A few minutes ago I searched online, “Show, Don't Tell.” In point sixty-six seconds, there were six hundred and seventy-five million answers to my search. Clearly, writers want to learn how to show and not tell!
But that number's overwhelming. Sure, you can read lots of articles. But how can you actually get better at showing?
Here's how: today, we're playing a Show, Don't Tell Game to practice.
Why Show and Not Tell
In grade school, your teacher had Show and Tell. You brought your stuffed Teddy Bear to class to show your class the bear, and you told them how your Teddy Bear came alive at night and fought the monsters under your bed.
If you wrote a story about the Teddy Bear fighting the monsters under your bed, you could say, “I was scared,” or you could show your fear. Did you hide under the covers? Did you wet the bed? Did you jump into bed quickly so the monsters didn't have enough time to grab your legs?
“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
― Anton Chekhov
Show, don't tell, to bring your reader into the story. Let them see the glint of light on broken glass, walk beside the protagonist, and live inside of the pages of your story.
Let the reader decide if your protagonist is scared. Don't tell us, “She was scared.” Show us.
How to Show and Not Tell
Telling is stating information, and sometimes you will tell in a story. You might want to tell us your protagonist is a carpenter.
On the other hand, you could show she is a carpenter by describing her using her dual-bevel, sliding, compound miter saw.
You can show by using your five senses. What does it smell like, feel like? What does your protagonist hear?
If you're still not sure you know how to show, check out these other great resources on The Write Practice. In The Secret to Show, Don't Tell, Joe Bunting explains how to be more specific in your writing.
And in Use This Tip To Test If You're Showing or Telling, Monica M. Clark shares an awesome strategy for recognizing your own tendencies towards telling: as you revise your manuscript, highlight adjectives and feelings. These words reveal when you're telling, and you might be amazed at how little you're showing in comparison.
Understanding the theory of “show, don't tell” is only half the battle, though. Now, let's play a game to practice!
Writing Prompt Show and Tell Game
I've made a list of possible emotions to use as writing prompts. Choose one — or think of your own! — and write for 15 minutes in the comments section. Then the readers will guess what you are trying to show in your writing.
Writing Prompts
Think of any adjective or feeling and see if we can guess what you are trying to show.
For example:
Show sadness. Writing “she was sad” would tell me what she was feeling. Instead, show me what sad looks like. Is sad staying in bed and not getting dressed? Missing work? Not taking a shower and eating only potato chips?
Show anger. Tell: He was angry. How can you show anger instead? Is anger throwing pots? (It is for me. I am a pot thrower.) Or is anger not talking?
Show fear. Tell: She was scared. Instead of writing that, how would you show fear?
Show surprise. Tell: She was surprised. Instead, how can you show surprise?
Have you ever felt like you were sucked into the pages of a story because the writing brought you in by showing? Please let us know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Choose one of the prompts above or think of your own emotion or adjective. Take fifteen minutes to write a piece that shows us that feeling, then post it in the comments.
Please be kind and comment on someone else's writing. What do you think they were trying to show?
xo
Pamela
Want to write like Louise Penny? Join our new class and learn how. 
Love the idea of the “Show, Dont’ Tell” game. It would make a great exercise for my writing group. Thanks for sharing.
You are very welcome Cheryl,
xo
Pamela
Her dark blue tennis shoes squeaked against the newly waxed floor. The sound echoed through the empty hall and she cringed at each loud sound. Other than the intermittent sounds of her worn shoes, the hall was empty in its silence. As she walked, her eyes followed the lines of tiles, each one pale and smudged from wear and tear. Her sighs flew from her drawn lips and sent humid air away from her reddened face. With a glance toward the end of the hallway, she slowed her pace. When she reached the cold steel door, her hand lingered on the handle. Her eyes were drawn to a slit in the metalwork and met with a pair of grey blue eyes. Not fazed by the eyes, she sighed yet again and pulled the handle toward her waist. The weight of the door pulled against her body and she had to lean back to counterbalance. From somewhere behind the door, another force pulled the door closed. Her balance slipped from her mind’s grip and she slipped, landing on the cold tile floor. Tears stung her eyes and she sank back from the place that never had seemed to want her. Using a nearby wall to steady herself, she pulled herself up from the ground. Eyes lingering on the door for a moment longer, she turned and headed back down the empty hall.
