“Show, Don’t Tell” — How to write better stories

If you’ve been in writer’s groups, or Googled “how to write better books,” you’ve no doubt come across this fabulous golden rule of writing:
“Show, don’t tell.”

But What the actual f*ck does that mean? Like, show what? TELL what? Am I supposed to mime my trauma onto the page?

Well, I’ve got you—without the fluff and condescending remarks. And I’ll include a few examples that actually make sense.

WHAT IS TELLING?

Telling is when you state something flat-out. It’s informational, surface-level, and kind of like reading the notes version of a juicy story.

Example: I was sad.
Okay… But I’m not exactly crying into my hot chocolate dunked donuts with you.

WHAT'S SHOWING THEN?

Showing is when you let the reader feel it. You use sensory details, body language, and action to bring them into the scene.

Example: I reread the last message until the words blurred. “Take care.” That was it. Not “I’m sorry.” Not “I love you.” Just three syllables that felt like a door slamming shut. My phone stayed face down on the bed, but I kept glancing at it anyway, like maybe, somewhere in the ethers, the words would change their mind. My chest ached—not the poetic kind—the actual physical kind that made it hard to breathe. It was over.

You’re not saying “I was sad”—you’re making the reader feel it in their gut. You’re inviting them into the scene with you, not giving them the cheat notes.

WHY THIS SH*T MATTERS

When you tell, your reader is outside the story.
When you show, they’re right there with you, feeling the heartbeat, and well, eating a tub of ice cream with you as tears fall onto the pages.

And if you’re writing anything story-driven—memoir, transformational content, brand stories—this isn’t just nice-to-have, it’s non-negotiable.

People don’t connect to summaries. They connect to moments.

TELLING:

She was nervous.

SHOWING:

Her leg wouldn’t stop shaking. She rehearsed the sentence in her head for the fifth time, but it still felt too big, too loud. The moment she opened her mouth, her voice betrayed her.

PRO TIPS:

• Tap into the five senses. If your scene smells like burnt toast or fresh jasmine, say it. Make it visceral.
  
  

• Let your characters do the heavy lifting. Actions, reactions, and silence often say more than narration ever could.
  
  

• Use dialogue (and what’s not said). Sometimes the best emotion lives between the lines.
  
  

TELLING:

The date was a disaster.

SHOWING:

I tried so hard to stay open-minded. He was different, not weird. Deep, not delusional. Then he reached for his pants and pulled out a pocket gong—well, at least that’s all he pulled out—rang it under the table, and whispered, “That’s to clear the energy between us.” I nodded. Totally fine. This wasn’t a laughing matter. Then he told me money is a “colonial construct” and I realised I was footing the bill for this one. I smiled, sipped my wine, and discreetly texted my best friend, HELP ME.”

I mean, you know exactly how that night went.

But There’s a Catch. Show or Tell? How the Hell Do You Know?

Here’s the thing: despite what every writing rule on Instagram says, you don’t have to always “show.” Sometimes you’ve gotta tell. Sometimes it makes more sense. Sometimes you just need to move the damn story along.

So how do you know when to slow down and show the thing versus when to just tell it and keep it moving?

WHEN TO SHOW:

Show when the moment matters—emotionally, narratively, or dramatically. We want to feel it. We want to be inside it. Think “this could be a scene in a movie.”

Show it when:

• It's a pivotal scene—climax-y, high-stakes, or emotionally charged.
  
  

• You want the reader to actually be in the room, seeing what the character sees. (This is where sensory detail earns its rent.)
  
  

• There’s conflict, drama, or crisis. No one wants a summary of a fight scene. We want the tension.
  
  

It’s an important convo that moves the plot or shifts the relationship between characters. Dialogue is where stuff gets real.

In short: Show when it’s juicy. Show when it’s emotional. Show when it’s the kind of moment that would make the trailer if your book was a Netflix series.

WHEN TO TELL:

Tell when it’s filler. Not junk—just not the good stuff. The connecting tissue, the transitions, the "okay, we get it" parts.

Tell it when:

• You're giving background info the reader needs, but no one needs a play-by-play.
  
  

• It’s a non-pivotal moment and doesn’t deserve its own dramatic monologue.
  
  

• You’re just bridging scenes—like, “two months passed” or “the next week was a blur of spreadsheets and small talk.”
  
  

Telling is great for pacing. It gets us where we need to go without getting lost in the weeds.

TL;DR:

Show the juicy bits.
Tell the stuff no one would buy a ticket for.

Use both. You’re allowed. Good writing is knowing what to zoom in on—and what to skip like a boring part in a podcast.

BOTTOM LINE:

If you find yourself writing things like “I felt angry” or “It was a hard day,” pause. Ask yourself:

“If this was a movie scene, what would the audience see? What would I be doing, saying, or hearing?”

That’s your cue to show, not tell.