Show, Don't Tell: Tips and Examples of The Golden Rule
Show, don’t tell is a writing technique in which story and characters are related through sensory details and actions rather than exposition. It fosters a more immersive writing style for the reader, allowing them to “be in the room” with the characters.
In his oft-repeated quoted, Anton Chekhov said, “Don’t tell me the moon is shining. Show me the glint of light on broken glass."
In short: showing illustrates, while telling merely states. Here’s a quick example:
Showing: As his mother switched off the light and left the room, Michael tensed. He huddled under the covers, gripped the sheets, and held his breath as the wind brushed past the curtain.
Telling: Michael was terribly afraid of the dark.
In the “showing” example, rather than merely saying that Michael is afraid of the dark, we’ve put him in a situation where his experience of that fear takes center stage. The reader can deduce the same information they’d get from the “telling” example but in a much more compelling way.
In this post, we'll show you why Show Don't Tell is the most popular "rule" in creative writing and show you how you can add some "showing" skills to your toolkit.
The Benefits of 'Show, Don't Tell'
Showing also helps develop characters in a way that isn't just listing their traits. For instance, rather than telling your readers that “Gina was selfish and immature,” you could show this side of her by writing a scene where she whines about how everyone forgot her half-birthday. Or if you have a character who’s extremely determined, show her actually persisting through something — don’t just say “she was persistent.”
When done right, showing draws readers into the narrative with truly immersive description. It contributes to story development but also leaves certain things up to the reader’s interpretation, which is much more interesting than making everything explicit. (Though of course, you can still use language to alter their perception).
The bottom line: telling might be quicker, and it’s certainly necessary to have some telling in every story (more on that later), but showing should almost always be your prime strategy.
Which contemporary author are you?
All right, that’s enough theory for now! Let’s talk about how you can show, not tell, in your own work. Here are five key tips on how to show rather than tell in a story
4 Practical 'Show, Don’t Tell' Tips
Let's start with one of the most important aspects of storytelling...
Tip #1. Create a sense of setting
One of the best ways to show rather than tell is to create a sense of setting. You can do this by writing about how characters perceive and interact with their surroundings, weaving plenty of sensory details and occasional action into the scene. This is a particularly good way to lend immediacy to your story, as the reader should be able to imagine themselves in that very setting.
Telling: I walked through the forest. It was already Fall and I was getting cold.
Showing: The dry orange leaves crunched under my feet as I pulled the collar up on my coat.
Tip #2. Use dialogue to show character
In addition to setting, you can also use dialogue to demonstrate story elements beyond the surface conversation. A character’s speech will tell the reader a lot about them, especially when they’re first being introduced.
Do they use long sentences and polysyllabic words or do they prefer short, punchy replies? Are there likely to use slang and call an authority figure “dude” or “fam” or will they address them respectfully as “Mr. So-and-So”?
Tip #3. If in doubt, always describe action
“Telling” almost always grinds your narrative momentum to a halt. Imagine having to describe the setting every time your characters enter a new space — any pace you had built in your chapter would be destroyed. However, it’s still important to evoke the setting and put your scene in context. And that’s where showing action comes in handy.
Let’s say you start your scene with your character walking through St Mark’s Square in Venice. Instead of describing the pigeons, the tourists and the layout of the space, you can evoke it through action:
He was late. St Mark’s clocktower had struck one and Enzo found himself pushing against the tide of tourists milling towards the cafes lining the Piazza San Marco. A clump of pigeons scattered in front of him.
Through action, you’re able to describe the setting of the scene while also maintaining your story’s forward motion.
Tip #4. Use strong details, but don’t overdo it
Strong, vivid details are crucial to the process of showing. However, that doesn’t mean you should include too many details, especially those that are overly embellished. This kind of excessively ornate language can be just as bad as “telling” language that’s too basic, as it may cause the reader to lose interest in your super-dense prose.
Too much detail: The statue felt rough, its aged facade caked with dust and grime as I weighed it in my hand, observing its jagged curves and Fanta-colored hue.
Just right: It was heavier than it looked. Some of the orange facade crumbled in my hand as I picked it up.