Hi Annie,
I know her shoes squeaked, and that she cringed at the loud sound. She is sighing a lot, and walking slowly. She hesitates when she reaches the door.
She is apprehensive about something. But, I am not sure what it is. She feels sad and rejected.
I wonder why?
xo
Pamela
Tiny rivers of sweat ended just above her ear. She flicked them away and drew a towel over her face. She turned over and rested her head on her arm. Her skin smelled
like coconuts and toast. A gentle breeze played across her back, cooling the areas where sweat had settled. Someone was laughing not too far away, enjoying an impromptu volleyball game.
Pushing herself up off her oversized towel, she brushed at the grains of sand, stuck like
glitter to her body. “Oh well, the water would take care of that,” she thought, as she walked gingerly across the hot beach. Foam danced across her feet as set reached the
place where the sand was more water than earth, and she gasped a little at the
cold. Continuing into the gentle surf, feeling the caress of the water, she allowed herself to fall back. Caught by the sea, she floated through the spray. Tasting the salt, feeling the
still-cold July Atlantic and the hot summer sun, she smiled.
Hi LM.
She just exercised and is really sweaty. I am curious why the tiny rivers of sweat ended just above her ear.
I think she is happy because she smiled. I don’t know if she likes being so sweaty or if she likes smelling like coconuts and toast.
Oh, and she doesn’t like the cold water.
Thank your playing the game.
xo
Pamela
She sweat
OK, this is one of the best, clearest and MOST PRACTICAL articles on Show Don’t Tell. I laughed when I read the first line about how many articles are afloat on this subject. Kind of like the meaning of life…everyone has a spin but this article brought it home.
I am co authoring a book with a fabulous medical epidemiologist. He has written life occurrences on the hoof world wide, but when he goes to the keyboard now it becomes “treatise” focused. I tell him to get off the podium and get real and he often does but I frequently end up imagining what it would be like to be in a hazmet suit or
watching someone struggle with a mortal illness. I can let it rip and be emotional, so this is where I am the most use in this wonderful book we are creating. This article this morning thrills me to pieces. It makes me realize and KNOW that show don’t tell actually starts in kindergarten with a bear. It’s that simple. And maybe I’ll remind myself that I’m really in kinder and can FEEL what it’s like not mentally describe. Once again, thous hast saved the day. Thanks. g.
Hello Madam Truefire,
Thank you for your kind comments about my article. I am delighted that the Teddy Bear saved the day.
Wishing you all my best on your writing adventure.
xo
Pamela
Her fingers trembled. She curled her toes until they hurt, somewhere in the secret spaces of her shoes. The first pricks of unwanted tears pierced her eyes. She shoved her chin higher into the air as she rose to her feet and stepped through the open door.
Curling her toes in the secret spaces of her shoes–that’s fantastic! Nice detail!
thanks Tarren Young!
She’s sad but trying to hide it. Great job. : )
Strength staring down sadness. “The first prick of tears” – ouch! I can feel them myself. 🙂
toughness.
sad and fighting revealing it.
I’ll admit, I fall prey to telling and not showing quite often. And I’m telling you that instead of showing you using an example of one of my tell-don’t-show pieces. Of course, this could be considered one such piece. Hmm, didn’t we get meta there! (And again, I’m pointing that out to you, reader, so even the commentary on my commentary on the way I write is a “tell”… did you notice I just did it again?)
