Show and Tell

“Show, don’t tell.” This has become such ubiquitous advice for writers that it is accepted as dogma, but may have entered the realm of the cliché. Assuming, that is, that it ever had any real (or, at least, clear) meaning. I suspect that a revolution to overthrow this particular regime is long overdue.

In the first place, no one has ever been able to make clear to me, in a succinct fashion, what exactly the difference is between “showing” and “telling” when it comes to the written word. The general approach is to provide an example. Take this example, borrowed from another blog (chosen simply because it was the first to come up when I did a Google search for “Show, don’t tell) which can remain anonymous. This, we are told, is “telling”:

 “He sits on the couch holding his guitar.”

And this, we are told, is “showing”:

“His eyes are closed, and he’s cradling the guitar in his arms like a lover. It’s as if he’s trying to hold on to something that wants [sic] to let go.”

Just a moment’s reflection will reveal that the application of the word “telling” to the first example and “showing” to the second is completely arbitrary. It would be possible to switch this application with ease. One could argue that the first sentence is, in fact, the one that shows, because this is, after all, the only thing that the observer would see: a man sitting on the couch holding a guitar. The second sentence, by contrast, tells us a whole lot more about what is going on, none of which is actually observable. Perhaps this is just a bad example. The problem is that it is very difficult to come up with a good one.

Let me try to rewrite the first version:

“He sits on the couch with his eyes closed, his lashes flickering slightly, and the movement back and forth of his eyes visible behind the lids. He pulls the guitar closer to his body, pressing it against his breast. The tightness of his grip turns his knuckles white.”

Here I have described in much more detail what can actually be observed. I have tried to show what the guitar holder is feeling, without actually telling the reader. This, it could be argued, is “showing”. In the second version cited above, it becomes “telling” as soon as something is reported that cannot be observed.

I may have accidentally demonstrated here what the difference between showing and telling actually is, and it is clearly not what the author of that other blog thinks it is. Both the first and third version are showing: the third version simply shows more of what is going on. The second example, which is the blogger’s example of showing, is, in fact, telling. This simply serves to highlight the lack of precision and the degree of ambiguity surrounding these terms.

I would argue that sometimes telling is more effective than showing. For example, it is probably more effective to tell the reader that the character “was scared shitless”, than to describe in detail the change in the character’s pallor, the shallowness of his breath and the quickening of his pulse. “He was scared shitless” moves the action along at a faster pace. Showing in detail may be useful for creating a mood, building suspense, or moving the reader along slowly.

Although I have, in the process of writing this blog, clarified somewhat to my own satisfaction what the difference between showing and telling actually is, I think the point remains valid that the phrase is perhaps past its use by date, and was never very useful anyway. Much of what people describe as telling, is, in fact, just poor showing; and much of what they describe as showing is, in fact, telling. Whether we are showing or telling (and we need to do both), the point is to do it well, with some imagination and flair.

The Beauty of Chaos

I am looking at my desk. It’s scary. I have been told that I have an orderly and tidy mind, but if my desk is an outward manifestation of this, I cannot believe that this is true. It reminds me a little of the world. People who believe in creation will often point to the world, holding up its wondrous order and efficiency as evidence that a mind is at its basis. The world is indeed a wondrous place. However, as you look more closely into it, ordered and efficient it most certainly is not. Chaotic and wasteful, are the words that come more readily to mind.

“Nature” often achieves her goals by “throwing everything at a problem”, so to speak. Consider ants. Far from representing a well-oiled, well-ordered machine, colonies are more often a disorganized rabble. Sheer numbers means that they eventually get there, i.e. achieve their purpose. There would be much more orderly and efficient ways of achieving their goals were this “planned”. I suggest that the last thing we should do is “Go to the ant… and consider her ways” (Proverbs), at least if we are in search of models of efficiency and cooperation. If we are in search of how order arises out of disorder and chaos, then ants are our girls.

You do not have to look far into the natural world to recognize that there is no plan, just as there is no plan for how my desk operates. If there is a mind behind the natural world, it is a decidedly disorderly and wasteful one. But the beauty and wonder of the world lies precisely in this: that order and structure arise out of chaos and randomness. Once you have glimpsed this process, you will stand in awe of it and never look back. To see this as in any way “planned” is not only, in the end, rather silly, but also robs the natural world of its true beauty. To see the world as planned is not to see it as it is, but to see it as our minds would like it to be – at least as very tidy people would like it to be. Religion is the obsessive compulsive part of our nature that likes everything to be in its place. Really the world is just a wonderful, exciting and ever-surprising mess.

And no, you probably will never find that other sock.

