How to Use “Show, Don’t Tell” in Your Writing
If you’ve ever taken a writing class, read a craft book, or even just Googled “how to write better,” you’ve probably run into the advice: show, don’t tell.
And at first, it sounds simple. Almost obvious.
But when I started trying to apply it to my own writing, I realized something: it’s easy to understand in theory… and surprisingly tricky in practice.
So let’s break it down in a way that actually makes sense. I’ll show you what “telling” really looks like, how to “show” more effectively, and—this part’s important—when telling is actually the better choice.
Because here’s the truth: great writing isn’t about eliminating telling. It’s about using both on purpose.
What Telling Really Looks Like
Most of us think we know what telling is. But we usually underestimate how often we do it.
At its core, telling is when you inform the reader about something instead of letting them experience it.
For example:
She was nervous.
That’s clear. It’s efficient. There’s nothing technically wrong with it.
But it doesn’t make me feel anything.
Now compare that to this:
She kept smoothing her skirt even though there were no wrinkles left. Her foot tapped against the tile. When her name was called, she startled like someone had clapped behind her.
Notice what changed? I never used the word nervous. But you felt it.
That’s the difference. Telling names the emotion. Showing creates the experience.
Why We Default to Telling
If I’m being honest, I default to telling when I’m in a rush. It’s faster. It gets the point across. It feels clean and efficient.
But here’s what I’ve learned: efficiency isn’t always the goal in writing. Connection is.
When we tell too much:
- Readers stay on the outside.
- Scenes feel flat.
- Emotions feel generic instead of personal.
If I say, “He was angry,” you understand it. But if I say:
He folded the letter slowly, too slowly. His jaw tightened. “Fine,” he said, though it clearly wasn’t fine.
Now you’re leaning in a bit.
And that’s what we want.
How to Show Instead of Tell
This is where things get practical. Showing isn’t about adding fluff or making sentences longer. It’s about replacing labels with evidence.
Here are a few ways I actively do that in my own writing.
Use Specific Details
Vague writing almost always leads to telling.
For example:
It was a beautiful house.
Okay… but what does that mean? Beautiful how?
Now try this:
The porch wrapped around the front like open arms. White curtains moved gently through the upstairs windows. Someone had planted lavender along the walkway, and the air smelled faintly sweet.
That’s still concise, but now it’s concrete.
Specificity is what makes writing feel alive. When you give readers something tangible, they build the rest in their own minds.
Show Emotions Through the Body
Instead of naming emotions directly, think about how they show up physically.
Instead of:
He was embarrassed.
Try:
His ears turned red. He laughed a second too late, then stared down at his shoes like they might rescue him.
Instead of:
She was exhausted.
Try:
She read the same sentence three times before it made sense. The coffee in her hand had gone cold, but she didn’t even notice.
The body rarely lies. And when you describe physical reactions, readers instinctively recognize the emotion.
Let Actions Reveal Personality
Here’s something that changed my writing completely: traits are more powerful when demonstrated, not declared.
If I write:
Maya was generous.
You nod and move on.
But if I write:
Maya always ordered fries for the table. When the bill came, she waved it away before anyone else could reach for it. Later, she slipped a twenty into the tip jar when she thought no one was looking.
Now generosity feels real.
Whenever you’re tempted to describe someone as kind, selfish, confident, insecure, brave—pause and ask: what would that look like in action?
Then write that instead.
Use Dialogue to Hint Instead of Announce
Dialogue is one of my favorite ways to show emotion indirectly.
Instead of:
“I’m really upset with you,” she said angrily.
Try:
“Oh,” she said. “So that’s how we’re doing things now.”
See the difference? The second version carries tension without spelling it out.
Real people rarely state their emotions clearly in heated moments. They dodge. They deflect. They understate.
When you let dialogue carry subtext, readers get to decode it—and that makes them more engaged.
When Telling Is Actually Better
Now here’s the part people don’t talk about enough: sometimes telling is the smarter choice.
If you show everything, your writing becomes slow and heavy. Not every moment deserves a dramatic close-up.
For example, if your character travels from New York to Chicago, you probably don’t need a sensory breakdown of the entire flight. You can simply say:
The trip to Chicago was uneventful.
That’s telling. And it works.
Telling is useful when:
- You need to move time forward quickly.
- The details aren’t emotionally important.
- You’re summarizing background information.
- You want clarity more than atmosphere.
Think of it like a camera. Showing is a close-up shot. Telling is a wide-angle view.
If every scene is a close-up, readers get overwhelmed. If everything is wide-angle, they feel distant.
The magic is in the balance.
The next time you’re editing your work, try this: circle every place where you’ve named an emotion or described a trait directly. Then ask yourself, can I prove this instead of declare it?
You don’t have to change every instance. But changing even a few can transform your writing from informative to immersive.
And once you start noticing the difference, you won’t be able to unsee it.
Make Your Writing Feel Real
By now, you probably get the idea behind show, don’t tell. But knowing it and actually doing it consistently? That’s a different story.
This is where most writers (including me) get stuck.
We understand we should “show more,” but we’re not sure how to do it without turning every paragraph into a dramatic movie scene. The goal isn’t to overcomplicate your writing. It’s to make it feel real.
Let’s break down a few deeper ways to do that.
