Show and Tell

This August, I’m doing the “Show and Tell: An Interactive Workshop” online for the FFnP Chapter of RWA, so it seemed time for blatant promotion and to post tips for this.  The “show don’t tell” advice I understand but it sometimes chaps my hide a bit since telling can be a way useful tool for a writer and if folks are struggling to show everything they don’t get around to leaning how to do strong narrative.  That’s too useful a tool for a writer to ignore.  The way I figure it, these are two things you need in your toolbox–same way a carpenter needs both a screwdriver and a hammer.  Hammers really are great for pounding things home–but there are times you need the finesse of a screwdriver to just tighten things up.  Means a writer needs to learn how to both show and tell–and you need to learn when each of these works best for your story. 

Now, about those tips….

Showing:

  • means convening the character in action and words.
  • takes more words because the goal is to create a picture and feeling in the reader’s mind with only words.
  • takes vivid descriptions that reveal the characters emotions to the reader.
  • requires good visualization by the writer.
  • is strongest when you use as many of the five senses as possible: smell, touch, taste, sight, hearing.
  • is the continual search for how to reveal what your character feels and how that character displays (or doesn’t display) those feelings.

 Telling:

  •  means conveying exact meaning to the reader; it is, literally, telling the reader information.
  •  compresses word count (useful in short stories and a synopsis).
  •  alerts the reader that the information, or the character, is relatively unimportant.
  •  can smooth transition in time, distance, or viewpoint.
  •  can establish a mood or setting when you do not wish to do this in any character’s viewpoint.
  •  is the continual search for fresh ways to give your reader information the reader must have.

To know if you’re telling vs. showing, look for “clue” words that tip you off when you may be telling more than showing, such as was, were, are, to be (as in, The sun was hot.).

If the telling is done in a character’s viewpoint, it is really showing us how a character sees the world.

If dialogue is about plot exposition, it is really telling a plot point to the reader—this is why exposition in dialogue usually falls flat and leaden (use dialogue to show more how a character is feeling).

Use of deep viewpoint allows the reader to ‘discover’ your characters through showing that inner person.

A character’s actions always speak louder to the reader than any thoughts or narrative about that character; actions reveal true character—you can tell a reader a character is brave, but if you show that person acting like a coward the reader will believe the action, not the telling.

To better show a character, give your characters mannerisms (physical and verbal habits) that reveal their inner person.

In general, if you have a character thinking something, put that thought into dialogue. 

Most people respond to any motivating stimulus (something happening) in this order FEELING, BETRAYING ACTION, THOUGHT, DELIBERATE ACTION (GESTURE/SPEECH), so that’s how you want to structure scenes, so that a character feels something, acts on that feeling, then says something.

The main except to the above response order comes when training or instinct kicks in action before all else. 

Less can be more (in both show and tell)–what you leave out is often more important than what you include. (Just don’t be obscure.)

Words and sentences and paragraphs that do not add anything actually detract from what is there–the end result is to weaken the good stuff.

Multiple edits are your friend; it’s not necessary to get everything in one pass.  Make one edit about dialogue, the next edit about punching the narrative (telling), the next edit about adding more showing details, etc..

Showing and telling do not have to be absolutes; use more show than tell in a dramatic scene, or use more tell than show in a transition.  Part of the choice about how much of each you have is your style, and part is the effect you want to have on the reader.

For the rest…well, you’ll just have to take the workshop.

Voice

With a workshop pending (one I’m giving, not taking), I’ve been thinking about what to say–what can be taught, what can’t.  And that leads me to thinking about ‘voice’ since that is where we’ll be starting.

A writer’s voice is one of those ‘you know it’s good when you read it, but it’s difficult to verbalize’ things.  But I’m a writer, verbalizing is what I do.  So it’s worth tackling.  Also this seems good timing for the topic–American Idol is starting a new season (maybe the last what with Paula gone and Simon heading out the door, and it’s tempting to wonder if he’s missing that love/hate thing with Paula or just exhausted–how does anyone sit through that many auditions in one lifetime?).

(Confession time–I’ve voted only once…well, okay, twice.  For David Cook. Yeah, they suckered me into thinking other David had the lead, and I fell for it. And boy was I so happy Adam Lambert did not win and get saddled with that awful ‘idol must sing song’ they had.  Sometimes second is a good place to be.)

Anyway, Idol does one thing brilliantly–they show how easy it is to have a bad voice.  Maybe it’s nerves.  Or song choice.  Or simple delusion.  But they show how the “that’s a good voice” is not always subjective–there are folks who can’t sing worth a damn, and that’s painfully clear.  Same goes for writers–there are folks who can’t write worth a damn.

