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    Four Ways Underwriting Can Hurt Your Story and How to Fix It

    Over the course of this series, we’ve learned what it means to show versus tell. We’ve discussed the significance of “show don’t tell” with respect to conflict and tension. And we’ve seen what happens when you show and tell simultaneously. But what happens when we fail both to show and to tell? Underwriting is what happens.

    In this fourth and final installment of my series on showing versus telling, we’re going explore the consequences of underwriting, and the kinds of narrative omissions that can make your writing difficult or even impossible to follow.

    Underwriting Through Omitted Context

    A few months ago, I edited a manuscript in which the tension underlying a long-awaited confrontation between the protagonist and her best friend emerged from blaming her friend for the death of a parent. But there was a problem: Until the pages immediately ahead of this confrontation, there was no indication within the text of the story that the protagonist blamed her friend, or that she was motivated by a need for revenge.

    These were fundamental components of characterization and conflict in this novel. But they simply hadn’t been mentioned.

    Basic context is essentially whatever information readers need at any time to understand the story or scene in the way in which it’s meant to be understood. And it’s easier to miss than you may think. After all, you, the author, know the motivations of your characters. You know what drives the conflict. You know what your characters are supposed to know. In the course of writing, cutting, rewriting, and revising—everything that goes into crafting an effective novel—it’s not difficult to see how you may inadvertently delete or fail to mention something that, to you, is already evident.

    But it’s not evident to readers. So readers, inevitably, are lost.

    We learned in the first installment of this series that context emerges from conveying information alongside narrative action. The information in this case might be narration describing the protagonist’s feelings about her best friend and the confrontation she wants. The action could be scenes that show her as vengeful and angry and concrete efforts to track down her friend to confront her. One way or another, we need that context in order to understand the story.

    Are you omitting essential context? Consider the following questions:

    • Have you established the reasons this scene is taking place?
    • Does the scene emerge from clearly established past action?
    • Have you made any revisions in which you might have deleted important details of characterization and conflict?

    Underwriting Through Omitted Setting

    The first installment in the show vs. tell series also taught us the importance of specific, sensory detail in our settings. But the importance of setting itself is a matter of basic context.

    Suppose two characters are having a fistfight and one knocks the other to the ground. The connotations of that action are dramatically different if they’re in a school parking lot surrounded by classmates versus alone in a grassy field. Or suppose they’re in a narrow rowboat in the middle of a lake during a deadly thunderstorm. It makes a big difference to know if a character might fall into the violent water or onto hard asphalt in front of friends who might laugh at her. Take away the setting and you lose the fundamental details of the scene, and potentially also its significance in the context of the story.

    Setting, then, is about far more than only specific and sensory details. It’s also about time, place, and context, and characters present. A scene must be set before it can be advanced.

    Are you omitting needed setting? Consider the following questions:

    • A scene must be set before it can be advanced. Did you provide setting at the start of the scene?
    • Have you established details that will be important in the action to follow?
    • Do you continue to provide details of setting throughout the scene?

    Underwriting Through Omitted Action

    But important narrative omissions can be smaller still. One of the most common manifestations of failing to both show and tellis the omission of basic action. It looks a lot like this:

    Laura saw the terrorists running toward her, guns drawn. Bam! Bam! Laura turned and walked away.

    What happens in this scene? It’s hard to say. The sound effects are probably meant to indicate guns firing, and only the terrorists are said to have guns. Yet Laura walks away without apparent injury or consequence. Does that mean she shot them? Again, there’s no writing to suggest that she has a gun, and the narration also doesn’t show anything happening to the terrorists.

    Omitted action is one of the surest ways to lose your readers. If a reader doesn’t know what’s happening, what cause does he have to keep reading?

    Are you omitting important action? Consider the following questions:

    • How much of the action you’ve written is suggested versus actually shown? Are your suggestions clear enough?
    • Are you relying too much on other tools (sound effects, dialogue, etc.) to carry the weight of action better described in narration?
    • Are we missing beats in-betweenthe action?

    Underwriting Through Omitted Transitions

    Transitions are another basic building block of narrative action, because it’s transitions by and large that guide us from one moment to the next. It’s transitions that define the changes in place and time most long-form narratives require (because very few take place in only one setting in real time).

    When we omit transitions, we end up with writing like this:

    Barry honked his horn, but the cars in front of him refused to move. “Tough morning?” said Jessica from the next cubicle over.

    As with omitted action, writing like this is going to leave your readers more than a little bit puzzled. Clearly there aren’t cubicles in what we assume to be Barry’s car (and ideally setting is established such that we aren’t just assuming that). So how do we get to our new setting? What, in fact, is our new setting? It needs to be set early so we can carry on with the scene.

    You don’t need to show readers step by step how Barry gets to the office. All you need is a transition. For example, you might write, “A half hour later, Barry settled in behind his desk at the law offices of Demchick & Machate.” You might also divide these sentences with a section break, which usually indicates a new scene in a new time and/or place. But we need something to guide readers from one moment to the next.

    Are you omitting basic transitions? Consider the following questions:

    • Does the scene change? If so, how do you let readers know?
    • Do we at any point jump forward in time? Again, how do readers know?
    • Do you establish a new setting whenever there’s a change in time and/or place?

