take care and keep writing. ✍️
I feel writing is a constant balance between showing and telling and trying not to let either one take over completely.
Jesse, one of the strongest ideas in this article is that "show, don't tell" isn't really about choosing one over the other, it's about deciding where you want the reader to do the work. Telling transfers information; showing invites interpretation. That distinction extends well beyond fiction. The most memorable leaders, teachers, and communicators don't simply announce that something is important, they create experiences that allow people to arrive at that conclusion themselves. A lesson discovered is almost always more enduring than a lesson delivered.
What really struck me is that readers don't connect with stories because they're given every answer. They connect because they're trusted enough to participate in making meaning. That's true of writing, leadership, and even relationships. People rarely commit to conclusions they were handed; they commit to conclusions they feel they discovered. Perhaps that's the deeper principle behind "show, don't tell." It's not just a writing technique, it's an act of trusting others to become co-authors of the meaning you're trying to create.