Maybe it’s nerves.  Or story choice.  Or simple delusion.  And I do think that nerves figure into a large part of a bad writing–folks tend to cramp up or go all stiff when faced with a blank page.)  But while you can fix nerves–build confidence, acquire technique, do breathing exercises–and you can fix story choice with better ones, there’s not much that can be done for delusions.  And you can’t really teach someone to have ‘a voice’. 

Now, you can point in the direction for a writer to look to that voice.  And there are techniques to develop voice–plain old writing helps more than anything.  But it’s still something that every writer must find for herself–or himself. Voice comes from experience, education, upbringing. It comes from what you read, and personal taste.  It’s shaped, just as an artist’s eye, or a singer’s voice, is shaped by teachers, mentors, and by what you taken in and put on the page.  There are so many things that go into making ‘a voice’ that it’s no wonder it can’t really be taught.

But I wonder if we’d have more really good writers if a few more teachers at least tried to tackle this?  Or if a few more writers went out looking for their voice, or spent time developing voice?  I know that when you take on a physical skill–riding horses, or dancing–you always want to look at the teacher’s style because that’s going to be your style, too.  You imprint like a duckling on the instructor–that old ‘monkey see, monkey do.’  And maybe that’s the core issue–writers are generally too busy writing to do much teaching.  Either that or they don’t have the credentials, or those who teach writing have been to college and have taken courses, but they haven’t been in the wilderness looking for their voice either–so what they pass along is a lot like BBC-mid-Atlantic don’t get in the way voice.  Which, come to think of it, is at least an okay voice.

So maybe this is something every writer has to find on her own, sort of a rite of passage (and I’ll resist the obvious pun). And the question then becomes–how can you give someone better sign pointers along that path?

New Online Workshop

Monday the “Storytelling Techniques” for writers online workshop starts for NEORWA — that’s North East Ohio Romance Writers of America for the acryonym challenged (and boy is that a mouthfull).

New workshops are always interesting–there’s always a moment of ‘what the hell was I thinking.’ Coupled with the certainty that I will not have enough material to fill a day, let alone several (that never happens, but it always seems all too possible). Add in a dash of wondering why I though I had something to say, and it’s the usual insecurities showing up. I’m convinced these are not just writer neuroses, but writers just happen to write about them (being writers and all). And its just that edge of fear–of performance–that makes it interesting.

I also happen to like teaching. But online classes are odd.

Face-to-face instruction leans heavily on an exchange of the excitment of ideas–on contact. Online that doesn’t exist–and wry humor can bite you on the ass in text form. But the storytelling technique has me excited–it’s something that I’m not sure all that many folks really think about, or study, or take apart. And it’s vital to a good story. Which leads me to my favorite part of workshops–I know I’m going to learn things.

It’s going to be a challenge to figure out what I think–and do. Plus I get the good excuse to look at some other storytellers to pull apart their stuff to see if I can find the ticking heart. Comes of too much of my youth doing jigsaw puzzles, I suspect, which is a useless but soothing hobby. I would have been happy in this life digging up shards of things and fitting them together–puzzles are great training for that. But its not bad to pull apart craft and fit it back together again. It keeps me interested.

Storytelling Workshop

The storytelling thoughts have turned into an October workshop for Northeast Ohio RWA — wonderful how the Internet makes this possible.

We’re going to cover more than writing craft, and actually take a look at what makes a good story because you can have poor or just okay writing, but still have a great story that grabs readers and sells its way into published book and movie deals. So how does a storyteller spin a good yarn on the page?

This workshop covers storytelling techniques writers can use, including:

Words/Voice Mechanics
1.Voice: choice of language
2.Clarity, clarity, clarity
3.Making it non-monotonous

Your Characters
1.Stage presence
2.Believability
3.Letting the reader play too: non-verbal communication

Basic Structure
1.Pulling the reader in: clear and engaging openings
2.Pacing — sequence of events
3.Ending has a sense of closure

Innovation
1.Unique or creative use of language
2.Presenting the sequence of events
3.The meaning of the story artfully expressed or suggested

It should be a fun time, and it’s all new to me, too, so I expect to discover a few thing–the joy of a good class is that the teacher can learn as much as she teaches.

Online Workshops — too much ?

I’m due to give an online workshop with Colorado Romance Writers – in past years this has been very well attended (it’s the Show & Tell Workshop), but this year isn’t looking too full. And might well be canceled. They show other workshops they’ve held in the past couple of months as also canceled. Which makes me think folks are really tightening belts and budgets, and this falls under extras.

