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 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.