The difference between a story that simply gives information and one that truly grabs you is all about how well it pulls you in. I don’t want you to just know what happened; I want you to feel it, to picture it, to breathe the same air as my characters.
That’s the heart of “Show, Don’t Tell.” It’s a phrase you hear a lot, but it’s rarely broken down into what it actually means. This isn’t just some writing rule; it’s a big change in how you think about writing. Instead of me, the author, just telling you what’s happening, I become a guide, helping you experience it directly. For short story writers, this is so important. When you have limited words, every single one needs to count, and just telling things wastes that precious space.
So, this guide is going to take apart this whole idea. I’ll give you real, actionable techniques and clear examples that turn abstract advice into practical steps. My goal is to make sure your short stories stick with people long after they’ve finished reading.
Understanding the Big Difference: Telling vs. Showing
Before we get into how to do it, let’s nail down what it is.
Telling is direct. It’s me summarizing information, often using abstract words, judgment calls, or just plain explanations of feelings or character traits. It reports something, rather than showing it to you.
- Example (Telling): “He was angry.”
- Example (Telling): “The room was messy.”
- Example (Telling): “She was intelligent.”
Showing is active. It builds a scene, pulling you in with senses, describing actions, dialogue, inner thoughts, and sensory details that get the same information across, but indirectly. It lets you figure it out or experience it yourself. It portrays something, instead of just reporting it.
- Example (Showing – for “He was angry”): “His jaw clenched, a muscle jumped above his temple. He slammed the half-empty coffee mug down, the ceramic rattling against the desk.”
- Example (Showing – for “The room was messy”): “A mountain of discarded clothes spilled from the dresser, mixing with takeout containers and yellowed newspapers that covered the floor. A single, dusty sunbeam highlighted a forgotten spider web in the corner.”
- Example (Showing – for “She was intelligent”): “She broke down the complex equation in moments, her pen flying across the page, mapping out pathways the professor hadn’t even thought of. Later, in the debate, her arguments were flawless, each point logically tearing apart her opponent’s argument.”
The difference is clear: telling gives you the answer; showing gives you the clues, letting you feel the satisfaction of finding the answer yourself. This active involvement is what makes storytelling truly great.
My Showing Toolkit: Practical Techniques
Showing isn’t just one trick; it’s a whole collection of approaches using different writing tools and smart choices. Here are the main techniques I use, broken down with specific examples.
1. Embodied Emotion: The Body’s Language
Emotions aren’t just abstract ideas; they show up physically. Instead of just naming an emotion, describe how it affects your character’s body, face, and actions.
- Telling: “She was scared.”
- Showing: “Her heart hammered against her ribs, like a panicked bird trapped in a cage. Her breath hitched, shallow and quick, as she plastered herself against the cold brick wall, every shadow seeming to stretch and writhe.”
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Telling: “He was embarrassed.”
- Showing: “A hot flush crept up his neck, turning his cheeks a deep red. He mumbled an incoherent apology, his eyes fixed on the scuffed tips of his shoes, wishing the floor would just swallow him up.”
Here’s a tip: For every important emotion you want to get across, ask yourself: How would this emotion physically appear in my character? What involuntary things would happen? What conscious actions might they take or avoid? Think about facial expressions, how they stand, their gestures, breathing, heart rate, or skin changes (like blushing or turning pale).
2. Sensory Immersion: Using All Five Senses
The world of your story isn’t just something you see. It’s a rich tapestry woven with sounds, smells, tastes, and textures. Activating multiple senses plants you right in the scene, making it feel real and immediate.
- Telling: “The kitchen was chaotic.”
- Showing: “The acrid smell of burnt toast hung heavy in the air, fighting with the sickly sweetness of spilled maple syrup. Water hammered against a bubbling saucepan on the stove, while somewhere, a baby cried endlessly. Underfoot, a sticky patch of something unidentifiable squelched with each step, and a greasy film covered every surface, reflecting the dim light from the single bulb.”
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Telling: “The forest was peaceful.”
