Showing & Telling: Learn How to Show & When to Tell for Powerful & Balanced Writing

257 Pages·2010·11.25 MB·English

by  Laurie Alberts

Showing
Telling
Learn How to Show When to Tell
for Powerful Balanced Writing
Laurie Alberts
Cincinnati, Ohio
Showing Telling. Copyright © 2010 by Laurie Alberts. Manufac-
tured in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No other
part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems
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who may quote brief passages in a review. Published by Writer’s Digest
Books, an imprint of F+W Media, Inc., 4700 East Galbraith Road, Cincin-
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Alberts, Laurie.
Showing & telling : learn how to show & when to tell for powerful & bal-
anced writing / by Laurie Alberts.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-58297-705-8 (alk. paper)
1. Creative writing--Handbooks, manuals, etc. 2. Authorship--Hand-
books, manuals, etc. 3. English language--Rhetoric--Handbooks, manu-
als, etc. I. Title. II. Title: Showing and telling.
PE1408.A447 2010
808.3--dc22 2009051026
Edited by Scott Francis
Designed by Terri Woesner
Production coordinated by Mark Griffin
Dedicat on
To all my students past and present
About the Author
Laurie Alberts is the author of six books in-
cluding three novels: The Price of Land in
Shelby, Lost Daughters, and Tempting Fate.
Her work has won several awards, includ-
ing a James Michener Award. She teaches
fiction and creative nonfiction in the MFA
in Writing Program at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her
website is www.lauriealberts.com.
Table
OF COnTenTS

Introduction .............................................. 1
Section One
Making Vibrant Scenes
Chapter 1
The Purposes of Scenes ...................... 8
Chapter 2
Types of Scenes .............................. 12
Chapter 3
Scene Structure .............................. 34
Chapter 4
Tools of the Scene Trade ...................... 40
Chapter 5
The Sins of Scenes ............................ 87
Scene Exercises ............................................. 92
Section Two
Creating Essential Summaries
Chapter 6
The Uses of Summary ........................ 96
Chapter 7
Reflection .................................... 125
Chapter 8
More Tools of the Summary Trade ........... 141
Chapter 9
The Sins of Summary ........................ 155
Summary Exercises ......................................... 161
Section Three
Combining Scene and Summary
Chapter 10
Using Summary to Set Up Scenes ............ 164
Chapter 11
Inserting Summary in the Midst of Scenes ..... 173
Chapter 12
Inserting Scene in the Midst of Summary ...... 178
Chapter 13
Scene, Summary, and Pace .................. 181
Chapter 14
Following a Scene With Reflective Summary ... 185
Chapter 15
Balancing Scene and Summary .............. 188
Chapter 16
Transitions .................................. 194
Chapter 17
Beginnings and Endings .................... 199
Scene and Summary Exercises .............................. 210
Appendix A (Story Sample): “Russia Is a Fish” ............. 211
Works Cited ............................................. 243
Index ..................................................... 246
1
Introduction
Inexperienced fiction and creative nonfiction writers are often
told to show, not tell—to write scenes, dramatize, cut exposi-
tion, cut summary—but it can be misguided advice. Good prose
almost always requires both showing and telling, scenes and
summary, the two basic components of creative prose.
First for some definitions:
Scenes are episodes that occur within a specific time and
place, just like in films, and they give the reader a sense of events
transpiring in real time. At their best, scenes allow us to enter
the action, feel the emotions of the characters, empathize, and
even to enjoy catharsis. They grab our attention and let us know
that what is being conveyed matters. Here’s an example:
Pinned to the reclining dentist chair with her mouth
stretched into the shape of a silent scream, Margaret
realized, even before the Novocain took hold, that Dr.
Verbsky would make the perfect father for her yet-to-be-
conceived child. “Open wider, please,” he said, leaning
in, his gloved fingers delicately wielding silvery tools, his
breath faintly spicy from lunch, a lunch that Margaret
had skipped because she didn’t want Dr. Verbsky to
see pieces of it lodged between her teeth. The plastic-
covered light sent rays of revelation into her squinted
eyes. Margaret sensed, without quite feeling, Dr. Verb-
sky’s knuckles pressing into her numb lips. Was it really
true that dentists had the highest suicide rate among pro-
fessionals, she wondered. Was that because they couldn’t
bear causing pain every day, or did potential suicides
tend to become dentists?
2
Showing Telling
In the above scene we are in a specific time (the illusory fictional
clock is ticking away) and place (Dr. Verbsky’s office, the dentist’s
chair). We’re not learning about a series of root canal appoint-
ments, or a series of possible donors, only this one. Even when
Margaret reflects on dentists and suicide, she is reflecting in
the moment, within the scene and not in some vague narrative
ether. We have only the moments that pass under that bright
light. The writer uses a scene here because this is the moment in
which Margaret makes her choice and therefore it has dramatic
import. Though we don’t know when or how she’ll ask Verbsky
to cooperate, we expect that when she does she’ll do it in a scene,
not a summary.
As you can see, scenes are essential to bring a work to life,
yet, for the fiction writer or memoirist, creating only scenes can
rob a work of context and meaning. A work comprised of scenes
alone, especially a long work, can be a welter of dramatic render-
ings, many of which provide information that doesn’t deserve
to take up that much space. If everything is written as a scene,
how does the reader know where the emphasis lies? Where is
the opportunity for narrative reflection? And how does a writer
move between scenes without enormous gaps? Thus the need
for summary.
Summaries are the material in between scenes—they may
contain background exposition, description that doesn’t occur
in a specific scene, interior thoughts, events that happen repeat-
edly or that are being recounted in a compressed fashion, and
narrative commentary or reflection. A distinctive voice, that
elusive quality we all desire as writers, often comes through
best in summary. Here’s an example:
For several weeks Margaret had been reviewing all the
men in her limited sphere, wondering whom she might
approach as a possible sperm donor. She considered
and rejected the trainer at her gym—too judgmental
3
Introduction
about her body; the mechanic at the Ford garage who
reminded her she was about to go off warranty—friendly
but too short; and a college classmate who’d recently
been divorced and had asked to be her friend on Face-
book—too needy and possibly complicated. It was only
when she went to her third root canal appointment that
the answer became clear.
Both the scene and summary above tell us about Margaret’s de-
sire to find a biological father for her child. They both introduce
us to her thought patterns and employ particular details, but
in the summary, time has been compressed to encompass sev-
eral weeks of consideration. Without this summary we wouldn’t
know as much about Margaret, the nature of her search for a
sperm donor, or the unpromising list of possible donors—all of
which tell us something about her limited social connections.
We’ve also learned how recently she began the search process.
The summary gives context to the scene in the doctor’s office.
The Margaret and Verbsky scene can proceed without the sum-
mary but the summary has enriched the scene, and vice versa.
Perhaps the reason telling has gotten such a bad name is
that the craft term summary is often confused with the kinds of
summaries we all had to write in middle school, synopsis and
recapitulation. I always resented the summary at the end of the
famous five-paragraph essay. Couldn’t the reader remember
what I’d written just a paragraph or two ago? And I still resent,
as most readers would, a narrative in which the author explains
what a scene has already made obvious—reporting rather than
evoking the most significant events in the characters’ lives. That
sort of summarizing leaves the reader far removed from the
action and emotions of the characters; it’s alienating and dull.
The trick with summary is determining when it’s a distancing
shortcut or unnecessary explication, and when it’s a chance to