These examples of “Show Don’t Tell” will inspire you to tell better stories by directing a mental movie in your readers’ minds.
This article includes:
What is “Show Don’t Tell?”
A “Show Don’t Tell” exercise
18 “Show Don’t Tell” examples
How to Show AND Tell
How to apply “Show Don’t Tell”
Show, Don’t Tell
Helen frowns while reading her draft story.
She purses her lips, and wonders, Why does the story feel flat? Why does it seem to drag on? Where has the drama gone? Is it too long?
Okay, she thinks. Time to cut down my story.
She removes a few sentences here, scraps a whole paragraph there, shortens another sentence. After crossing out words for over 20 minutes, she’s reduced her word count almost by half. Phew. With a sigh of relief, she treats herself to Jasmine tea with carrot cake.
But, hey, what happened to her story?
It seems even worse than before.
Sometimes stories are too short rather than too long
When a writer hasn’t painted vivid imagery, readers can’t picture what’s happening. That’s when a story feels flat. Devoid of drama. Dull.
To let readers experience your story, show rather than tell:
- Telling means giving a brief, factual statement.
- Showing means using sensory details and describing actions to direct a mental movie in your reader’s mind.
Telling is: She was tired.
Showing is: She yawned.
Telling is: She is hungry.
Showing is: Her stomach rumbles.
And the best way to learn the difference between showing and telling?
Firstly, study how authors use this technique in their writing. Start with the examples below. And secondly, practice.
Show, Don’t Tell Exercise
You can use the 18 examples below for practice:
- Review the “to tell” statements and consider how you can prove these statements (such as he’s nervous, she’s lonely). How can you see or hear that someone is nervous or lonely? Which actions demonstrate it?
- Write down two or three actions or sensory details that show rather than tell.
- Compare your notes to the “to show” examples.
Show Don’t Tell Examples: How to show emotions
To demonstrate someone’s emotions, think about what somebody does when they feel angry, hungover, or happy.
How can you see their anger in their movements? What does an angry face look like? What are they muttering or screaming? What would they say when thinking aloud?
Example #1: He’s nervous about his job interview
In his book Behold the Dreamers, Imbolo Mbue shows Jende is nervous:
Try as he might, he could do nothing but think about the questions he might be asked, the answers he would need to give, the way he would have to walk and talk and sit, the times he would need to speak or listen and nod, the things he would have to say or not say, the response he would need to give if asked about his legal status in the country.
His throat went dry. His palms moistened. Unable to reach for his handkerchief in the packed downtown subway, he wiped both palms on his pants.
Can you hear the internal monologue droning on in Jende’s mind?
After the monologue comes a tactile description of his throat going dry and his palms moistening, and then you can picture Jende wiping his palms on his pants. Vivid?
Example #2: She was angry
From Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep:
She slammed her glass down so hard that it slopped over on an ivory cushion. She swung her legs to the floor and stood up with her eyes sparking fire and her nostrils wide. Her mouth was open and her bright teeth glared at me. Her knuckles were white.
Have you notice the strong verbs in this example? Verbs like to slam, to slop over, to swing, to spark and to glare inject power into the writing.
Example #3: Cheryl has started the Pacific Crest Trail but she fears she can’t do this
In her book Wild: A Journey from Lost to Found, Cheryl Strayed shows her fear as follows:
Within forty minutes, the voice inside my head was screaming, What have I gotten myself into? I tried to ignore it, to hum as I hiked, though humming proved too difficult to do while also panting and moaning in agony and trying to remain hunched in that remotely upright position while also propelling myself forward when I felt like a building with legs.
So then I tried to simply concentrate on what I heard—my feet thudding against the dry and rocky trail, the brittle leaves and branches of the low-lying bushes I passed clattering in the hot wind—but it could not be done.
The clamor of What have I gotten myself into? was a mighty shout. It could not be drowned out. The only possible distraction was my vigilant search for rattlesnakes. I expected one around every bend, ready to strike. The landscape was made for them, it seemed. And also for mountain lions and wilderness-savvy serial killers.
Note how many sensory words are used in the above paragraph, like screaming, humming, panting, thudding, clattering, clamor, drowning out. As a reader, you can almost hear Cheryl’s fight with her fears.
Emotions like fear, nervousness, anger, and happiness remain abstract unless we show readers how such emotions manifest themselves in body language, dialogues, or actions.
Instead of telling readers you’re happy, can readers see you’re grinning from ear to ear?
Show Don’t Tell Examples: How to show feelings
Emotions are expressed through physical reactions—we can see someone’s emotions in their body language.
Feelings can be expressed physically, too, but they can also be internal perceptions of our mental state. This can make it harder to show rather than tell.
To show feelings, consider someone’s inner thoughts and think about a person’s environment or activities that may accentuate or symbolize their feelings.
