And Another Rude Poem that Goes Too Far

We can go too far with showing not telling. This is the poem I was originally going to recite at the Get Writing Conference last Saturday:

Mary had a little lamb.

She also had a duck.

She put them on the mantlepiece

To see if they'd...fall off.

It's just not as funny. Yet we're still relying on the audience identifying and then supplying the missing word, exactly as in yesterday's poem. I think it's not as funny for two reasons: the missing word is generally considered ruder and cruder, and the substitution weakens the joke.

When you're writing, you're creating a world. You want to lure the reader into your world and keep them there. They're usually keen to stay, but can be jolted out. By being crude, the reader is startled out of their comfort zone. I was interested to learn that several friends preferred my later novels because there was less 'bad language'. Now, I don't think there's much in any of my novels, but I took their comments on board. The 'bad language' had jolted them out of their comfort zones and away from my story world.

And then there's the substitution. I think this weakens the joke by pointing out that it IS a joke, a contrivance. The reader doesn't feel as clever as they did in yesterday's poem when they did the work and substituted the word. Instead, it's a trick, and they're the ones being tricked. The subtext runs: You're expecting this rude word, but - ha ha - it's something else quite innocuous.

So there has to be a balance. If we use showing not telling, but make what we're showing too obscure and difficult, it becomes too much like hard work and the reader will give up. If we mislead the reader, the reader will turn away. Sometimes telling is the right thing to do. Part of the writer's job is learning about the balance and getting it right.

When I told my partner of my poetry plans for the talk at the Get Writing Conference he said I must have balls of steel (!) to contemplate reading out such material in front of a group of strangers. Yesterday's poem got a laugh, today's wouldn't. On Saturday I got the balance of smut:crudity right. Tomorrow maybe I won't. Who knows? It's all a matter of trial and error and, balls of steel or not, isn't it fun to be playing and experimenting?

A Rude Poem that Proves a Point

I recited this poem during my talk at the Get Writing Conference on Saturday:

Mary had a little bike,

She rode it on the grass.

And every time the wheels went round

A spoke went up her -

At which point I stopped, and the audience laughed (luckily - I'd have been scuppered if there had been silence). Why did they laugh? I asked them. The answer was because they knew what word was coming next - and in fact one lady helpfully mouthed it at me just in case I hadn't known. But the missing word isn't intrinsically funny, so why the laughter?

I'm sure there are lots of complicated psychological reasons why the omission of a mildly rude word can get such a reaction with a group of adults, but what I was using it for was to demonstrate that the audience was both willing to do some work - ie supply the missing word - and enjoyed the process. In fact, they enjoyed supplying the missing word far more than they would have done if I had said it.

When we're writing we can forget that the reader wants to work, and will enjoy their reading far more if they have to make an effort. That's the basis for show, not tell. We show the reader a situation, the reader does some work and deduces for themselves what's going on. It's much more effective than telling them exactly what's going on. Tell us that Evangeline was nervous, and we're bored. Show us Evangeline's sweaty palms or bitten fingernails and we're delighted to deduce that she's nervous.

Make the readers do some of the work, by showing and not telling, and you've got them hooked on your story.

Those Freddy Krueger Hands...

You're going to think I'm obsessed with this scene, but I suddenly thought of something else it was an example of....

'Hello Mary,' Janice said, flicking her hair back over her shoulders.

Mary gave a brief smile. 'Hi.' She was dressed as Snow White, right down the the sparkly slippers on her feet. They twinkled as she walked over to the drinks table. 'Damn. They've got no cider.'

'Cider?' Janice echoed, pulling a face. She ran her Freddy Krueger hands over the bottle tops. 'Who on earth would be drinking cider at a party like this?'

'Me,' Mary said, pushing the black wig away from her unnaturally pale face. 'I need to get drunk fast.'

