Can This Old Dog Learn New Tricks?

Escaping "Show, Don't Tell" Hell

It’s the week before Mother’s Day. Chris asks, “What do you want?”

I pause and challenge myself to dig deeper for a response. I know the answer: to grow as a writer; but I do not know how to turn that longing into a gift that could be tied up in a nice bow.

I grasp for the words and say, “I wish I knew more about writing. Perhaps I need a writing coach, or maybe a class or a group of writers who critique each other’s work. I am not sure exactly.”

Clearly hoping for an easier assignment—like buying me a new car—Chris walks away looking perplexed.

A few hours later, an email arrives from Chris. The subject line reads, Something like this. I click the link in the body of the email. It takes me to the Writer House website and a description of an upcoming class titled, Get Out of “Show, Don’t Tell” Hell.

I enthusiastically respond, “YES!”

Before the first session, I receive instructions to submit a piece of writing. I’ll share “George.” Surely it’s a good example of showing rather than telling, I think.

On the first day of class, we go around the Zoom room introducing ourselves. My heart is racing more than I expected as I share, “This is my first-ever writing course. Please, be kind.” I am relieved when one of my classmates shares that he too is new to this kind of writing.

The instructor, Kristie Smeltzer, then asks the class, “What kind of writing do you do?” Most of my fellow participants are fiction writers. I wonder if I have picked the right class.

“I have been writing non-fiction for decades but would like to write narrative non-fiction,” I say.

The final student, Karen, shares, “I am also writing narrative non-fiction.” I breathe a sigh of relief; I am not the lone non-fiction writer.

On the first day of class, Kristie reads each submission out loud. As she shares the story of George, pointing out where I am “showing” and where I am “telling,” I realize I have a lot to learn.

Over the next two sessions, Kristie provides examples of well-designed “shows” along with guidance on when a “tell” is more appropriate.

“Tells are not bad. They can be an effective way to communicate to the reader those things that cannot be shown or that are not important to show,” she assures us.

“For our final class, I want you to go back to the piece you submitted and apply what you have learned. I will do a second critique during our final class,” she says.

Piece of cake, I naively think. For five days, I write, rewrite, toss out, and start over multiple times. Eventually, I submit my assignment three days late.

“I am not sure this kind of narrative writing is really for me,” I say to my daughter Kristen as I prepare my lunch after sending in my assignment.

“Why not?” she asks.

“It takes so much more time, and I am not sure I will ever get the hang of it,” I respond.

“So, you are not willing to put in the effort to learn a new skill?” she challenges.

Ouch. I pause my sandwich preparation and stare at the counter. I feel like I have been punched in my stomach. “No, it’s not that. I just am not sure I am a strong enough writer,” I confess.

“Well, if you never try, you will never know, will you?” she shoots back as she leaves the kitchen.

Sometimes having such a wise daughter is inconvenient.

It’s the final day of class. Kristie takes what I think is a masterpiece. As she reads, she points out where the shows work and where they need expanding. She ends her comments with “Nice job.” But it is clear to me that George still needs work.

In the final ten minutes, Kristie asks, “Any parting questions?” I raise my hand and ask, “Does it get easier?”

The newbies like me all lean in.

One by one, Kristie and the more experienced writers in the group share a resounding, “Yes, but it takes a lot of practice.”

Is it worth all that added effort and time? I have wondered over and over.

You’ll never know if you never try. Kristen’s words haunt me for days until I finally commit.

“I decided to give it a try,” I tell Kristen, both appreciatively and proudly.

Next week I will launch a six-part Show & Tell series. Through this short series, I’ll introduce you to a cast of characters I’ve met during my time in the wild. We’ll begin with that scruffy steer named George. Then you’ll meet an angry hummingbird I call Pudge, who became my first more-than-human muse. Along the way, you’ll encounter a deer who thinks she’s a dog, two squirrel bandits I call Bonnie and Clyde, and a mother skunk whose fierce love may haunt your dreams.

All of these characters have laid a foundation for what I think will be the most important story - the story unfolding in my community of Appomattox, where teens dream of tending the wild as a means of helping our community live its motto of being the place our nation reunites.

While I have already met each of these characters, I suspect new layers of meaning will reveal themselves as you join me for these encounters.

I know many of you are writers. As we make this journey together, I have a special request. I would love to know your thoughts on how to get out of “show don’t tell hell.” Any suggestions for how to strengthen the stories are greatly appreciated.

As the stories unfold, I would also love to know if the additional time and attention paid to each story is a worthwhile investment. One thing I’ve discovered is that these stories refuse to be rushed. So, I am anticipating this series will unfold biweekly. One thing George taught me is not to rush the process.

I hope you’ll join me for this experiment. We’re all about to discover whether the extra work of showing instead of telling is worth the effort.