This is to show you what showing and telling looks like side by side. Writing these up, for me, was certainly an exercise. I really needed to pay attention to show more for "Showing" and tell more for "Telling". I hope I did them both justice. Doing an exercise like this can really open your mind up to what showing or telling exactly feel like when you write them out.
The stories themselves, short and unfinished, are not from any story I have ever written. These were written on the spot but I hope you can get a gist of what showing and telling are.
To those of you who already are experts, let me know if I got them both right. Certainly there might be some mixing going on but the "Showing" to generally be only showing the story an the "Telling" should generally be only telling the story. To me, telling is like a kid telling a parent about a dream they had. "And then, I met a cat princess. And then the princess and I became sisters. And then we were flying in the sky. And then, we found a land of marshmallows. And then..."
So here are three stories each with a "Showing" version and a "Telling" version.
Story 1: A Winter Scene with Pigeons
Showing:
The wind slapped against my cheeks making my teeth chatter. I wrapped my scarf around my neck until I was sweating and I thought I might choke. A flock of pigeons with their staring beady eyes mocked me with their bobbing heads. Sure, I thought, I looked like a ball of yarn. But at least now the wind barely touched my skin.
Telling:
The wind was cold and it made my teeth chatter. I wrapped my scarf around my neck until it was too hot and tight. A flock of pigeons stared at me with beady eyes and it was like they were mocking me with the way their heads bobbed up and down. I knew I was bundled up so much that I looked like ball of yarn. But at least I was warm and the cold wind didn't touch my skin anymore.
Story 2: A Child in a Household with Divorcing Parents
Showing:
Up the stairs I sniffed and sighed, the scent of coffee calming my nerves like every morning. But this morning, Mom made the coffee. Her off-tune singing bounced up the walls like a clumsy child. She never usually did. That could only mean one thing; they had decided to leave me here.
* * *
Stop, I screamed in my head, stop. They'd been at it for two hours, maybe more. Under the covers in my room, warm but not comfortable, I turned over to my side for the hundredth time and willed for the shouts to stop. They were fighting about me, I could swear it. Shadows in my room cackled as two more joined, blocking the light crack under the door.
"Sweety? Are you asleep?"
Her normal everyday voice comforted the hole in my chest but I couldn't return it with one of my own. No, not anymore. No more hurt, no more pain, this was all going to stop.
Telling:
Up the stairs I could smell coffee and it calmed me like it did every morning. But this morning, Mom made the coffee. She was singing off-tune and her voice echoed in the stairwell. She never usually made coffee, Dad always did. That could only mean one thing; Dad left.
* * *
I willed for them to stop, screaming it in my head. They'd been fighting for two hours or more. I was under the covers in my room warm but uncomfortable. I kept turning over to my side, over and over willing for the shouts to stop. I could swear they were fighting about me. The shadows in my room seemed to laugh at me in a sinister way. Two more shadows joined in and they blocked the light that peeked from under the door.
"Sweety? Are you asleep?" I heard my Mom call.
Her normal everyday voice comforted me but I couldn't return it with my normal everyday voice. No, not anymore. No more hurt, no more pain, I wanted this to all stop.
Story 3: A Boy Asking a Girl Out again Despite She had Rejected Him Many Times Before
Showing:
The way she side-glanced him, he couldn't tell if she was interested or not. He braced himself for her usual response filled with stinging venom and hurtful sarcasm that stayed with him until the week was over. Her lips pursed and her fingers curled. This close to her, he could almost smell that sweet orange perfume that flowed after her wherever she walked. Her lips slightly parted and his heart raced with his lungs, both making the other work harder.
"Only if you let me choose," her voice was alien to his ears and he replayed it in his head. Had he heard her right?
"Let you...choose?"
"Are we going to the movies Saturday or not?" she stared him down.
Suddenly butter fingers he fumbled for his phone, "Yeah, of course, yeah, uh, I'll need your phone number."
Skinny fingers nimbly tapped in her number and he just stood there rooted to the ground stiff like an idiot. After all this time, suddenly she said yes. Returning his phone into his coat pocket she walked back off toward her house. Quickly he went to catch up to her. She said nothing and didn't even look at him, keeping her face turned toward home. He walked by her the whole way.
Telling:
He couldn't tell if she was interested or not with the way she looked at him. He braced himself for her usual response filled with sarcasm and hurtful words. Those words took a week to stop bothering him. She looked like she was trying to decide with the way she pursed her lips and made a loose fist. Being this close to her, he could almost smell that orange perfume she always wore. She opened her mouth slightly and his heart pounded against his chest.
"Only if you let me choose," her voice brought him to reality, sounding foreign to his ears. Had he heard her right?
"Let you...choose?" he repeated her words.
"Are we going to the movies Saturday or not?" she crossed her arms and frowned at him.
He fumbled to get his phone out. "Yeah, of course, yeah, uh, I'll need your phone number," he stammered nervously.
She tapped in her number as he stood watching like an idiot. She returned him his phone into his coat pocket and began to walk back off to her house. Quickly he caught up to her to take her home the rest of the way. She didn't even look at him but he walked the whole way anyway.
Happy Writing! :D
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