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How to Turn Told into Showed

showed

How to Turn Told into Showed

As I showed (sorry about the pun) in a previous post on the difference between show and tell, this is a tricky concept. But as part of your toolbox of skills, you need to be able to turn tell passages into shown ones when you think it’s important to do so. So this post is about practicing this operation.

From ‘told’ to ‘showed’

Let’s take a couple of pieces of tell and convert them.

First example: Luke is a nice guy

Told: Luke is a nice guy. Nobody would disagree with that. He’s a volunteer firefighter, he cuts the grass for Mrs. Blanchard next door, and he’s very active at his community center.

Telling the reader what to think about Luke and then providing proof to back up the statement is still tell. Showing can go any number of ways. Here is one:

Shown: Luke called into the house. “Mrs. B., do you want me to move the big planters?”

Mrs. Blanchard came out of the house, carrying a tray. “Lemonade with lots of lemon, just the way you like it.”

Luke took a big gulp. “Hits the spot. So what about the planters?”

“Oh, you’ve done so much. I hate to ask for anything more.”

Luke laughed. “Hey, I do it for the best lemonade in town.”

You could have shown any of the other actions described in the told sentence. Not only does this scene establish that Luke is a nice guy but we get other useful information: he does this regularly and is modest in that he de-emphasizes his good deed by the last line. Tell can be more efficient but show gives you a richness you often want.

Second example: Nancy is afraid

Told: The noise was eerie. Nancy was afraid but she steeled herself to investigate.

Again, the writer tells the reader how to interpret the environment and what Nancy’s reaction is. It is the writer saying, “Trust me, this is how it was.”

Shown: The floorboard creaked as she stepped on it and Nancy whirled around. Nobody. Her shoulders were coming back to their position when they shot up again. Far in the distance, maybe outside, maybe upstairs, a moan. Nancy strained to hear. Not quite a moan—lower, more like an animal.

She tried to breathe but all that came were short, jagged bursts. She turned to the front door and made a first step towards it when, again, the sound. Upstairs, definitely. She closed her eyes. I can’t! And then stood up straighter. I have to.

See? Because you are describing what is happening rather than summarizing it, the reader can experience the eeriness and fright himself rather than getting it filtered through your interpretation.

Doesn’t show take longer to do?

Yes—both for the writer to write and the reader to reader. So, are we in a race I don’t know about? As I have discussed in other posts, the point is not to get to the end in record time; the point is to create a story which has the reader enthralled all the way there. Show is often a more effective way to achieve that.

By the by, as with many of the things I am discussing, you don’t need to go overboard. Keep show for the bits which are important to your story. You can often get away with tell for the other parts.

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Creating a Page-turner when the Ending is Known

Page-turner

Creating a Page-turner when the Ending is Known

The stage musical, Come from Away shares a phenomenon with movies like Titanic, Apollo 11, and Argos. That is, from the start, you know how the story is going to turn out. The ship will sink, the astronauts will land safely, and the American diplomats will be rescued from the 1979-1981 Iranian revolution. In Come From Away, the airline passengers get safely home.

The problem is that a story often gets a lot of its uumph from the reader wanting to know how things turn out. Will the villain get her comeuppance? Will the lovers get together? Will Mary find her lamb? Who killed Cock Robin? (Sorry, got carried away a bit).

It’s tricky to write a plot with a known ending because you lack the element of surprise/satisfaction/ etc. at the climax. Readers can get impatient because they think they know where things are going.

This happened to me with Titanic. By the mid-movie, I was thinking, “Yeah, yeah. Sad story. Boo-hoo. When is the sucker gonna sink?” Also cut down on my empathy for Leonardo DiCaprio’s watery fate, as you can imagine.

So, it can be a difficult task to keep reader interest with one hand effectively tied behind your back.

Writing a page-turner with one hand tied behind your back

First off, you need all the regular story-telling skills I’ve been talking about in this blog. But now, you need to put in special effort to keep the reader entertained until she gets to the ending. Here are some ways to do it.

Tension in every scene.

You can focus on how difficult it was to achieve the end goal and/or how easily things could have gone off track. You can ratchet up the tension and rivet the reader by detailing these trials.

Fate of (fictional) main character unknown.