Strike the right balance by alternating between simple and complex sentences and ideas, and different types of sensory detail, so the reader doesn’t get overloaded on one type.
'Show, Don’t Tell' Examples
To break down this technique even further, here are a few additional "show, don't tell" examples of authors showing rather than telling in their writing. If you want to analyze even more examples of this tactic, just crack open the nearest novel! Pretty much every work of fiction involves showing, and observing the tactics of successful authors is one of the best ways to learn for yourself.
Example #1. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
I once had a garden. I can remember the smell of the turned earth, the plump shapes of bulbs held in the hands, fullness, the dry rustle of seeds through the fingers. Time could pass more swiftly that way. Sometimes the Commander’s Wife has a chair brought out, and just sits in it, in her garden. From a distance it looks like peace.
This passage uses various senses (smell, touch, and sound) to recreate the atmosphere of Offred’s old garden, romanticizing the act of gardening to show that she misses those days. It also connects that peaceful past time to the present day, implying that many people no longer feel at peace, including the Commander’s Wife.
Example #2. It by Stephen King
In this early scene, young Georgie is running after his toy boat as he is unwittingly being lured by a malevolent force.
Now here he was, chasing his boat down the left of Witcham Street. He was running fast but the water was running faster and his boat was pulling ahead. He heard a deepening roar and saw that fifty yards farther down the hill the water in the gutter was cascading into a storm drain that was still open. It was a long dark semi-circle cut into the curbing, and as Georgie watched, a stripped branch, its bark as dark and glistening as sealskin, shot into the storm drain’s maw.
King renders the fast-running rivulets of a rainy day by having Georgie run alongside them, unable to keep up. Then he sees the storm drain, which King aptly calls a “maw” (a spot-on metaphor), and its threat is heightened by the sound of its “deepening roar” and the fact that it swallows an entire branch. Needless to say, poor Georgie’s boat doesn’t stand a chance.
Example #3. Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
In this scene, a suburban husband awakens to the sound of his wife’s cooking.
My morning breath warmed the pillow, and I changed the subject in my mind. Today was not a day for second-guessing or regret, it was a day for doing. Downstairs, I could hear the return of a long-lost sound: Amy making breakfast. Banging wooden cupboards (rump-thump!), rattling containers of tin and glass (ding-ring!), shufﬂing and sorting a collection of metal pots and iron pans (ruzz-shuzz!). A culinary orchestra tuning up, clattering vigorously toward the ﬁnale.
This passage starts off fairly simple, building up to the grand metaphor of the kitchen noises as a “culinary orchestra.” It’s also noteworthy for its use of onomatopoeia, which is a great tactic for “showing” sound.
However, this passage isn’t just what Nick hears: it’s also what he feels (“my morning breath warmed the pillow”) and thinks (“I changed the subject in my mind”). The intimate description pulls the reader in, and the passage's rhythm (quite literally!) keeps them engaged.
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Example #4. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel
In this passage, Kristen contemplates her loneliness.
She had never entirely let go of the notion that if she reached far enough with her thoughts she might find someone waiting, that if two people were to cast their thoughts outward at the same moment they might somehow meet in the middle.
The theme of loneliness is evoked by with specific details: the character is shown desperately thinking about human connection. Her use of language — “reached far enough,” “cast their thoughts outward” — illustrates how extreme the character’s isolation is. This also ties into the post-apocalyptic novel’s theme of societal breakdown, which naturally results in isolation. Overall, this description gives us a much better idea of the character of Kirsten and the world of the Station Eleven than if Mandel wrote, “She wished that she weren’t so lonely.”
Example #5. Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White
In this early scene, Fern, the very young daughter of a farmer, learns of a new litter of piglets.
"Where's Papa going with that ax?" said Fern to her mother.
"Out to the hoghouse," replied Mrs. Arable. "Some pigs were born last night."
"I don't see why he needs an ax," continued Fern, who was only eight.
"Well," said her mother, "one of the pigs is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it."
"Do away with it?" shrieked Fern. "You mean kill it? Just because it's smaller than the others?"