Replace General Words With Evidence
Here’s a little habit that changed my editing process: I look for general words and challenge them.
Words like:
- happy
- sad
- scared
- successful
- awkward
- beautiful
- amazing
These words aren’t bad. They’re just broad. And broad language leads to broad emotional reactions.
For example:
He was successful.
Okay. But what does that actually mean? Did he build a company? Buy his parents a house? Work 80-hour weeks? Have three assistants managing his calendar?
Now look at this:
He hadn’t set an alarm in three years. His name was on the side of the building downtown. When he walked into a room, people straightened up without realizing they’d done it.
That paints a much stronger picture. I didn’t use the word successful, but you felt it.
Evidence is always more powerful than labels.
Next time you see a general word, ask yourself: what would prove this is true?
Slow Down the Important Moments
One of the most practical ways to apply show, don’t tell is to control pacing.
When something important happens, slow down.
When something ordinary happens, speed up.
Let’s say you’re writing about a breakup.
Telling version:
They broke up, and she was heartbroken.
It’s clear. Efficient. But emotionally flat.
Now watch what happens when we slow it down:
He kept looking at his phone while she talked. When he finally said, “I think we want different things,” he didn’t meet her eyes. The restaurant was loud, but she felt like everyone had gone silent. She nodded before she understood what she was nodding to.
Now the moment has weight.
Slowing down allows readers to sit inside the experience. You give them micro-details: gestures, pauses, physical reactions. That’s where showing lives.
But here’s the key: don’t slow everything down. If you do, your writing drags. Pick your emotional peaks and give those moments space.
Use Contrast to Reveal Change
This is one technique I don’t see discussed enough.
Instead of saying someone changed, show the contrast between who they were and who they are now.
Telling version:
He had become more confident.
Showing version:
A year ago, he rehearsed phone calls before dialing. Now he leaned back in his chair and negotiated contracts without notes.
See how the contrast does the heavy lifting? You don’t need to announce growth. You demonstrate it by placing the old version next to the new one.
Readers love transformation. But they only feel it when they can see both sides.
Cut Explanations After the Scene
This one might sting a little.
Sometimes we actually do show… and then we immediately ruin it by explaining it.
For example:
She smiled and said, “I’m fine.” She avoided his eyes and started stacking the dishes aggressively. She was clearly angry.
That last sentence? Unnecessary.
If you’ve shown it well, trust your reader.
When you explain what the reader has already understood, it feels like you don’t believe they’re capable. And readers can sense that.
I still catch myself doing this. I’ll write a solid scene, then tack on a summary sentence “just in case.” Most of the time, deleting that last explanatory line makes the writing stronger.
If you’ve done the work to show it, let it stand.
Don’t Overdo It
Now let’s talk about something that almost no one warns new writers about.
You can absolutely overuse show, don’t tell.
When I first got serious about improving my writing, I tried to show everything. Every emotion had a physical reaction. Every room had layered sensory detail. Every interaction had subtext.
And honestly? It was exhausting to read.
Showing adds richness, but it also adds density. Too much density slows momentum.
Know What Deserves the Spotlight
Not every detail needs a cinematic description.
If your character grabs a glass of water in the middle of a tense argument, you probably don’t need to describe the condensation sliding down the side of the glass unless that detail matters emotionally.
Save the deep showing for:
- Turning points
- Emotional confrontations
- Moments of realization
- High-stakes decisions
- First impressions and final impressions
Everything else can be handled more lightly.
Think of it like music. If every instrument is playing at maximum volume, nothing stands out. You need quiet moments so the loud ones feel powerful.
Mix Showing and Telling on Purpose
Here’s a balanced example:
They had been fighting for months. Small arguments about dishes turned into larger arguments about respect. By the time winter arrived, they were barely speaking.
That’s telling. It summarizes time.
Now zoom in:
On Christmas Eve, he handed her a gift without looking up from the television. She set it on the counter and didn’t open it.
That’s showing.
See how they work together? The summary moves the story forward. The scene makes it hurt.
You don’t have to choose one over the other. The real skill is deciding when to switch.
Remember the Reader’s Imagination
This might surprise you, but you don’t have to show every single detail for readers to feel immersed.
In fact, part of the magic happens in what you leave out.
If you write:
The house smelled like smoke.
Readers will fill in a lot on their own. Burned wood. Ash. Maybe fear.
You don’t always need three paragraphs of sensory description. Sometimes one well-chosen detail is enough.
Trust that your reader is meeting you halfway.
Practice in Small Ways
If this all feels overwhelming, start small.
Take a paragraph you’ve already written and:
- Replace one emotion word with a physical action.
- Add one specific sensory detail.
- Remove one explanatory sentence at the end of a scene.
- Turn one personality trait into a demonstrated behavior.
You don’t have to transform your entire writing style overnight.
Improvement often comes from tiny, consistent upgrades.
Before You Leave
If there’s one thing I hope you take with you, it’s this: show, don’t tell isn’t about being dramatic. It’s about being intentional.
When you label emotions, readers understand.
When you demonstrate them, readers feel.
And that difference? That’s what turns decent writing into something memorable.
The next time you revise, don’t ask, “Did I follow the rule?”
Ask, “Did I give my reader something to experience?”
That small shift changes everything.