I think I like to “tell” because it makes me feel like I’m conversing with the reader. I feel like the voice of the narrator is lost in show-don’t-tell, because then I’m watching a movie or experiencing the story… but that’s not the same as listening to someone *tell* a story. Sometimes the most banal stories can become humorous or entertaining based on who tells them.
Look at Jane Austen, for example. She did show us the flaws in her characters through their action, but she also told us a lot about them with her very entertaining narrative voice. Watching a movie based on her books never compares because then it’s all about “show” and not “tell” and then you’re watching just another romance without all the humor and social commentary.
I think telling has its place in writing, but only if used to enrich the story and not as an excuse for lazy writing.
I think this is an excellent point, and I never really thought of it that way. Nowadays, we writers just hear show, no tell. But I agree that some time’s telling, even telling feelings and motivations, is an effective way of writing if done properly.
She felt a tension rise in her body, like a controlled explosion. It was as if she were filling up, suffocating. Heat bloomed on her face, her mouth tight. She threw herself into the front seat staring pointedly out the passenger window watching rivulets of water changing course rapidly. The car pulled out of the driveway, crackling over the pebbles. She felt the words rising like a malevolent air bubble forcing its way out of her. A sort of panic came over her as she glanced over to her mother, her lips tightened to a small line, belying her usually full mouth. Her head swung sharply towards B. “You’re wrong, you know!” B’s nails dug into her palm as her hands lay on her lap. Her eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled audibly. There are times when things seem to happen on their own, like glowing windows rising open during a fire, ominous and terrifying. B looked down at her hands now clutching some folded maps that had sat on the dashboard. Then she was screaming and slamming the maps in her fists on the dash, over and over again. The bubble escaped in an ugly rage, a violence burst out of her from some unknown source.
I like this line: She felt the words rising like a malevolent air bubble forcing its way out of her. I’m feeling the intensity building…
“Let me hold a twenty.” DeMarcus begged, licking his ashy lips. He wore the same outfit that he wore yesterday Jeans with paint on them and a pink tee shirt with “Fly Girl” on the front. It was his mother’s shirt.
“No, I am broke. I told your butt yesterday that I was broke. Ain’t a dang thing changed so back off.” Sequanda Oakes rolled her eyes.
“You supposed to be my cuz. Why won’t you help? I needs help.” DeMarcus sat down on Sequanda’s fake leather couch. He smelled like corn chips dipped in garbage but he was family.
“You need to get off that shit. I ain’t taking care of your habits. I got bills to pay and four kids that I cannot take care of as it is. You can go down to Labor Ready or Finders or whatever and get the day to day job shit.” Seguanda handed DeMarcus a five. “This is all I got.”
“Thanks cuz. See ya tomorrow. ” DeMarcus practically flew out the door.
“That was so stupid, Sequanda. Jeez.. ” Sequanda said to herself out loud. She tried to clean the dirt spot DeMarcus left on her couch.
Alison held her breath, teeth grinding, a headache beginning to firm at the nape of her neck. Her fists clenched and released repeatedly as she stared at the board.
The cast list was posted; Mrs Harvey had been true to her word, thankfully. Now the whole Youth Theatre was clamoring to discover who had beam given the plum parts.
Alison blinked hard, swallowed but found her throat solid. Gulping back tears she fought hard to smile as the throng surrounding her congratulated each other, squealing and whooping with delight.
Finally finding her voice she whispered inaudibly “I guess there’s always next year.”
I can feel the disappointment and the resolve not to show it. Nice.
I felt this. Great work!
Aww, her disappointment can be felt. Hope everything turns out ok for Alison. Good work!
Yes disappointment, yet I felt hope as well.