Example #4: Kate feels lonely, despite sharing a house with four other people
In her book The Lido, Libby Page demonstrates Kate’s loneliness as follows:
Kate lives in a house-share with four other people – two students and two who do something but she’s not quite sure what. They come in at different times and shut their bedroom doors, occasionally passing on the way to the (one) bathroom.
They are people that she has heard grunting in the heat of sex (thin walls) and whose pubic hairs she has untangled from the shower plug, but she doesn’t know where they all came from before arriving here in this house, or what their favourite films are. She doesn’t really know them at all. And they certainly don’t know her. But what is there to know really?
Can you feel Kate’s loneliness, symbolized by the lack of interaction?
Example #5: She feels trapped in her hometown
In The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett, one of the protagonists explains why she feels trapped by her hometown’s smallness:
She’d trampled the same dirt roads her entire life; she’d carved her initials on the bottom of school desks that her mother had once used, and that her children would someday, feeling her jagged scratching with their fingers.
The initials on the bottom of school desks—carved by 3 generations of one family—symbolize the feeling of being trapped in the eternal monotony of small-town life. When will things ever change?
Show Don’t Tell Examples: How to show a person’s passion
You know I’m passionate about writing, don’t you?
But have I ever told you that?
Nope, I show my passion by sharing my best writing tips and tricks so you can tell better stories and share your ideas with gusto.
What are you passionate about? And which actions can prove your passion?
Get inspired by the 6 examples below …
Example #6: Frank, a music shop owner, is passionate about sharing music with people, even strangers
In her book The Music Shop, Rachel Joyce demonstrates Frank’s passion as follows:
‘We had another shoplifter today,’ [Frank] said, apropos of not very much at all. ‘First he flipped because we had no CDs. Then he asked to look at a record and made a run for it.’
‘What was it this time?’
‘Genesis. Invisible Touch.’
‘What did you do, Frank?’
(…) Frank had done the sort of thing he always did. He’d grabbed his old suede jacket and loped after the young man until he caught him at the bus stop. (What kind of thief waited for the number 11?)
He’d said, between deep breaths, that he would call the police unless the lad came back and tried something new in the listening booth. He could keep the Genesis record if he wanted the thing so much, though it broke Frank’s heart that he was nicking the wrong one – their early stuff was tons better.
He could have the album for nothing, and even the sleeve; ‘so long as you try “Fingal’s Cave”. If you like Genesis, trust me. You’ll love Mendelssohn.’
Isn’t it amazing how such a short story can characterize one person? It feels like you know Frank a little already.
Example #7: Young Araki loves dictionaries
In her book The Great Passage, Shion Miura describes Araki’s love for dictionaries as follows:
Araki began saving up his allowance for trips to the used bookstore. When a new edition of a dictionary came out, a copy of the earlier edition could usually be purchased on the cheap.
Little by little he collected a variety of dictionaries from different publishers and compared them. Some were tattered and worn. Others had annotations and underlining in red. Old dictionaries bore signs of the linguistic struggles of compiler and user alike.
Can you picture the dictionaries in Araki’s room?
Example #8: Sportcoat is a nature-lover
In his book Deacon King Kong, James McBride describes the protagonist as a nature-lover:
He was friends with anything that grew: tomatoes, herbs, butter beans, dandelions, beggar’s-lice, wild spur, bracken, wild geranium. There was not a plant that he could not coax out of its hiding place, nor a seed he could not force to the sun, nor an animal he could not summon or sic into action with an easy smile and affable strong hands.
I like how this paragraph expresses that enjoyment of nature is not a passive state but an active act—of summoning an animal into action and of coaxing plants grow and seeds to sprout.
Example #9: Robin Wall Kimmerer loves plants
While the ways to tell something are relatively limited, myriad ways exist to show something.
For instance, here’s how Robin Wall Kimmerer describes she’s a born botanist in her book Braiding Sweetgrass:
(…) how could I tell him that I was born a botanist, that I had shoeboxes of seeds and piles of pressed leaves under my bed, that I’d stop my bike along the road to identify a new species, that plants colored my dreams, that the plants had chosen me?
I love how those last words describe that botany is her calling: “The plants had chosen me.”
Example #10: Lars is passionate about good food
In his book Kitchens of the Great Midwest, J. Ryan Stradal demonstrates a passion for food as follows:
In the same fashion that a musical parent may curate their child’s exposure to certain songs, Lars had spent weeks plotting a menu for his baby daughter’s first months:
Week One NO TEETH, SO:
1. Homemade guacamole.
2. Puréed prunes (do infants like prunes?)
3. Puréed carrots (Sugarsnax 54, ideally, but more likely Autumn King).
4. Puréed beets (Lutz green leaf).
5. Homemade Honeycrisp applesauce (get apples from Dennis Wu).
6. Hummus (from canned chickpeas? Maybe wait for week 2.)
7. Olive tapenade (maybe with puréed Cerignola olives? Ask Sherry Dubcek about the best kind of olives for a newborn.)
8. What for protein and iron?
Can you picture Lars writing down the menu, while licking his lips?