- Showing: “The air hummed with the lazy drone of unseen insects, a quiet tune against the gentle rustle of leaves overhead. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in dappled gold, warming the patches of moss underfoot. The faint, earthy scent of damp soil and ancient pine needles filled her lungs, a calming comfort.”
Here’s a tip: Pick any scene and consciously try to come up with at least one detail for each of your five senses. Even if you don’t use all five, this exercise trains your mind to notice details more vividly. What do characters hear, see, smell, taste, and touch in that moment?
3. Dialogue as Revelation: More Than Just Talking
Dialogue isn’t just for moving the plot forward. It’s a powerful way to reveal character, internal struggles, relationships, and emotional states without me, the author, having to directly explain it. What characters say, how they say it, and even what they don’t say are all incredibly important.
- Telling: “He was defensive and didn’t trust her.”
- Showing (through dialogue):
“Where were you last night?” she asked, her voice low.
He shrugged, turning his back to stir his coffee. “Out.”
“Out where?”
He slammed the spoon down. “Look, it’s none of your business, alright? What, suddenly I need to log my movements?” His eyes darted to the door, then back to her, a flicker of suspicion. “You spying on me or something?” -
Telling: “She was optimistic despite her difficult past.”
- Showing (through dialogue):
“I know it’s a long shot,” he said, gesturing at the dilapidated building. “No heat, busted pipes, and the roof looks like a colander.”
She tapped a finger against her chin, tilting her head. “But think of the character! And that light…” Her gaze drifted to the single, grubby window, and a faint smile touched her lips. “With enough elbow grease and a fresh coat of paint, this place could sing.”
Here’s a tip: Listen to real conversations. People rarely just blurt out their feelings. Instead, they hint, change the subject, argue, joke, or avoid. Think about what’s really being said beneath the actual words. How do word choice, rhythm, and interruptions show who the character is?
4. Action and Reaction: The Story’s Engine
What characters do is a direct window into what motivates them, what they believe, and how they feel. Just as important are how other characters react to those actions. A chain of cause and effect driven by character behavior is super effective for “showing.”
- Telling: “The old man was lonely and wanted company.”
- Showing (through action/reaction): The old man sat on his porch swing every afternoon, meticulously wiping down the same patch of railing with a perpetually damp cloth. When the neighbor’s child dropped a ball near his fence, his gaze caught on it, hesitant. He waited, then, with a sigh, slowly rose, limping to retrieve it. When he offered it back, his gnarled hand trembled slightly, and his eyes, usually distant, held a hopeful glint. The child snatched the ball and ran, leaving him to sink back onto the swing, the cloth motionless in his hand.
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Telling: “She was a perfectionist and easily frustrated.”
- Showing (through action): She meticulously aligned the pens on her desk, color-coded and precisely spaced. When her colleague knocked one out of alignment, she winced, a sharp breath like a gasp. Her knuckles went white as she silently, painstakingly, nudged it back into place, avoiding his gaze, her jaw tight.
Here’s a tip: For every internal feeling, think about a physical action that would naturally come from it. What would someone do if they felt X, or believed Y, or wanted Z? Then, how would others respond to that action?
5. Internal Monologue & Thought: The Character’s Private World
While “telling” can summarize thoughts, “showing” lets you experience the character’s inner world directly, as it happens. This can be through a stream of consciousness, direct thoughts, or even scattered impressions.
- Telling: “He worried about his financial situation.”
- Showing (through internal thought): Another overdue bill. How many was that now? The total felt like a mountain, growing taller with each passing day. He ran a hand through his hair, his scalp prickling. Should he call his brother again? No, not after last time. He pictured the empty refrigerator, the landlord’s stern face. A cold knot twisted in his gut. Just one more week, he pleaded with himself, just one more week to find a solution.
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Telling: “She was questioning her decision.”
- Showing (through internal thought): Was this really what she wanted? The white dress felt heavy, suffocating. Her gaze drifted to the window, to the distant horizon. A wild, desperate urge to run, to shed this elaborate costume and simply disappear, flickered through her. But then what? The thought was terrifying, tempting, and impossibly foolish. Her stomach churned. No, this was the path. Or was it?