Her fingers found the ring on the fourth finger of her opposite hand. The diamond was small, affordable. Her thoughts drifted pleasantly to the day the jeweler had first slipped it gently onto the youthful, carefully manicured finger. The fiancée beside her admired its glimmer. Gratefulness enveloped her; how satisfying their love journey after all these years. The voice in the front of the room droned on rising with emphasis and descending with softer tones. Like a heart monitor readout. She turned her wrist to see the white-banded watch. Barely 10 minutes into the presentation. She sighed. I told myself not to do this, but…Her eyes fixed on the cell ensconced in the unzipped purse slouching on the bench besides her. She withdrew the device. Which distraction will be the most appropriate, the least engaging? Perhaps she could still manage to catch the highlights of the talk. She scrunched lower in the seat. Yawning, she swiped the screen.
“I don’t want to do it. I shouldn’t have to do it. Why is it always me?” Jackie slammed the notebook, stood arms crossed and legs apart. There might have been smoke coming from her ears. The charts I held were suddenly interesting. Christy picked a flawless nail. Jackie’s foot tapped vigorously then it went still. No breathing occurred. Then suddenly air gushed out from Jackie like a balloon popping accompanied by a heart-wrenching wail. Rooted in place, we watched her deflate in a heap before us. l
My attempt
Everything around me went still, silent and yet everything inside of me seemed so much louder. The pounding of my heart, rapid but so pronounced. It ached, threatened to choke me. I felt like I was being stabbed in the chest and my heart squeezed simultaneously. How, was it, still beating. I couldn’t breath. My head began to feel it. The pounding seemed to engulf my brain, all I could hear was the pounding. My eyes…
Even with the pounding I knew the image before me was real and I needed to unsee it, to close my eyes. Yet my body had become not my own. I could not move. I could hear my breaths leaving my body, in strained stutters…and then “thud”, I was on my knees. The world moved a bit slower. The pain that rattled through them on impact was a fading after thought.
“Aghhhh. Aghhhh. Aghhhh’
I could not stop, crumpled over my screams echoed back.
You did a great job of showing pain and fear. Keep up the good work! : )
The vein at his temple began to pulse. His tanned face darken as he loosen his tie and rolled up his sleeves. Gripping the door knob, he crushed it as he turned it, pulling the door open to confront his wife only to find her in the arms of his best friend.
Anger
She bit her lip as she idly watched the proctors snatch the exam booklets from their desks. Teresa shoved an imaginary flyaway behind her ear and adjusted her chair.
Her brown eyes scanned the testing room, meeting the navy blue gaze of her best friend. She let her lips pull before fidgeting in her seat.
Damn, Teresa mused as she gnawed her pencil, that was a lot worse than I thought.
The teen sighed and continued her ramble, well there goes my Harvard acceptance letter…
When he was here, there was always the hum of his tools, the sound of the carpenter. The table saw screamed as he ripped a plank to the dimensions for his current project. A goat leg table. The china cabinet. A handmade piece of furniture. “Measure twice, cut once,” he had always said.
The rich aroma of wood dust wafted through the air as he pressed his current masterpiece against the belt of the sander. The sander howled as he shaped and formed the edges to what he wanted. Steps in the shop fell soft and muffled from the depth of sawdust that he had not yet swept. The dust lay drifted and piled to the side, the walkways to each tool well defined.
To day the shop is quiet. The dust has been swept, the tools are now silent. The carpenter has left us.
This is a deep and thoughtful piece, and shows how much you loved your father. It would mean so much to him to know you remembered him this way, Gary.
Hi Gary
It took me back to my Dad immediately. He was a boat builder and always smelt of wood, glue and Old Spice. Thank you 🙂
reflection –
I suspect your father is pleased that you remember him in this way. My father had a shop in the basement and this took me back immediately, right down to the memory of the scent of pine and oak being measured twice and sometimes three times on intricate projects. The aroma of the warm wood in my hand being sanded has brought me to tears with missing my Dad from time to time, The memory of your Dad was well served. Nicely done. I loved the scream of the wood in the table saw .. the band saw did the same sound as well, I miss the whine of the drill and the cracking thud of the hammer also. I think you described the perfect amount of noise, enough to evoke memory and not belabor the point, and set up the stillness of the shop once swept, tools silent. The carpenter has left us. Lovely testament. Enjoyed! I get the quiet appreciative observant stance of reflection here with a healthy portion of grief, sadness and powerful love.
