I devour middle grade books. I don’t remember the last time I read a book for adults. I write middle grade fiction, so like any serious writer, I read my market. In case you’re not familiar with middle grade, all the rules that apply to writing for adults apply (if not more so) to writing for kids.
Which brings me to one of the most fundamental “rules” of writing: Show, don’t tell. All writers struggle with it. It’s just so darn easy to tell the reader what you want them to know, right? Too bad for us writers, 95% of the time telling is the sloppier, lazier, less engaging (Read: boring) way to craft a story. And yes, sometimes telling is appropriate, but that’s the other 5% of the time, and you don’t find thousands of Google search results for “how do I tell the reader xyz?”
A writer who can spot when she has told something that can be shown is a better editor of her own work. An early draft almost certainly has scenes where the writer shows and then tells the same action or emotion or revelation. It’s something about how our brains work when we’re writing, or maybe our insecurities about our ability to communicate with the reader.
Once you can spot the telling, you can easily delete it and instantly upgrade the quality of your story. You may not have mastered the rule of “showing, not telling,” but you’re on your way.
I learned to spot it in my own writing by becoming a critical reader of other authors’ works. Even authors of critically acclaimed novels sometimes fall prey to telling.
I just finished Vince Vawter’s Paperboy. Paperboy is a Newberry Honor book, and also happens to be Mr. Vawter’s debut novel (what a great way to kick off your career!). While it’s certainly a recommended read for it’s subject matter and message (the protagonist is a boy who stutters and the book deals heavily with overcoming obstacles and being different), I have noticed more than a few places where telling creeps in and undermines the story.
One example:
The [paper] route was changing me.
Not to be snarky, but duh. We saw the protagonist “last month” and Vawter did a fine job of showing us how he was then and how he is now. The entire book is about how this boy’s temporary paper route changes the way he views himself and others. I don’t think there’s a single reader age 8 to 80 who needed the protaganist to declare that the route was changing him to know that: 1) the route changed him; and 2) he is realizing the route changed him.
And before you say, “Well, it’s necessary to tell more in middle grade stories,” I say,”Nay!” Middle grade readers are sophisticated – a lot more sophisticated than some adult readers, in fact – and do not need to be told anything if the showing is well-written. This book is very well-written, for the most part, but still slips into “telling” from time to time.
Casual readers may not notice “telling” the way a critical reader (or writer) does, but every time an author tells a reader something she already understands, it erodes her trust, which damages her reading experience. Do it enough, and the reader will stop reading.
Can you spot “telling” in books? How about your own writing? When is it okay to “tell” and is it ever (gulp!) necessary?
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