Often, even in a true story, the main character (let’s call him Tom) is fictional—inserted in the story as an anchor for the reader to identify with. This allows you to play with that Tom’s fate. He can be instrumental in achieving the end (rescue, safe landing, etc.) and still himself come to a sticky end. Thus, assuming the reader identifies with him—and if she doesn’t, we have a whole different issue—but assuming she does, she is going to want to know how things work out for him. And thus you have a more typical story with an unknown climax. ‘Course, doesn’t work as well for memoirs.

Surprise ending.

Quentin Tarentino did this in Inglorious Basterds. The commandoes plan to kill Hitler in a cinema by igniting the flammable nitrate film. Knowing that Hitler did not die this way, I was intrigued to see how Tarentino would pull off a satisfying ending given this reality. And then Hitler dies in the fire! Despite a niggle that millions of Tarentino fans will have a distorted view of history, changing the ending does perk up the reader/viewer.

Surprise interpretation.

In my novel, SCAM, four out-of-work Canadian actors pretend to be an intact British acting family to win roles on an American sitcom. It took on the feel of a heist movie—i.e. it isn’t one unless you have a heist. Similarly, there is no novel if they don’t get the parts. Since the reader knows this, I interpreted the events in what I think was a surprising way. Please read it to see if you agree! (ADV.)

So, writing a story where the ending is known by the reader before she starts the novel can be tricky. But it is possible to do so if you are aware of the special challenge you face.

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Come From Away—Straight-forward Story-telling

Story-telling

Come From Away—Straight-forward Story-telling

Come From Away is a Canadian musical which played on Broadway and toured extensively. It tells the true story of a small community in Newfoundland which had to cope with the aftermath of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attack in the United States.

Because of the attack, many planes were diverted to Gander, Newfoundland. This is the amazing story of the town housing, feeding, clothing, and even entertaining the stranded passengers.

As a play/musical, Come from Away has two writing characteristics I want to highlight: one here and one in the next post.

Technique: Straight-through story-telling

This technique is interesting, if only because the pure form isn’t seen that often. That is, the story starts at the beginning (the townspeople’s bucolic existence before the planes landed) and goes to the end in a straight line (the stranded passengers returning home). I know this seems kind of ‘duh’, but most fiction has diversions off that straight path.

For example, a passenger is the mother of a New York firefighter but doesn’t know what is happening to him. The playwright makes the interesting choice in allowing her to speak of her anxiety, but with no flashbacks to show their love. A flashback is as easy to do in the theater as it is in fiction writing—the mother and her firefighter son are in a spotlight and the dialogue shows this is the mother’s memory of her son.

Advantages of the straight-through

Well, for one thing, it’s the way we typically tell stories. What happened, then what happened next, etc. It’s a form we’re familiar with and can take comfort from as we would well broken-in slippers.

It is also more efficient because there aren’t any interludes which might impede the forward action of the story. While I don’t typically advocate for efficiency as goal in writing, when a series of events has to be covered in a limited period of time, you might realistically pursue a little efficiency.

Disadvantages of this approach

In particular, the use of flashback may be the opportunity to connect emotionally with a particular character such as I discussed above with the mother and her firefighter son. A flashback takes you from guessing or assuming what her love is to seeing it for yourself.

Scene setting can also be done in flashback. What if the musical started when townspeople were in the midst of their herculean efforts to help the stranded passengers? It would focus immediately on the central point of the play. How the townspeople got to that point could be done in quick flashbacks which give the reader/watcher the information about the setting or past he needs at the moment needed. This is rather than knocking off the explanations at the top when their significance may not yet be clear.

Which is better?

It’s all a matter of choice—straight-through or a more convoluted structure. One way isn’t necessarily better than the other—but it does shape how the reader/watcher experiences the event.

So when you have a story to tell, take a moment to think whether the familiar straight-through, soup-to-nuts approach best serves or whether you might want the soup at the end and dessert somewhere in the middle.

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How to Tell Whether it’s Being Shown or Told

shown

How to Tell Whether it’s Being Shown or Told

As I covered in a previous post, Let the Reader Participate in the Story, whether a story is shown or told can make a big difference to the reader’s enjoyment. However, writers often have trouble knowing what mode they’re writing in. So, the post is about telling the difference between show and tell.