This is beautiful.
resigned sorrow, loss comes across in this senual memory and its contrast.
Julia yanked the door shut and rammed the bolt lock into place. Whirling, gasping for breath, she bolted for the kitchen just as the door splintered behind her. A hunk of the door slammed into the back of her head. She pitched forward as pain bloomed in her skull, and a scream tore from her throat as she tripped and crashed into the glass coffee table.
Tears streaming down her face, she sobbed at the fresh gashes and cuts on her palms and her forearms.
“Where is it?” a voice said behind her.
Julia scrambled up, managing to avoid further shards of the broken glass, and spun toward Sean. “I don’t know.” Her voice was choked – she was trembling.
The man approached her with his pistol trained on her. She backed up, toward the kitchen, and Sean shoved the broken coffee table out of his way with his boot. “You’d better start thinking, then,” he growled. “Or I’m going to finish what I started with you.”
Her throat constricted and a chill rushed through her, causing her to shiver and hug herself. But this time, she would not let him hurt her. She forced her arms to lower and looked the man in the eye as she inched backward into the kitchen. “You’ll never find it.” Even though she swallowed hard, she drew her shoulders back and reached behind the microwave for the kitchen knife. “But Shadow’s going to find you.”
Sean stared at her for a few moments. Only a handful of yards separated them now. Then a hard gleam entered the man’s eyes, and he shoved his pistol into its holster. He lunged for her.
With a yell, Julia yanked the butcher knife from its block and flung it at the man, hurling psychic energy behind it and aiming right for Sean’s chest.
—
Any feedback/critiques are welcome. I really like these prompts; it’s fun to find ways to show something. I’ve read books before that said things such as, “her eyes were filled with sadness,” “anger flickered in his face,” etc. It’s more engaging when I read the actions of those emotions, instead of what they’re called. Thanks Pamela! : )
This good. There’s a few extra words like “just”, but it is a good read.
Thank you!
fear then anger on her part, anger on his.
Biting her lip until the coppery bitterness of blood washed over her tastebuds, she held her breath. The fine hairs on her arms standing up as she listened to the heavy footfalls on the age worn hardwood floor. Pushed against the wall of the dark recess in the closet, her body began to tremble uncontrollably. Tears filling her eyes and spilling relentlessly down her cheeks as terror filled her. Waiting for the door to swing open, light flooding in, giving her away.
Terror!!!! Totally gave me goosebumps reading this. Chilling.
Thank you
Well done.
Think about how to reduce unneeded words:
Biting her lip, she tasted the coppery bitterness of blood. She held her breath
Thank you, I’ll definitely keep that in mind.
Biting her lip so hard, she barely noticed the coppery bitterness of blood wash over her taste buds; she held her breath, the fine hairs on her arms standing up as she listened to the heavy footfalls on the age worn hardwood floor. She pushed against the wall of the dark recess in the closet. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably as tears filled her eyes and spilling relentlessly down her cheeks. She was waiting.. waiting for the door to swing open, light flooding in, giving her away.
Smurphy0427, All I did was add a word or two and change some punctuation, I think the terror was evident without mentioning it… you did a great job. I found myself frightened for her. Decidedly this was fear. Interesting twist could be if she was feeling all this in the closet at her psychiatrists office, recalling the incident. Her unfocused eyes looked past the present time before she blinked the tears away and closed her eyes up tight. Nice Job Smurphy!
When I emerged from beyond the trees at twilight, the sight of the rusty moon rising above the mountain, brought a memory of the Easter egg hunt I went on when I was ten, where I searched the bushes of the park the entire time as everyone else had filled their baskets, and one by one left me behind, I did not give up.