I’ve cut back on a few things–less trips, fewer lattes out, and really thinking twice before I buy a book (but I’m still buying and have hit a new streak of great reading).

But I’ve also seen writer contests struggling, pushing back close dates, entries dropping. So now I’m wondering if it’s a time crunch as well as cash–as in the second job take, or the extra work undertaken, or the stress of job shopping (can be hard on the muse, I know).

Maybe it’s due to just too many contests, too many workshops online, too much info floating about. There’s certainly nothing wrong with putting your head down and writing–much more can be learned from the doing instead of the learning. But I do wonder how this will shape the market, and future writers.

What can be taught?

Just finished up an online workshop — it’s like teaching with a paper bag over your head.  You want to see your student’s eyes, to see if they’re getting it, but you have to go by emails (always a tricky medium to use).  There are times I feel as if I’m too harsh, but then it’s compressed teaching (lots over info over 8 posts), and that’s always harsh.

And workshops always lead me back to wondering if there are some things about writing, about story telling, that can’t be taught.

I’ve heard some writers say there’s a certain something that a writer has or does not have–a talent–and if this lacking that person is never going to write a book that will sell.

On the other hand, I’m a great believer in technique and structure, and that if you have those two things, well, you may never hit the best seller list (that also requires not just talent, but luck), you can at least write a decent story that could sell.

But is there a certain something beyond technique, something that perhaps stirs a writer to write in the first place?  A quirk of mind perhaps that goes beyond the talent of putting words together?  Is there an innate skill with words that hits one person, but skips another?  An inner-ear perhaps for the rhythm in words, so that someone might well be language-deaf the same way that someone can be tone-deaf, so that while structure and technique can be taught, that inner-ear will always be missing?

Years ago, I had the luck to take a riding clinic from George Morris who went on to coach the Olympic team.  Brilliant rider–a classical rider.  Harsh teacher.  He never gave praise unless it was more than earned, and often could reduce someone to tears–but he was right. And you came out of his clinics a better rider.

He said that he’d rather have a solid technical rider over a brilliant natural rider. Because the technical rider always has those skills to fall back on–technique will never fail you.  But the brilliant rider will be brilliant one day, and then, the next day that brilliance may not shine–and there’s nothing then to save that rider from crashing and burning.

That’s stuck with me, and seems applicable to writing.

A writer with solid techniques–an understanding of grammar, story structure, scene structures, and how to build a character, show that character in action, and craft emotion into a scene–will be a solid writer. That writer may never be more than solid–but those techniques will never fail that writer. There won’t be brilliance that shines one day, and is dull the next (and that’s got to be a kind of hell in its own unreliable fashion).

So I think that maybe technique is enough–along with the burning desire to keep telling stories.

And I refuse to think that there’s anyone in this world lacking in imagination–that’s got to be hard-wired in our heads.

So perhaps there is a certain something that cannot be taught. There’s a gift that some folks have and it makes that person more than an average writer.

But there’s a place, thank god, for craftsmen in this world–for capable writers who can produce a good product on demand and on schedules.  And it’s not a bad place to be if it leaves you still writing.

April Online Workshop

I’m doing the Show & Tellworkshop online again for OCC–not sure it’s good that this seems to be a perennial favorite. However, I took a year off from giving this workshop, and that was good–time always gives perspective (and new things to say).

The interesting thing about this workshop is that most folks get how to “tell” a story, but don’t get that good “telling” takes as much work to craft beautiful prose as does good “showing” (or action).  In fact, I sometimes think a beautiful narrative passage is even more work.  This is a difficult concept to teach, because, it’s like music–you have an ear for it (language or music) or you don’t.  If you don’t there’s no teaching it.

It’s also interesting in that so many writers are hung up on having been told to show more that that’s all they want to focus on.  And the real trick to learn is not just to show, but to show the RIGHT things.  It’s not the details, the actions, that make a character–it’s the right actions.

The other interesting thing will be to see what mix is in the workshop.  There are always more than a few lurkers, which is cool, but it’s not like a classroom where you can look at the quiet ones and know which ones get it and which ones are struggling.  There are a few teacher’s pets who do every assignment and ask tons of questions but I sometimes have the feeling they’re too focused on doing it ‘right’ and that can defeat the point of learning.  There are the difficult ones, because email as a form of communication can leave much to be desired, and sometimes I wonder why these folks signed up for anything since they just seem to want to do things their ways. And then there are the surprises. That’s the best part of any workshop. We’ll see what this one brings.

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