And, thinking about your own passions, which actions describe them best?
Example #11: Chris doesn’t like going to the gym
Of course, just like you show what a person loves doing, you can also show their dislikes.
In his book The Man Who Died Twice, Richard Osman shows that Chris doesn’t like going to the gym:
Of all the machines at the gym, the bike suits him best. For a start you’re sitting down, and you can look at your phone while you’re using it. You can take things at your own pace – sedate in Chris’s case – but you can also speed up to look more impressive any time a muscled man in a singlet or a muscled woman in Lycra walks by.
And Chris comments on the exercise bike:
The heart-rate monitor was terrifying; Chris had seen numbers that surely couldn’t be right. The calorie counter was worst of all. Six miles of cycling to burn off a hundred calories? Six miles? For half a Twix? It didn’t bear thinking about.
Isn’t it amazing how just a few sentences give such a good impression of someone’s dislike of exercise?
Show Don’t Tell Examples: Turn weak action into a movie-like description
Don’t be fooled into thinking that action is always telling rather than showing.
Some action is so vague a reader can’t really imagine what’s happening.
As a writer it’s your task to help readers experience your story. So, give them enough vivid details to let a movie play in their mind.
Here’s how …
Example #12: Moody shows Pearl the town
In her book Little Fires Everywhere, by Celeste Ng paints a vivid image of the town tour:
They went to Fernway, his old elementary school, where they clambered up the slide and shimmied up the pole and tumbled from the catwalk to the wood chips below. He took Pearl to Draeger’s for hot fudge sundaes.
At Horseshoe Lake, they climbed trees like children, throwing stale chunks of bread to the ducks bobbing below.
In Yours Truly, the local diner, they sat in a high-backed wooden booth and ate fries smothered in cheese and bacon and fed quarters into the jukebox to play “Great Balls of Fire” and “Hey Jude.”
Much more vivid than an abstract tour of the town, right?
Example #13: Jack Reacher fires his Barrett
In the thriller Die Trying, Lee Child slows down the action to heighten the drama:
First thing out of the barrel of Reacher’s Barrett was a blast of hot gas. The powder in the cartridge exploded in a fraction of a millionth of a second and expanded to a superheated bubble.
That bubble of gas hurled the bullet down the barrel and forced ahead of it and around it to explode out into the atmosphere. Most of it was smashed sideways by the muzzle brake in a perfectly balanced radial pattern, like a donut, so that the recoil moved the barrel straight back against Reacher’s shoulder without deflecting it either sideways or up or down.
Meanwhile, behind it, the bullet was starting to spin inside the barrel as the rifling grooves grabbed at it.
Then the gas ahead of the bullet was heating the oxygen in the air to the point where the air caught fire. There was a brief flash of flame and the bullet burst out through the exact center of it, spearing through the burned air at nineteen hundred miles an hour.
A thousandth of a second later, it was a yard away, followed by a cone of gunpowder particles and a puff of soot. Another thousandth of a second later, it was six feet away, and its sound was bravely chasing after it, three times slower.
That’s 225 words to describe less than one-hundredth of a second.
Lee Child is a master in pacing his stories. He keeps us reading for pages and pages before he at last reveals whether the bullet hits someone or not.
Remember, slow down the action to heighten the drama.
Example #14: Harold and his brother Raymond didn’t know what to say to Maggie
Even when nothing seems to happen, you can still paint a vivid picture as Kent Haruf does in Plainsong:
They were dumbfounded. They looked at her, regarding her as if she might be dangerous. Then they peered into the palms of their thick callused hands spread out before them on the kitchen table and lastly they looked out the window toward the leafless and stunted elm trees.
Can you imagine how you’d film this scene?
“Show don’t tell” works for objects and environments, too
A landscape is not a still life painting; you can detect subtle movements such as grass waving or with powerful activities like trees creaking in a storm.
Example #15: The ice surface is a chaos of crushing movement
In his book Endurance, Alfred Lansing describes the astonishing story of Ernest Shackleton’s expedition to cross Antarctica.
Here’s when their ship finds herself in a dangerous situation:
The whole surface of the ice was a chaos of movement. It looked like an enormous jigsaw puzzle, the pieces stretching away to infinity and being shoved and crunched together by some invisible but irresistible force. The impression of its titanic power was heightened by the unhurried deliberateness of the motion. Wherever two thick floes came together, their edges butted and ground against one another for a time. Then, when neither of them showed signs of yielding, they rose, slowly and often quiveringly, driven by the implacable power behind them. Sometimes they would stop abruptly as the unseen force affecting the ice appeared mysteriously to lose interest. More frequently, though, the two floes—often 10 feet thick or more—would continue to rise, tenting up, until one or both of them broke and toppled over, creating a pressure ridge.