The words swam round and round in her head “this is my favourite place in the whole world”. The awkward angle of her body didn’t phase her, because her head was in the sweet spot. Nestled in the dip and swell between his shoulder and chest, she was cradled securely. She was free. She was safe.
She closed her eyes and drank him in. Through his chest she could feel the steady strong beating of his heart. It’s pulse penetrating her cheek and living inside her head. He smelled of….him. A heady combination of deodorant applied 8 hours ago, pure cotton and just a tiny tang of sweat. She inhaled deeply and let go, exhaling slowly and deliberately, so as not to waste his precious scent.
Her hand crept up to the space between his pectoral muscles, his sternum. There was a natural curve there. If a bug was on a skateboard, she mused, it would make the perfect skateboard ramp. Smooth, hair free, firm and perfectly formed. Her fingers traversed the landscape of skin and muscle. She snuggled deeper, at the same time feeling her body let go. Sleep was coming and she was safe in her favourite place.
Comfort
I get from this comfort and sensuality shaded with a touch of whimsy and a healthy dusting of peaceful lust. Well done! The bug on the skateboard was a bit jarring and took me out of the moment but I recognize disjointed thought that the mind makes as it is going into sleep mode.
Thanks Luanna. Haha. Yes the bug on the skateboard does interrupt the gently reverie. Thankyou for pointing it out, as all these things are great to develop an awareness of. Thanks again for taking the time to comment 🙂
You’re welcome to the comment, I enjoyed reading your post.
The taste of sour bit at her tongue as she lifted her cold face from the stinging, white, snow. Her cheeks drew hot red. She rotated over onto her back, breathless, laying there and looking up into the plump-like clouds against the navy backdrop of the sky. This was one of her worst skiing falls.
shock. 🙂 (I’ve been there)
Been there, done that. Sideswiped by a snowboarding nine or ten year old. I remember thinking how can your cheeks feel so numb and yet be so hot, right before checking inventory to see if anything was broken, as I was at the same time deciding this was not for me.
I had had patience with the bunny hill and got up with sheepishness and laughter the three times I ended up in the snow. Finally, I had the pure joy of effortless glide, balanced and what freedom and mind opening excitement it was AWESOME right up until I was smashed into. Everything happened so fast, It was with shock and the beginning of pain starting, lying there looking up at the underside of tree framing plumped up cloud in a blue sky, with tears beginning to sting my eyes as hot as the cold of the snot was cold, that that the thought, “Oh great, my very first time skiing turns out a metaphor for my life!” Spray of snow off skies brought me out and back to ouch. OK ,nothing broken,I have got to get up now.
I remember I needed to get new thoughts and a different hobby as I examined the impressive red and blue all down my right side back at the lodge, wishing I could go back out and lay in the snow instead of asking for ice packs from the wait staff.
Nice job, Irvin. Were you skiing past me when this happened? 🙂
OK.. I get disappointment and fear here, not only of injury but perhaps a change of career after a lengthy recoup or perhaps resignation at practice ruling out a race.Dispassionate objectivity and bravery of a professional are hinted at here, underlined by the brevity of your description. I think fear was being conveyed here, nice job Irvin.
Thanks for sharing.
My eyes darted around the room looking for something familiar. My teeth pierced my blood red lips, as I took a step forward. I closed my mouth and gnawed on my inner cheek. Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I let out a soft cough. My chin immediately met my chest, as I peered about the room to see if anyone had noticed. The lump was stuck
This is fear. But there is something that is not as it seems. The eyes “roaming around” looking for something to latch on to, something known. The teeth piercing the lips. The lump that is “stuck”. But then there is the fact that she looks around the room to see if anyone notices. It seems, though I could be wildly wrong here, that it’s a first speaking aloud to an audience. Nonetheless, it’s a great piece of writing.
Fear
Yes and nervousness.
Good article. I definitely need to develop my writing using all senses and emotions. Thank you.