    It’s important to keep in mind that the purpose of showing versus telling, on a fundamental level, is to convey information in an effective and engaging fashion. This isn’t possible if you aren’t conveying information at all. So be sure to keep an eye out for underwriting as well as overwriting as you refine your prose and embrace the principle of show vs. tell.

    Do you more often underwrite or overwrite? Let us know in the comments below!

    3 Ways to Avoid Overwriting When You Show AND Tell

    We know that it’s wise in writing to show versus tell. But in my experience as a book editor, I’ve long observed that one of the greatest challenges faced by any author is getting outside their own head to determine what and how much information readers need to understand a story as intended. In other words: How much do you show? How much do you tell? How do you know when you’ve shown enough?

    It’s because of this uncertainty that a lot of writers find themselves both showing and telling to ensure that their readers understand. The inevitable result is overwriting, and overwriting, of course, is one of the most common problems faced by novice authors—in fact, I wrote an entire series on it. So with this third installment in our series on Show vs. Tell, we’re going to discuss three concepts to ensure that you don’t tell what is already clearly shown.

    (Missed the first post in this series? Click here to start at the beginning.)

    Action Reveals Character First

    In the first installment of our series, we discussed the challenges of avoiding exposition early in a manuscript. Because it’s so crucial to establish early any narrative’s primary characters, it’s natural for characterization to become part of exposition. This often remains the case even when the author is also using specific action to show characterization.

    Recently, I edited a novel in which the author devotes several paragraphs to explaining the protagonist’s best friend—his playful nature and his tendency to act without thinking—before they launch into a good-natured fight. Only a short while later, a page or more is spent introducing the protagonist’s love interest and her frequent exasperation with him, immediately ahead of their first argument.

    But the good-natured fight itself can show the best friend’s playfulness and recklessness. The argument can show the love interest’s exasperation.

    This isn’t unusual. In fact, I see it all the time. But it’s important to remember that characters are revealed and defined by action—the choices they make and the things they do. And it’s most effective to let that action come first.

    If some additional narration is needed during or afterward for context and background, that’s okay—showing versus telling, after all, doesn’t mean never telling anything. But rather than repeat characterization already told in narration, it should advance, develop, and clarify characterization shown through action.

    Don’t Explain the Subtext

    Sometimes it’s not just a matter of telling readers what the action already shows. Sometimes it’s a matter of telling them what the action implies.

    In another post, I’ve discussed subtext with respect to theme, in particular, how the theme of your story is best not stated outright. But theme is not the only aspect of a story covered by subtext. Consider, again, characterization. A character’s motivations are defined by their wants, needs, and flaws, but you don’t necessarily expect each character to say outright “I need to reconcile emotionally with my brother” or “I struggle with self-confidence.” In fact, needs are by nature unconscious—oftentimes the character to whom they apply doesn’t know what he needs. It’s the story itself that will reveal this.

    This doesn’t mean that such information can never be stated aloud. It depends on the character, the story, and the context. But oftentimes providing such information directly can be unnatural, and at the very least redundant if the story itself is showing these character details effectively.

    Symbolism is subtext too. Maybe your imagery is littered with rings and circles meant to represent the endless and eternal nature of life. That’s fine—in fact, symbolism can be an excellent way to add an extra dimension to your descriptions—but the purpose of a symbol is to represent something. If you explain the meaning outright, you’re no longer representing—you’re just saying. Or, in other words, you’re telling as well as showing.

    Your Story is Not a Thesis Paper

    Many writers are inclined to explain their meaning—a lot. And it’s often the most obviously gifted of writers crafting the most serious of literary novels who struggle with this.

    Certainly, there’s nothing wrong with an author seeking to write a great work of literary fiction. But I’ve worked more than once with extraordinarily talented and literary-minded authors inclined to expound at considerable length on all aspects of the inner workings of their characters and the significance of their actions. The writing can be beautiful, but ultimately the novel itself begins to read as if the author is not only writing their novel, but simultaneously the thesis paper on their novel.

    This can be problematic for all the reasons we’ve discussed: It says outright that which works best as subtext and it’s redundant in telling that which is already clearly shown. But we also need to consider the role of the reader—because the reader too plays a role in any great story. It’s the author’s job to convey the story; it’s the reader’s job not only to read and, hopefully, enjoy, but also to interpret. The magic of reading a novel or memoir is in the way an author’s intentions interact with a reader’s personal experience. No two people experience a story exactly the same way.

    So it’s important not to take that part of the process out of the reader’s hands. Don’t tell readers what to think. Write a great story that makes them think.

    An important part of embracing the practice of showing versus telling is being confident in the potency of what you show. When the action is clear and the characterization strong, and when the story and symbolism reveal in themselves the truths you mean to convey, then you’ll find that you no longer need to tell. It’s a crutch you can do without. And your writing will be so much stronger for it.

    Where do you struggle most in scaling back on telling versus showing? Let us know in the comments below!

    harrison-demchick-book-editor

    Harrison Demchick came up in the world of small press publishing, working along the way on more than two dozen published novels and memoirs, several of which have been optioned for film. He is an award-winning, twice-optioned screenwriter, and the author of literary horror novel The Listeners. He’s part of The Writer’s Ally team as a developmental editor of fiction and memoir, for which he’s currently accepting new clients.

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