"Real" Reality

Why do I write? Why do I bother writing something here every day? Why am I still struggling on with my fourth novel. I write because I can’t paint and I can’t make music. In other words, for some reason, I need a creative outlet. Words are the notes. Words provide the palette. But to what end? What is the point of creativity?

It seems clear to me that creativity is closely related to spirituality; that, indeed, it may be the essence of spirituality. It is a way of responding to the world around us. However, this is not only reactive: it is also very active. Creativity is not simply about reflecting reality, but shaping it. Art brings something into the world that was not present before. It is creatio ex nihilo. Clearly we draw upon existing materials to form our creations. But what we create is not simply a rearrangement of things. There really is more there afterwards than there was before. In this sense it is ex nihilo. I can measure an increase or decrease in mass and energy. I can even find ways to measure an increase or decrease in order. But can I measure an increase in beauty, meaning, humour or value (I am not talking about monetary value)? I used the term “more” to describe the change in the world when a work of art is produced, but this is really a hangover from our materialistic way of thinking, in which everything is measurable and quantifiable. What art brings into the world is not really measurable in this way: it is more than just “more”; which, I suppose, is a way of speaking of transcendence.

All of this is a convoluted way of saying that I write in order to take myself and the reader beyond reality; or more deeply into reality. These are merely spatial metaphors for the process and the experience. Writing is far from being the only way to achieve this, and possibly not the best. Nor do I claim to be particularly good at it. Nor does this imply that reality is something to be avoided, or replaced by something better or more real. What art does reveal is that reality is more real than it first appears to be.  

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All-read-E: Helping you to become the great writer you already are

Getting Pithed

“Perfection of means and confusion of ends seems to characterize our age” – Albert Einstein

There is someone I am following on Twitter who seems to have made it his mission to tweet pithy sayings, such as the above, throughout the day. It is interesting that so many such sayings are eminently tweetable. Perhaps Twitter is not so new after all. Perhaps throughout the ages great men and women have been twittering away at us without our realizing it. There are certainly advantages to propagating such pithy sayings. Their brevity makes them easily communicable, and perhaps even memorable. Their structure also sometimes makes them memorable, often via the juxtaposition of opposites, or the inversion of another popular idea. There is an almost formulaic quality to these pithy, memorable sayings. “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” This perfectly exemplifies the point I am making. Those who cannot recall the not-very-memorable movie, Mystery Men, may nevertheless recall the “wise man” who was always producing sayings like this: “If you do not control your anger, your anger will control you” etc. etc. etc.

So, what about our friend, Albert’s, pithy contribution. I suppose what he was saying, all those years ago, is that our present society is technically very proficient, but lacks clear goals and ethical guidelines. We can do a lot of stuff really well; but we don’t quite know what to do, or why to do it. As a result we tend to react, rather than act, bouncing around from one thing to another, and constantly changing direction, like the ball in a pinball machine. I’m not sure what our score is.

So let me leave you with a thought: “It is better to do something good badly, than to do something bad well”. I have no idea whether that is true, but at least it is pithy.

Beyond Good and Evil

What would we do if we were suddenly to discover, hidden in a cellar somewhere, a collection of brilliant and inspiring paintings, paintings with the unmistakable sign of creative genius (whatever these things might be, both the genius and the sign indicating its presence). And what would we then do if, hidden among the paintings, was undeniable evidence that these were painted by one Adolf Hitler?

On the other hand, what would we do if irrefutable evidence were to emerge indicating that a great, revered man – let’s not name him, lest this somehow suddenly become “true” – had, in fact, sexually abused several children over his lifetime. Let us suppose that this man was a great spiritual leader, or a great humanitarian.

What I have written, and how I have written it, already indicates something about what our (that is, society’s) response would be. How? Well, I have no trouble naming Hitler, because few among us could seriously envisage such a possibility: that beauty could emerge from such a soul. And, if it did, I imagine that the works would quickly be dismissed as rubbish; or claims would be made that they were painted by someone else, and that Hitler had “stolen” them. Besides, how dare we suggest that such an evil person might also have done some good! We prefer to see our evil nicely packaged and segregated from goodness and beauty. Even if those works of art were indeed magnificent, and undeniably attributable to Hitler, this would do nothing to change our and history’s opinion of the man.