As always, rough cut –
I don’t understand why they don’t listen to me when I tell
them. Don’t they understand that if they just did what I tell them their lives
would be so much easier. It is like bashing my head against the wall and makes
me want to smack them in their heads. I cannot wait to leave here. To be done,
finished, completed, that is what I am talking about. It is the same every
time. It is like having a needle stuck in my ear and pushed through to my other
ear. The throbbing ache in my head feels like what a bass drum must feel like
at the end of concert. I would love to scream; stop talking and do it my way.
Listen carefully to what I am saying. Of course I can’t say that, they would
tell me that was unacceptable. The idiots on the other side are always right.
Blah, blah, blah. Sound cheerful, be polite. Make them feel like they are the
only person you have to take care of today. How did I wind up here, I have a
Masters in communications with a minor in phycology. So much for that
education. Oh good grief, he is coming over here, he’s looking directly at me.
I wonder what wondrous words of wisdom he has this time. I have a reprieve he
zipped by with barely a nod, thank goodness.
“Greetings, thank you for calling the help center today. My
name is Howard, how can I help you today?”
Frustration and anger are evident here, wherever this might be, a help center, certainly, but i found myself wondering what rough cut was being dealt with over the phone? If it helps, I found remembering that there are 250 ways to do dishes, and, that if I pay attention, I might find someone else does things better than I had planned to do and can make my life easier thereby. Joy! Does not happen often though, so failing that I have the opportunity to instruct and guide with encouragement. I do know the frustration of ,” it would be so much easier if he would have done it the way I said” but if it got to this place I would know I was either hungry angry lonely or tired. It might be time for lunch and a time out for Howard. Nice portrayal of frustration and anger and sarcasm. Also relief. Vincent, how might you have let us in on the actual job, context, perhaps rough cut is a phrase for “needs to be detailed, or worked on further” as in a rough cut in wood or diamond or stone…all of which would be hard to help with over the phone, I am guessing it might be a colloquial phrase I am not familiar with. Which is to say I am slightly confused about the setting but the emotions come through loud and clear. Nice.
I never post edited pieces here, ergo As always, rough cut – I am glad to see that you picked up on all of Howard’s feelings. Thanks, I apologize for the confusion.
No worries, the emotions were the focal point and you did a good job on those, Vincent. Take it as a compliment that I wanted to know more about the story and Howard and what rough cuts were. I believe the confusion is cleared up, re rough cuts. It would seem there were unedited portions of story to share. I hope that I got that correct. 🙂
frustration! as well as real pain, then real fear, then relief.
Sounds like he should call the help center himself!
Hahaha, Howard probably should.
Thanks
He shuddered, the fierce wind biting his cheeks. Late fall was never a good time for a hunt — the icy northern storms had no mercy this time of year. He clasped his hands tightly to stop them from shaking, when he felt something cold and alien lurking in the skeleton trees. He froze, tension twisting elaborate knots in his stomach despite years of training. The chill was inside him now — no longer merely an element. A sharp jolt raced up his spine and he bit off his last shallow breath. He was being hunted.
fear grips the hunter! loved “something cold and alien lurked in the skeleton trees.”
She tipped her head, moving her shoulders to touch the back of the worn plastic chair that she struggled to find comfort in. A slight sigh escaped her chapped lips as the weight of the universe pushed down on her struggling eyelids. The corners of her mouth pulled her expression into an apparently bored one, one that masterfully concealed her own disarrayed thoughts. The dark ringlets under her eyes made her face looked bruised and beaten. The girl began to say something, but something without sounds or syllables, something that couldn’t be heard but only seen. Her own lips moved on their own, whispering into the heavens far above, the ones she stared at with closed eyes. Her hands limply fell in the gap between her knees, a gap wider than the galaxies she imagined for herself to get lost in.
