Show Versus Tell: What It Actually Means and How to Do It

Show versus tell is the most repeated advice in writing instruction and the least understood. Writing instructors say “show, don’t tell” as if it explains itself. Show, Don’t Tell It does not. The result is writers who know they are supposed to show but have no idea what that means in practice.

Here is what it actually means and how to do it.

What Telling Looks Like

Telling states a fact about a character, emotion, or situation. For more, see ways to show heartfelt author appreciation. It gives the reader information directly. For more, see the girl boss problem.

“Marcus was angry.”

That is telling. The reader knows Marcus is angry because the writer said so. There is nothing wrong with this sentence. It is clear and efficient. But it does not make the reader feel anything, and the reader has no reason to believe it beyond the writer’s assertion.

“The restaurant was expensive.”

Also telling. The reader registers the fact and moves on. No image forms. No sensory experience occurs.

“Sarah was a kind person.”

Telling again. The reader is instructed to believe Sarah is kind. Whether they actually believe it depends on what Sarah does in the story.

What Showing Looks Like

Showing provides evidence and lets the reader draw the conclusion.

“Marcus slammed the phone on the counter, cracking the screen. He stared at it for three seconds, then swept it off the edge into the trash can.”

The reader concludes Marcus is angry – furious, in fact – without being told. The reader also knows something specific about how Marcus handles anger: he is destructive and deliberate, not impulsive. That is characterization delivered through action rather than summary.

“The menu had no prices. The waiter described each course as a ‘preparation’ and poured water from a bottle that probably cost more than lunch at any other restaurant in the city.”

The reader concludes the restaurant is expensive. They also have a sensory experience – they can see the menu, hear the waiter, picture the water bottle. The scene exists in space rather than in summary.

“When the new kid dropped his tray in the cafeteria, Sarah was the only one who did not laugh. She walked over, handed him a napkin, and sat down next to him without saying a word.”

The reader concludes Sarah is kind. More importantly, the reader believes it because they watched it happen. No assertion required.

Why Showing Works

Showing works because it engages the reader’s judgment rather than bypassing it. When you tell a reader that a character is brave, the reader has to take your word for it. When you show a character doing something brave, the reader decides for themselves. That decision creates investment. The reader has participated in understanding the character rather than being handed a label.

Showing also creates images. A scene that exists in physical space – with objects, actions, sounds, textures – occupies the reader’s imagination differently than a summary. Readers remember scenes. They forget summaries.

When Is Telling Better Than Showing?

Show versus tell is not a rule that says never tell. It is a tool for knowing when each approach serves the story.

Telling is appropriate for transitions, for minor information the reader needs but does not need to experience, and for pacing. If a character drives from New York to Boston and nothing important happens during the drive, “She arrived in Boston by late afternoon” is better than three paragraphs of highway scenery.

Telling is also appropriate when the telling itself reveals character. A first-person narrator who says “I am not a jealous person” and then behaves jealously throughout the chapter – that telling is doing work. The gap between what the narrator claims and what the reader observes creates irony and depth.

The problem is not telling itself. The problem is telling when showing would be more effective, which is any moment where the reader needs to feel something, believe something, or experience something rather than simply know it.

The Five Places Showing Matters Most

Emotion. “She was sad” versus a scene where she sits in her car in the parking lot for twenty minutes after the funeral, engine running, not driving anywhere. Told emotion is forgettable. Shown emotion is felt.

Character traits. “He was generous” versus a scene where he quietly pays someone else’s bill and leaves before they notice. Labels tell the reader what to think about a character. Actions let the reader discover the character.

Setting. “The house was run down” versus peeling paint, a screen door hanging from one hinge, and a lawn mower rusting in knee-high grass. Told setting is a fact. Shown setting is a place the reader can stand in.

Tension. “The situation was dangerous” versus the specific details that make the reader’s stomach tighten – the sound, the proximity, the character’s physical response. Told danger is a news report. Shown danger is an experience.

Relationships. “They loved each other” versus the small specific behaviors that demonstrate it – the way one character instinctively hands the other their coffee the right way, or finishes their sentence without thinking about it. Told relationships are assertions. Shown relationships are convincing.

The Most Common Showing Mistakes

Purple prose disguised as showing. “Her crystalline azure orbs shimmered with the luminescent tears of unspoken sorrow” is not showing. It is overwriting. Showing requires specificity and restraint, not decoration. The goal is to create a clear image, not to impress the reader with vocabulary.

Showing everything. A manuscript that shows every emotion, every room, every meal, and every car ride will be 200,000 words long and exhausting to read. Show the moments that matter. Tell the transitions between them.

Showing without purpose. A detailed physical description of a character who appears once and has no impact on the story is wasted showing. Every shown detail should do work – reveal character, establish mood, create tension, or advance the plot.

Telling disguised as showing. “She clenched her fists angrily” is still telling. The word “angrily” does the work, and the clenched fists become a prop rather than evidence. “She clenched her fists” is showing – the reader infers the anger. The adverb undermines the image.

A Practical Test

Read any passage in your manuscript and ask: could the reader draw this conclusion from the evidence I have provided, or am I asking them to believe me?

If the answer is “believe me,” look for a way to provide the evidence instead. Find the action, the detail, the sensory information that would lead a reader to the same conclusion without being told.

Not every passage needs to show. But every important moment does. The scenes where your characters change, where the stakes are highest, where the reader needs to feel rather than know – those are where showing earns its place.

One More Example

Look at this photo from a Renaissance Festival.

Telling: “The woman at the Renaissance Festival was beautiful and wore ethnic jewelry.”

That is a caption, not a scene. The reader registers the information and moves on.

Showing: “Her brass and crystal ornaments clinked when she turned, catching the afternoon light. She cocked her head, one eyebrow raised, daring someone in the crowd to say something worth her time. When no one did, she tossed her hair and walked away, scarves trailing behind her like she had somewhere better to be.”

Same woman. But now the reader can see her, hear her jewelry, and understand her personality – not because the writer labeled her as confident and beautiful, but because her behavior demonstrated both.

For a deeper exploration of this technique with extended examples, see Show Don’t Tell.

Frequently Asked Questions