How to Add Subtext with Show Don't Tell

If you’ve been in the writing community for any length of time, odds are you’ve come across the term/advice of “Show, Don’t Tell” in some form or another. You’ve probably seen the hoards of meme-style writing advice talking about it, the bite-sized examples, people screaming those three words into the void to critique writing and film.

The term speaks for itself, but to be entirely honest it’s always been a nebulous thing to me, mostly because I struggled to find good examples that really explained what, exactly, was going on with Showing vs. Telling.

In visual mediums, it was easy to understand: don’t just tell the audience that a character is sad through dialogue, show their tears. In the words of Anton Chekhov, the Russian playwright the concept is most commonly attributed to:

“In descriptions of Nature one must seize on small details, grouping them so that when the reader closes his eyes he gets a picture. For instance, you’ll have a moonlit night if you write that on the mill dam a piece of glass from a broken bottle glittered like a bright little star, and that the black shadow of a dog or a wolf rolled past like a ball.”

Here’s the thing: on the description side of things, this is something I’ve always understood. It’s all about engaging the senses, being descriptive and immersive. You don’t just say the air is cold, you talk about the character’s breath creating clouds of fog with every exhale.

However, I still didn’t understand what, exactly, was meant by “Show, Don’t Tell.” I kind of understood the basics of what it was, but I didn’t really know how it worked and how to make it work for me. After all, in writing isn’t it all telling? You can’t literally show a reader what something looks like or what characters are doing. How, then, did it work?

Then, I finally understood.

By pure happenstance I read some of the most incredible books that did “Show, Don’t Tell” flawlessly, and I also read some of the worst “Telling” I’ve ever seen in my life—including the baffling choice to show and then tell right after, leading to endless redundancy and the death of subtlety in ways I didn’t even know to be possible.

I understand now. I get it.

Before we get into it, here’s a point I want to get out of the way immediately:

All stories should have a balance of BOTH showing and telling, depending on what the narrative needs.

Sometimes, you need to just get information out of the way, explain it to the audience, and go. There are instances where there’s no way to weave a piece of information through a more “Showing” kind of scene without interrupting the plot. Sometimes, you just need to get there.

Efficiency and conciseness matter.

Now that I have that out of the way, the biggest place I saw “Show, Don’t Tell” being either perfected or abused is not in plot or description, but in character and character interactions.

What do I mean?

I think it’s best to use some examples to explain.

The setup for the scene is this: Alvin and his close friend, Marcy, are out for lunch. Alvin has a bad relationship with his Uncle Louis, who is trying to contact him. This would be an early scene in a longer work, introducing the central characters of Alvin and Marcy, as well as the conflict with Alvin’s uncle.

Example #1: Telling

Alvin took a bite of his cheeseburger. The meat was juicy and delicious, the cheese melty. The bun was toasty. He moaned in pleasure. He loved cheeseburgers. They were his favourite food in the world and made him think of happy times with his Uncle Louis when they would go to the local fast food place after school.

Marcy sighed at him from across the table. They had known each other since they were children, and she knew about his love of cheeseburgers, but she never approved of his moans of delight while eating. She thought he ate too loudly, and it embarrassed her, which she told him often. He always thought that she got embarrassed too easily, and should lighten up a bit. But it was okay, they were still best friends, even if she didn’t approve of his noisiness.

She pushed a stack of envelopes secured by a rubber band in front of Alvin, and he frowned. It was from his Uncle Louis. Even though they were close when he was a kid, they weren’t close anymore. Alvin didn’t know why his uncle had sent them, and he was afraid to look.

“You should open it. It can’t be that bad,” she said. Alvin shrugged but didn’t feel good about the idea. “Maybe he wants to see you.”

“I doubt that. Don’t you remember that he cheated on his wife? I can’t stand that guy! I don’t care about what he wants.”

Alvin took another bite of his cheeseburger, but it didn’t taste as good anymore, his mood soured by thinking about his stupid Uncle Louis. It seemed that even good memories weren’t safe from Uncle Louis’s infidelity.

So…how was that to read? Clunky? Awkward? Did it make your eyes glaze over? How much do you care about the characters? Sure, you know they’re best friends and that Alvin has problems with his uncle, but do the characters feel real whatsoever?

Let’s try another one.