Shown or told?

Look at the image at the top of this post. Is the story being shown or told? Obviously what the person is saying is very vivid as the other person can picture it. So that makes it shown, right?

I would say not—one person is telling the story to another other. Shown would be relating it from the point of view (POV) of the woman watching the ship. I think this is telling because the story-teller (blue person on the left) has to infer what the protagonist is thinking and feeling. If told from the protagonist’s POV, the chances of it being shown go up.

Other examples

This is a deceptively simple concept as I think the example above indicates. I realize that not everyone might agree with my take on it and I accept that opinions can differ on the line between the two concepts. Which just shows you how complex this whole thing is. So, let’s try a couple more examples.

Told

The town has never welcomed strangers. Dunno why. Some say it’s the prairie air. Others think that the townspeople have never gotten over that unfortunate hot air balloon invasion of 1984. But fact remains, the municipality of Dunton Heights is only good for those who were born in it.

Does it surprise you that this is that I consider this a tell passage? It is because the reader is told how to think about the town (i.e. unwelcoming). A way to show this might be a scene when a stranger moves into the town.

It should be noted that tell has its place. If this passage were unimportant information that the reader nevertheless needs to know, it’s a good use of tell. In addition, tell does not preclude the author’s voice coming across.

Shown

Ice crunched under Shana’s feet. She closed her eyes against the blowing snow and thought about how difficult everything was. If only she could banish her problems as easily as she could shake off the snowflakes.

Again, perhaps a bit of a surprise as show often uses dialogue. But not necessary. We are being shown what is physically happening around her. Tell would more likely be something like:

Shana loved winter and usually welcomed it. But her problems are not going to melt as easily as a snowfall would.

See, this is pretty tough. The rule of thumb I use: if what I wrote tells the reader what to think about the situation, it’s more likely tell (e.g. the town didn’t welcome strangers). If the writing lets the reader decide what is happening (e.g. ice crunching underfoot suggests winter), then it’s more likely show. But not always. Sorry.

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Readers Participate in Your Story

Participate

Readers Participate in Your Story

In a previous post, He Shoots, He Shows!, I pointed out that readers participate in your story whether or not you want them to.

I learned this lesson from my first novel (never to see the light of day) which I circulated among friends. One reader thought the heroine Virginia was a bitch because she had a lovely husband but was messing up the nice guy she was having an affair with. Another thought the husband was a villain because his coldness forced his wife into the arms of the nice guy. Another thought the nice guy was a weakling for agreeing to the affair.

See? Same novel but completely different reactions.

Reader reaction

You can’t control how people engage with your fictional (and even non-fictional) work because readers bring themselves to the story. That is, their own world views influence how they see your work. In my example, people’s history/values around marriage, affairs, relationships, etc. are going to affect how they interpret the story.

You can’t control this nor should you try because part of the fun of reading is identifying with the stories and characters. Don’t attempt to take this away from your readers.

Having said that, I suspect that there might still be some niggle.

Participate fine. But I want my message to come across

Understandable.

So, there’s a good news and a bad news thing with this.

The good news is that your mastery of your craft will help get across your message, whether it is the protagonist is more sinned against than sinning or Mary really should end up with John. One of the important ways to achieve this is to show readers unfolding events rather than telling them about them. It ups the chances readers will identify with the story and hence your intent. In fact, if you get feedback that your message is not getting across, it is an opportunity to go back to the work and see how you can show more effectively.

The astute among you will immediately spot the fly in the ointment. “But,” I can hear you saying, “If I show the events, it gives them even more leeway to interpret the way they want.”

That is the bad news bit I was talking about. It is true—showing does indeed give readers more opportunity to bring their own values and perspectives to the piece. So, the remedy for getting your message across (i.e. show) also makes it easier for them to adopt an interpretation different from what you might wish.

Where do we go from here?

The answer is not to pepper the piece with a lot of stuff about how the reader should understand the story, neither in the tell part nor in the characters’ dialogue.

The answer is to accept that the ship has sailed on trying to control the message.

This is not a battle for control nor should it be. If you want to control the message, write propaganda. If you want to write fiction or memoirs, just write it and let the chips fall where they may.