Here’s a tip: Don’t just state what a character thinks. Explore the process of their thought. What memories surface? What worries? What justifications? Fragmented sentences, rhetorical questions, and even sensory details within their thoughts can make it so much more vivid.
6. Figurative Language: Metaphor, Simile, and Symbolism
These literary devices aren’t just for decoration; they’re powerful ways to convey abstract concepts, emotions, or qualities through concrete, relatable images. They allow you to make mental connections that amplify the “showing.”
- Telling: “Her sadness was overwhelming.”
- Showing (through metaphor/simile): “Her sadness was a deep, murky well, its bottom obscured by years of accumulated grief. Each breath felt like drawing air through dense, clinging mud.” OR “Her sadness clung to her like a shroud, heavy and suffocating, muffling the vibrancy of the world around her.”
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Telling: “The city was oppressive and dangerous.”
- Showing (through symbolism/imagery): “The city exhaled a gritty breath, smelling of exhaust and stale ambition. Its skyline was a jagged maw of concrete teeth, constantly threatening to devour the smaller players who dared to venture into its shadowed alleys. Even the pigeons seemed to move with a predatory efficiency, their eyes cold pearls.”
Here’s a tip: Instead of directly stating a quality, think: What tangible thing is this quality like? What image best represents this feeling or idea? Be original; clichés just reduce the impact.
7. Specificity and Detail: The Enemy of Generality
Vague writing is telling. Specific, concrete details are showing. The more precise your descriptions, the more vivid the image you’ll create for your reader.
- Telling: “He had a difficult life.”
- Showing: “His hands bore the marks of it: calloused palms, ridged fingernails stained with grease, a faint scar tracing the back of his left thumb. His shoulders, permanently hunched, spoke of burdens carried for too long, and his eyes, though tired, held the deep, knowing glint of someone who’d seen too much of the lean years.”
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Telling: “The argument was bad.”
- Showing: “The words, sharp as broken glass, splintered the quiet room. Her voice, usually soft, was a raw rasp. His jaw was a tight knot, his silence a wall between them, more damning than any shout. The scent of her perfume, usually comforting, now seemed to mock him, heavy with unresolved anger.”
Here’s a tip: When you find a general descriptor (like “nice,” “bad,” “big,” “sad”), push yourself to provide the specific, observable details that make it that way. Instead of “a beautiful flower,” describe its petals’ color, texture, how light catches it, its scent, how it stands out.
When I Choose to Tell (A Necessary Nuance)
While “Show, Don’t Tell” is super important, it’s not an unbreakable law. There are strategic times when telling isn’t just allowed, but actually preferable:
- For Necessary Background/Summary: You don’t need to show every single moment of a character’s childhood if you only need a general idea of their upbringing. Summarizing lets you quickly move past less critical information.
- Example: “He’d spent his youth bouncing between foster homes, a childhood marked by instability and a persistent need for self-reliance.” (This quickly tells you years of experience without needing a whole chapter.)
- To Control Pacing: Sometimes, you need to speed up a scene or transition. Telling can act as a narrative shortcut.
- Example: “After a week of intense negotiations, the deal was finally struck.” (Instead of going into every painstaking moment of the negotiations.)
- For Minor Details/Non-Essential Information: Not everything needs to be painted with vivid strokes. Routine actions or unimportant facts can be told.
- Example: “He often worked late.” (Unless the reason for working late or the experience of working late is central to the plot or character arc, this is perfectly fine.)
- To Provide Context/Clarity: In complex situations, a brief telling can give you the necessary framework for the showing that comes next.
- Example: “The ancient prophecy, long dismissed as mere folklore, was beginning to manifest in disturbing ways.” (Sets the stage for specific, showing examples of the manifestations.)
The key here is intention. When you tell, do it consciously, understanding why you’re choosing that method over showing, and making sure it serves the story’s bigger purpose. If you find yourself consistently telling about critical character traits, emotions, or plot points, that’s when it’s time to apply the showing techniques.