Can you picture the scene? Does it make you feel scared, too?
Example #16: The ship is crushed by the ice
Here’s how Lansing describes what happens to the ship:
She was being crushed. Not all at once, but slowly, a little at a time. The pressure of ten million tons of ice was driving in against her sides. And dying as she was, she cried in agony. Her frames and planking, her immense timbers, many of them almost a foot thick, screamed as the killing pressure mounted. And when her timbers could no longer stand the strain, they broke with a report like artillery fire.
Lansing describes the ship as if she is a person screaming, dying, and crying out in agony. This is called personification, and it adds an extra dimension to the principle of showing.
Showing places readers directly into a scene, so they can experience what’s happening to a story’s character, even if that character is a ship.
Example #17: The porch was cluttered
Describing a room, a porch, or a garden can show us a lot about the person living there, too.
This is from Anne Tyler’s Redhead by the Side of the Road:
Micah had to swerve around a skateboard and a sippy cup on his way up the front steps, and the porch was strewn not only with the standard strollers and tricycles but also with a pair of snow boots from last winter, a paper bag full of coat hangers, and what appeared to be somebody’s breakfast plate bearing a wrung-out half of a grapefruit.
Reading that description is like watching a movie, right?
Example #18: Everything is in the right place
And here’s an opposite description of a neat person, also from Anne Tyler’s Redhead by the Side of the Road:
His sock drawer looked like a box of bonbons, each pair rolled and standing on end according to his instructions. Newspaper read in the proper sequence, first section first and second section next, folded back knife-sharp when he was done. Lord forbid someone should fiddle with the paper before him! He was a sign painter by profession, and all of his paints and his India inks were lined up by color in alphabetical order. The Bs I remember especially, because there were so many of them. Beige, black, blue, brown …
The 3 examples of neatness in the paragraph above sketch a persuasive image of how neat this person is. I love the simile at the start: “His sock drawer looked like a box of bonbons.”
How to show AND tell
The general advice is that we must show and not tell.
But that’s not always true.
Sometimes, it’s quicker to tell. So, you tell instead of showing to keep the pace of the story.
At other times you may want to both tell and show, so readers are clear how to interpret your story.
For instance, here’s an example of “tell and show” from Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner:
I remember these things clearly because that was how my mother loved you, not through white lies and constant verbal affirmation, but in subtle observations of what brought you joy, pocketed away to make you feel comforted and cared for without even realizing it. She remembered if you liked your stews with extra broth, if you were sensitive to spice, if you hated tomatoes, if you didn’t eat seafood, if you had a large appetite. She remembered which banchan side dish you emptied first so the next time you were over it’d be set with a heaping double portion, served alongside the various other preferences that made you, you.
Zauner first tells, suggesting that her mother showed her love by paying attention and making you feel comforted and cared for. Then she shows with the examples how her mother did that by paying attention to what you liked, and giving a bigger portion the next time.
And here’s an example from The Electricity of Every Living Thing by Katherine May:
What I hadn’t considered, though, was just how miserable the combination of walking fifteen boring miles and battling through oncoming rain would be. You can see absolutely nothing, because your head is angled relentlessly down. Your glasses steam up, but there’s no point in wiping them. Your neck begins to ache. Progress is surprisingly slow.
The first sentence above tells us that it’s miserable to walk in the rain. The next sentences show why that’s the case: That you can see absolutely nothing, that your glasses steam up, that your neck aches, and that progress is slow.
In just a few sentences, May first tells us and then shows us why walking in the rain makes her miserable.
When to show and when to tell
Telling is brief and factual.
Showing, in contrast, uses more words to direct a mental movie in your readers’ minds.
- Add sensory details to make the story more vivid—this is how you allow readers to experience your story.
- Slow down to describe action in more detail—this is how you increase the drama in your writing.
When you show rather than tell, your reader becomes an active participant in your story.
So, race through the less important parts of your story.
And dramatize the key parts, with detailed and vivid descriptions.
Now, imagine your favorite reader …
She’s sitting at her desk, sipping a cup of coffee.
She switches on her laptop, wipes the sleep from her right eye, and briefly massages her temples. Then she opens your email and clicks to read your blog post.
A lightbulb goes off in her mind and she whizzes off a quick email to thank you. She’s excited to implement your advice.
Recommended reading on show, don’t tell:
“Show and tell” in business writing
The magic of sensory language
351+ strong verbs to make your writing pop, fizz, and sparkle