Example #2: Showing, but Telling right after

Alvin took a bite of his cheeseburger and moaned in pleasure. Everything about it was perfect—the meat juicy, the bun toasted, the cheese flawlessly melted. Absolutely beautiful.

Alvin loved cheeseburgers. They were his favourite food in the world and made him think of happy times with his Uncle Louis when they would go to the local fast food place after school.

Marcy sighed at him from across the table, drumming her fingers in annoyance at his noises. He ignored her.

“Do you have to be so loud?” she grumbled. Alvin shrugged. They had known each other since they were children, and she knew about his love of cheeseburgers, but she never approved of his moans of delight while eating. She thought he ate too loudly, and it embarrassed her, which she told him often. He always thought that she got embarrassed too easily, and should lighten up a bit.

“Let me live,” he said around a mouthful of burger. Marcy rolled her eyes and pushed a stack of envelopes held together by an elastic in front of Alvin. Alvin frowned at the address on the top one. They were from his Uncle Louis.

“You can’t keep avoiding him,” Marcy said.

“Yes, I can.”

Even though he and his uncle were close when he was a kid, they weren’t close anymore. Alvin didn’t know why his uncle had sent them, and he was afraid to look.

“You should open it. It can’t be that bad,” she said. Alvin shrugged but didn’t feel good about the idea. “Maybe he wants to see you.”

“I doubt that. Don’t you remember that he cheated on his wife? I can’t stand that guy! I don’t care about what he wants.”

So there’s a bit more character here. More dialogue. However, the entire scene is robbed of any potential subtext. Everything is being explained to the reader, slowing the pace and killing intrigue.

Let’s try one more time.

Example #3: Showing

Alvin took a bite of his cheeseburger, rolling his eyes and moaning in pleasure. Everything about it was perfect—the meat juicy, the bun toasted, the cheese at peak meltiness. Absolutely beautiful.

He heard a sigh, followed by the tapping of long fingernails drumming on the surface of the cheap table.

“Do you have to be so loud?” Marcy grumbled. Alvin shrugged and took another bite, moaning louder just out of spite.

“Let me live, Mar. Good food is the greatest joy in life,” he replied around a mouthful of burger. Marcy rolled her eyes, but Alvin could see a hint of the smile she was trying to hide. He set the cheeseburger down and wiped his hand on a napkin, leaning back in his chair. “So tell me: what’s with the sudden lunch date?”

She pulled a stack of envelopes from her purse and set them on the table, sliding them toward him. The stack was held together by an old elastic, stretched nearly to the point of bursting. Alvin furrowed his brow as he read the address, scowling when he recognized it.

“No.”

“You can’t keep avoiding him.”

“Yes, I can. For crying out loud, how long will it be before he takes the hint?”

“Maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe he just wants to see you.”

“Well, I don’t want to see him. He’s a miserable old toad and deserves what he got.”

“He’s your uncle.”

“He’s an ass!”

“Well, at least talk to him so he’ll stop bothering me, maybe? I’m getting sick of the letters.”

Alvin frowned, glaring at the stack before picking the cheeseburger back up.

“Fine. I’ll see what he wants.”

Marcy gave him a thankful look, and Alvin took another bite of his burger, the joy of it lost in the sourness of his mood.

How did example three read compared to the other two? Odds are, it was more engaging and more interesting. There are more questions present, which brings a better sense of mystery and intrigue. Extra information that can (and should) be revealed later in the story is left out, and the character relationship is shown through dialogue and body language rather than being said outright.

So what does it all mean?

What I’ve found it comes down to is this: everything in a story comes down to character, and character is best put on display through showing rather than telling.

What telling comes down to is removing subtext and subtlety. Sometimes, you don’t need to have much subtext. All you need is a line like “They travelled to the inn.”

But with character, nuance and subtext are some of the most important parts of writing. It’s a necessary part of adding interest and intrigue.

Show don’t tell when it comes to character isn’t so much about visuals as it is about subtext and subtlety, allowing dialogue, body language, and interactions to speak for themselves without the necessity of a narrator explaining the meaning to the audience. “Showing” is trusting your audience to be paying attention and understanding what’s happening; “Telling” is refusing to trust your audience and not letting them interpret what’s happening.

There is no magic formula to follow for knowing when to show and when to tell, but learning to trim the fat and trust the audience is a big (and vital) first step to take.