How to Show, Not Tell

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” — Anton Chekhov

Let’s be honest: the phrase “show, don’t tell” has been tossed around so often in writing advice circles that it feels like literary law. But here’s the thing no one tells you: too much showing can be just as exhausting as too much telling.

In my early writing days, I thought showing meant stuffing every scene with metaphors, elaborate gestures, and ten lines of internal monologue just to avoid saying “she was angry.” Spoiler: it didn’t make my writing better. It made it bloated. And worse? It made it boring. Because I was too focused on proving I could “show,” I forgot to just tell the story.

So let’s talk about how to actually master this essential tool without annoying the reader — or yourself.

🎭 The Balance Between Scene and Summary

You don’t need to show everything. Sometimes, it’s okay to just tell the reader something and move on. Not every detail needs its own spotlight. Save the immersive, sensory scenes for moments that matter emotionally or dramatically.

Want an example? “She spent the afternoon at the market.” That’s a perfectly fine piece of telling. It gives context, keeps the pace moving, and sets us up for what matters. But if she’s about to meet a shady informant at that market and tension is high? Now’s the time to lean in. Show the shifting crowd, the sweaty palms, the tang of citrus in the air. Show us what she sees, hears, feels — but only because that moment matters more than a simple errand.

Think of summary as the connective tissue and scenes as the muscles. You need both to move.

💡 Show with Specificity, Not Excess

You don’t have to paint a mural. Just choose one or two sharp details that do the heavy lifting. Instead of saying “he was nervous,” show us his knee bouncing under the table or the way he keeps checking the time. Those moments stick.

Showing is about implication. It trusts the reader to connect the dots. And trust me, readers love to connect dots. But they also love clarity. So don’t make them wade through a poetic swamp of metaphors and overly abstract symbolism just to figure out someone is, say, embarrassed or in love.

Be deliberate. Be intentional. If your character is heartbroken, you don’t need six paragraphs of wind howling through empty rooms. Maybe it’s just the way they hesitate before deleting an old voicemail. That one image can hit harder than a thousand flowery phrases.

😬 When Showing Goes Too Far

There is such a thing as too much showing. Pages of poetic description, metaphors layered like lasagna, endless sighing and trembling hands — it gets old fast. Not every emotion needs to be a theatrical performance.

I once read a paragraph that took nearly a page to say a character was scared. There was trembling, there were clammy palms, eyes darting like sparrows, breath like broken glass. I was exhausted. Just say he’s terrified and let me feel it through one strong image, not a thesaurus dump.

When showing becomes indulgent, it pulls readers out of the story instead of pulling them in. Ask yourself: is this serving the story or showing off? If it’s the latter, cut it.

🧠 A Quick Cheat: Think in Movie Scenes

When in doubt, imagine your story as a movie. If you can picture how the emotion or moment would be acted out on screen, you’re probably showing. If you’re hearing a narrator explaining it over a still frame, that’s telling.

Say your protagonist just found out their sister died. If it were a movie, maybe we’d see them drop a coffee cup, back slowly into a chair, or stare blankly at the wall as a tear escapes. No one needs to say, “They were devastated.” We see it.

This mental trick helps keep your writing visual, physical, and grounded — without getting bogged down in purple prose. It helps you decide when to hold a moment and when to fast-forward.

“Show, don’t tell” isn’t about overwriting. It’s about strategic storytelling. It’s about deciding when to lean in and how to make your prose do more with less. Once you understand the rhythm of your scenes and what they need to land, you’ll find your voice naturally balances both.

The goal isn’t to eliminate telling. It’s to earn your moments of showing. To make them resonate. To make them sing.

And if all else fails? Tell the damn moon it’s shining. Then show me what it looks like when your hero sees it after a battle. That’s the magic.