...which was withholding information for the reader to work out for themselves - in this case, that Mary and Janice are at a fancy dress party. It's really important a writer does this because unless the reader has to do some of the work, they won't engage, and if they don't engage, they won't read on.

Has anyone ever given you a long and complicated description of what you've got to do without letting you have a go at doing it? It's like watching TV chefs take you through a recipe: the second the show is over you can't remember how to make the stupid cake or whatever it was. You were passive when the information was given to you, so it's in through one ear and out through the other.

Same with reading. If the reader is passive, if it's all plonked down in front of them, they don't have to do any work and they won't engage. So there has to be an element of action, stuff they have to work out. The detective story or thriller is gripping because the whole thing is a form of puzzle, and even better, it's against the clock because the reader is competing with the writer seeing if they can work out the answer before it's given to them.

But the writer can do it on a small scale too. Chuck in a pair of Freddy Krueger hands and see how long it takes before they work out it's fancy dress.

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Telling and Showing

Show don't tell is the creative writing tutor's mantra. Here are three ways you might be telling, and how you'd change it to showing.

1. This was Susannah's way of pretending nothing was happening. Or This was Susannah's first time at the zoo.

This was... It's a very distanced voice, keeping us at arms length from Susannah and how she feels. What about instead...

Susannah stared into middle distance, ignoring what was going on in the seat next door. Or...Wow. So here she was at last, at the zoo. Jeez, it stunk! She'd never imagined that.

2. Telling emotions. She was nervous, she was happy, she was frightened, she was overwhelmed. I've got a CW book somewhere that suggests hunting down every 'was' just to check it's not telling about an emotion, but that might be going a bit too far. Other words to watch out for as 'telling' indicators include seemed/seems and feeling/felt/feels etc. Instead, think how you could show that emotion, perhaps through speech, perhaps through actions, perhaps through physical reactions.

Her eyes darted about trying to locate the quietest, most out of the way place at the party, but bodies pressed in all around her.

3. Description that's not in the character's viewpoint, or that doesn't show their attitude.

Spike considered the scene, weighing the options in his mind as if his brain was a fulcrum for scales that could fall either way. Or...

Which was best? Left or right? Spike hesitated. Shit. He had to get this right, but which was best?

Of course, sometimes it's better to tell, and not show, but that's for another post.

Never Say I'm Nervous

Show, don't tell, has got to be in the top three of writing instructions, along with Write what you know, and Kill your darlings. I think it's the most useful for a writer to remember when you're actually writing. So, maybe a character is nervous. How do you show this? Off the top of my head they could...bite a lip, fiddle with a sleeve, tuck hair behind ears, have a raised heart beat, feel nauseous, shake, repeatedly clear their throat, wipe a sweaty face, nibble a fingernail, clutch a handbag...That's ten actions without too much trouble that all show nervousness. Scatter of a few of these around and you're done. Job sorted.

But why does showing work, where telling doesn't? I think it's because we ask the reader to do some of the work, and the more work the reader does, the more absorbed they are. Imagine being in the audience of a third rate tennis match. You watch the game, but your attention wanders...perhaps you could go for an icecream at the next break, ooh, that woman's wearing a funny dress, I wonder if it's going to rain...Then the cry goes up - the umpire has had to retire and you - yes, you - are going to take over. Now you have to watch each point carefully, make decisions and without noticing, the next hour flies past.

It's the same with writing. 'Imogen felt nervous' only requires the reader to absorb the information. It's passive, attention may wander, the book may be put down. Compare it to: 'I feel fine,' Imogen said, clearing her throat and wiping sweaty palms on her crumpled dress. Now the reader has to pay attention, has to deduce that while Imogen may claim to feel fine, her actions show us that she doesn't. The reader has to be active, has to work, has to pay attention. This reader will read to the end and find it a satisfying, worthwhile experience - and that's what we all want, isn't it?

PS And if you're still not convinced think of this. The first version takes 3 words. The other is 16. Just think of difference to your daily word count!