Blending Techniques: Going Beyond the Basics
Really effective showing often involves a masterful mix of several techniques within a single passage. The goal isn’t to cram every sensory detail into every sentence, but to pick the most impactful elements that build an immersive experience.
Look at this progression from telling to sophisticated showing:
Initial Telling: “The old house was creepy and scary.”
Showing – Stage 1 (Basic Embodied Emotion & Some Sensory):
“A shiver snaked up her spine as she approached the house. The wind howled through broken panes, and shadows danced like skeletal figures on the cracked porch.”
Showing – Stage 2 (Adding Specificity, More Senses, Action/Reaction):
“A shiver, cold as graveyard earth, snaked up her spine the moment her foot touched the overgrown gravel path. The house loomed, a gaunt, charcoal silhouette against the bruised twilight sky. Wind, a mournful banshee, keened through what used to be a parlor window, and the skeletal branches of an ancient oak scraped a frantic tattoo against the siding. She clutched her worn trench coat tighter, the rough fabric a flimsy shield against the pervasive chill that wasn’t just in the air, but seemed to emanate directly from the structure itself.”
Notice how the second “showing” example doesn’t just say the house was creepy, but uses:
* Embodied Emotion: “shiver, cold as graveyard earth, snaked up her spine”
* Sensory Immersion: “charcoal silhouette,” “bruised twilight sky,” “Wind, a mournful banshee, keened,” “skeletal branches… scraped a frantic tattoo,” “rough fabric”
* Specificity: “overgrown gravel path,” “parlor window,” “ancient oak”
* Figurative Language: “gaunt, charcoal silhouette,” “mournful banshee,” “skeletal branches,” “pervasive chill that wasn’t just in the air, but seemed to emanate directly from the structure.”
* Action/Reaction: “She clutched her worn trench coat tighter” – subtly showing her fear and defensive reflex.
This layered approach creates a richer, more immediate experience for you, the reader, without me ever saying “the house was creepy.” You feel the creepiness.
The Revision Mindset: My Showing Filter
Mastering “Show, Don’t Tell” largely comes down to dedicated revision. Your first draft is often where you tell. Your following drafts are where you turn those tells into shows.
The “Show Me” Prompt I Use:
During revision, I actively look for “tell” words and phrases. Common culprits include:
* Emotion words: happy, sad, angry, scared, frustrated, excited, nervous, relieved
* Judgment words: beautiful, ugly, smart, dumb, good, bad, kind, mean, brave, cowardly
* Abstract nouns: difficult, importance, reality, truth, problem, relationship, solution
* Sensory telling: dark, loud, stinky, warm, cold (these need specific details to show them)
* Summary statements: “He was always late,” “She struggled with her family,” “They had a strong bond.”
When I spot one, I apply my “Show Me” prompt:
“She felt nervous.”
* Show me nervous. What does nervous look like? (Taut shoulders, chewing cuticle, darting eyes)
* Show me nervous. What does nervous feel like? (Butterflies in stomach, clammy hands, rapid pulse)
* Show me nervous. What does nervous sound like? (Stammering speech, shallow breath)
* Show me nervous. What actions does someone take when nervous? (Fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, pacing)
The “Why Does This Matter?” Prompt:
For every detail I include, I ask myself: Why is this detail here? What does it reveal about the character, plot, or theme? If a detail doesn’t serve a purpose in showing, it might be extra.
The “Sensory Check-In”:
I read through a scene. Am I relying too much on just sight? Can I bring in sounds, smells, tastes, textures to make it more immersive?
Conclusion
“Show, Don’t Tell” isn’t just a fancy writing style; it’s the foundation of creating truly immersive stories. For short story writers, where every word must earn its keep, it’s an essential skill. By actively using embodied emotion, sensory immersion, revealing dialogue, purposeful action, intimate internal thought, evocative figurative language, and precise specificity, I empower you, the reader, to step into my narrative, to experience its triumphs and tragedies firsthand. This shift from just giving information to actively showing experience transforms my writing from simple descriptions into dynamic engagement, making sure my stories don’t just inform, but truly live within your imagination. Embrace this practice, and watch your short stories become unforgettable.