On the other hand, I could not bring myself to name a “good” man as the perpetrator of evil. Why? For several reasons. First, because even a completely unsubstantiated claim that a “good” man has committed an evil act can quickly acquire the patina of “fact”. Suspicion alone is often enough to tarnish a reputation. Secondly, we are, in fact, very quick to condemn “good” people who commit acts that are perceived as evil. Is this because we feel particularly let down by them? Is it because good people shame us, and to see them fail makes us feel better about ourselves and, above all, better than them? Thirdly, while no amount of beauty that Hitler was seen to create would do anything to change our opinion of him, even a tiny amount of evil suspected in the life of a “good” person will tarnish and undo all the good they have achieved during their lifetime.

Can “evil” people do good? Most certainly, because they are not, in fact, evil, although some or many of their acts might be. In our eyes, though, they will remain evil. Can “good” people commit evil. Most certainly, because they are not, in fact, good, although some or many of their acts might be. However, in our eyes they will almost certainly be good no longer.

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Aaaaah! The AGM

I haven’t been to an AGM or a committee meeting for a long time. Yesterday I attended an AGM. I realise now why it has been so many years.

No, I shouldn’t and won’t be cruel. It’s just that people can’t help being people. And AGMs probably bring out the worst in all of us. We turn into automata, co-opted for the day to carry around an ego. I sit there, and something is being discussed. I don’t know… Let’s say that the big issue this time is whether or not dogs should be allowed to become associate members of this particular organization. I have no objection, as long as they pay their membership dues. But then someone objects: If dogs can be members, what about my little kitty? And my goldfish, says another. I don’t have one, says someone else, but if I did, I would expect my unicorn to be eligible for membership.

Or perhaps the discussion revolves around whether or not the plates used at the upcoming fete should be white or cream-coloured. Now, frankly, I couldn’t give a rat’s arse what colour the plates are, but I suddenly feel obliged to have an opinion on the matter. And to voice it. What’s more, I am suddenly an expert on what colour plates are appropriate for every occasion. My grandmother’s best friend, after all, was once the… I forget now what she was, but it seemed to carry a great deal of weight at the time.

Voices are raised, and temperatures rise; and before long, a splinter group forms. The Reformed Society for Victims of Sexual Abuse by Elves is born.

A Comma's Tail

He was so very tiny, but he had such a cute tail. At least, he thought it was cute, although some of the full stops teased him terribly. “Look at you, letting it all hang out there below the line,” they would say. He, at least, could waggle his tail back at them. What did they have to waggle?

“Will I lose my tail when I get older?” he had asked his mother one day.

“Aaah,” she had replied slowly. “You’re too young yet to be thinking about your future career. For now, just enjoy it.”

His mother had also started life as a comma, but had married a full stop. From their lifelong partnership together as a semi-colon, he had been born. He wondered if he might one day get married himself. While keeping his tail, he could marry a full stop, as his mother had done, or marry another comma to form quotation marks. He thought he would prefer to join up with someone else to form double quotes, rather than to stay on his own to become a single quote. Everyone always seemed uncomfortable around single quotes, not quite knowing what they were for. On the other hand, if he lost his tail to become a full stop, he could marry either a comma, in a semi-colonic relationship, or another full stop, so that together they could become a colon. But colons were also rare and rather misunderstood. At the moment he favoured keeping his tail. But he didn’t relish spending the rest of his life alone, dangling from a line.

As the years passed, and the little comma matured, he remained single. He flirted for a while with one or two other commas, hovering at the beginning or end of some direct speech. His proudest moment, during those years of early adulthood, was when he teamed up for a time with a friend to form the initial quotes in an exciting and popular blog, whenever they were needed. He was never quite comfortable in this role, however, because it was not easy to find a pair of end quotes with whom they both felt comfortable. This led to frequent arguments, and, ultimately, to he and his quote partner going their separate ways.

Fortunately, luck was with him. Or, at least, so he reckoned. He heard of a vacancy in a shop window: good steady work. A new business was opening up in the neighbourhood, and they needed... Yes! They needed an apostrophe! After his unfortunate relationship, he thought that this would suit him down to the ground. No need to dangle his tail below the line. No need for a partner, let alone three of them. So he applied for the job, and was successful. He was experienced, presented himself well, and knew exactly how to use his tail. Salary was negotiated – and what a salary! Contracts were signed. Dates were set. On the great day he presented himself, standing proudly, waiting to be set in place. Then, as he was lifted and carefully positioned, he looked at his context, ready to greet his neighbours politely. And the colour drained from his face. But it was too late. The contract was airtight – and long term. If he broke the contract now, he would never work again. So there he was destined to remain for many years. He would have hidden if he could, but the sign was large and bold. He prayed that the business would fail, but it thrived.

He is there to this day. So, if you ever pass this way, look out for that very successful little business, and spare a thought for this little comma-turned-apostrophe, whose mother has disowned him:

Professional sign’s and lettering