From this brief conversation, E.B. White clearly characterizes Fern and sets the central plot in motion. After realizing that her father is about to kill a runt pig, Fern steps up to save Wilbur (as she’ll soon christen him), who will become the main character of the story. This passage also introduces the themes of empathy toward animals and the prospect of death, which pervade the rest of the book. White could have simply written “Fern cared a lot about animals,” but from the dialogue, we see it for ourselves — plus we get a sense of how the plot might unfold from here.
Example #6. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
In this extract from Dickens's classic, orphan Oliver arrives in London for the first time.
A dirtier or more wretched place he had never seen. The street was very narrow and muddy, and the air was impregnated with filthy odours. There were a good many small shops; but the only stock in trade appeared to be heaps of children, who, even at that time of night, were crawling in and out at the doors, or screaming from the inside. The sole places that seemed to prosper amid the general blight of the place, were the public-houses… Oliver was just considering whether he hadn't better run away, when they reached the bottom of the hill.
Oliver’s initial impression of London hits us like a train: you can almost taste the filthy air and hear the children screaming for yourself. And if the description of London’s extreme depravity wasn’t already evident enough, you can tell from Oliver’s reaction that it must be pretty bad — for context, he’s just walked 30+ miles to reach London, and this is the first thing that’s really fazed him.
Of course, Dickens might have just written, “Oliver reached London. It was dirty and crowded.” But while this more or less summarizes the above passage, it completely loses the visceral sense of setting and Oliver’s feelings toward that setting. Without these details, the description would be totally generic.
Example #7. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
In this scene, Montag, a “fireman” tasked with destroying books, hears his boss’s voice in his head, describing the burning of pages.
He could hear Beatty's voice. “Sit down, Montag. Watch. Delicately, like the petals of a flower. Light the first page, light the second page. Each becomes a black butterfly. Beautiful, eh? Light the third page from the second and so on, chainsmoking, chapter by chapter, all the silly things the words mean, all the false promises, all the second-hand notions and time-worn philosophies.”
This excellent use of metaphor (taken from our list of 97 metaphors in literature and pop culture) compares the pages of burnt books to “black butterflies”: an eerie image that, fittingly enough, burns itself into our brains. Though no book-burning actually occurs at this moment (Montag is merely imagining it), the reader can still vividly see what it would look like. We shudder at the contrast between the innocent, petal-like pages and the monstrous, destructive fire. Indeed, this is the pinnacle of showing — it really drives home how powerful figurative language can be.
Example #8. White Teeth by Zadie Smith
Archie scrabbling up the stairs, as usual cursing and blinding, wilting under the weight of boxes that Clara could carry two, three at a time without effort; Clara taking a break, squinting in the warm May sunshine, trying to get her bearings. She peeled down to a little purple vest and leaned against her front gate. What kind of a place was this? That was the thing, you see, you couldn’t be sure.
The stream-of-consciousness style here evokes the rushed chaos of moving house. Also, the juxtaposed descriptions of Archie and Clara (him “scrabbling, cursing, blinding, and wilting” while she calmly assesses the situation) show how different they are — a disparity which will only grow over the course of the book.
Is telling ever acceptable?
Of course, sometimes you have no other choice but to do a bit of “telling” in a story. Yes, it’s a narrative shortcut, but sometimes shortcuts are necessary — especially when you’re trying to explain something quickly, with no fanfare or immersive evocation for readers. Writers often “tell” at the beginning of a story to get the exposition across, or after a “big reveal” where certain details just need to be clearly stated. The important thing is balance; as long as you don’t have too much of either telling or showing, you should be fine.
Finally, remember that there are no hard-and-fast rules for writing. If you’re worried that you’re telling too much and not showing enough, but your writing still flows well and engages readers, don’t feel obligated to change it! And as Jim Thomas says in the video above: “In the arts, rules are more like friendly suggestions. This is especially useful to remember when you’re creating your first or second draft — you’re going to ‘tell’ and that’s okay. You’re still figuring out what your story is about.”
So whether you’re more inclined to show or to tell, just know that with practice, you’ll find the exact style that works for you. And when that happens, you’ll show everyone (sorry, we couldn’t resist!) what you’re made of as a writer.
Do you struggle to show, not tell? Leave any questions, concerns, or tips in the comments below!