A loud sound began to ring in the corners of her mind, slowly growing to the edges of her brain, and eventually beating the inside of her skull, screaming for release. She opened her eyes to small slits, squinting at the blue and white sky streaked with sun rays. A shining ocean tainted by something unknown replayed its images in her mind, refusing to let her forget its sparkling ethereal beauty. The girl breathed, first in and then out, and kept that pattern for her speeding heart to remain steady. Eventually, she had wanted to start screaming, screaming and screaming, but she wasn’t sure why, but that didn’t stop her from yelling out into that sparkling blue sky and sunny streaked ocean that yelled at her back. She kept screaming and screaming and screaming.
confusion and anger. though this scene is intense, it has me confused regarding the feelings. I too am lost in these galaxies.
“apparently bored” tells but doesn’ show that she’s trying to hide her feelings
2nd paragraph has me suspecting PTSD in its muddleness of 1) something tainting the shining oceasn and at same time refusing to let her forget its etheral beauty, and 2) the girl contorlling some emotion (?- not sure what it is) while wanting to scream, not knowing why and then yelling which is a form of screaming and definitley screaming and i never got the emotion behind any of it. People scream for diffierent reasons, fear, anger, hurt but I was lost.
This is excellent. Two great resources for helping other writers with this are: The Emotion Thesaurus & this Cheat Sheet for Writing Body Language.
I use both frequently.
The exhaustion She could feel her heart ready to leap out of her chest. She hugged her arms around her waist, tighter. Her knuckles turned white from her grip. She could feel the lump in her throat grow.
“You didn’t have to say that,” he said.
“It’s what came to mind,” she said, looking at the mole on the left side of his face. He was looking out at the street.
“You can think first,” he said.
She was silent.
“Other people don’t need to know about my private life,” he said.
“It’s my life, too,” she said.
“You don’t get to do that.”
They had been having coffee, perusing the paper. She had started a sketch of their cat BingBing, who was curled up on the sofa. She had been nurturing the idea doing some spring cleaning, clear out all the clutter in the front closet. She might draw him into it, too, go through some of their old stuff, relive some memories, be done with some of the old, clear space for the new. Now there was a hot cloud in the room, encasing them. Her sweater felt hot. The room was silent. No ruffling of the paper, no sipping from a mug, no sniffs and shifts of the body. She wouldn’t move. Not safe. Wait it out. Pretend to study the drawing. Hold the breath in the airways. Nothing to daw more attention.
his anger, her trepidation well portrayed in words and thougths.
very subtle. like “hot cloud”
i would only suggest finding a substitute word for the 2nd “clear.”
Thank you!
Avery must have seen everything when she opened my office door, even though we pulled apart and turned our full attentions on her.
“Good morning, Avery.” we said in unison and I added, “I thought you were out of town today?”
She hesitated, pulled the door towards her just slightly, then strode in, but with her eyes down, and when she looked up, her eyes were still semi-hooded. I don’t think she realized it but she was biting her lip. She placed her file on my desk, and took a deep breath. She looked directly at me, but then her eyes darted for half a second toward Kevin, before she turned her back on him and gave me her full stare, which was the most wide-eyed, I’d ever seen her. It was like a huge question mark was written all over face. Having caught us red-handed – red lipped and now both of us blushing in this case — I expected her to start quoting company policy to us about fraternization. I’d never seen her so hesitant to speak and then the thought crossed my mind that maybe she’d had her own sites set on Kevin, and I wondered if he’d given her reason to think he was available.
She woke up from a dream about gold-tinged tornados in a beautiful bluish-gray sky. It had been so exciting; she loved storms. All her friends had been there. They had all been running and taking pictures with their phones intermittently. She had gotten some good ones. And HE had been there too. Making her feel good with his presence like he always did.
She was awake now, but the feeling from the dream persisted. She didn’t have to work that day, so she got to lay there and bask in the memory for about half an hour the way she loved to do. Finally she took a few deep breaths and sat up. She began checking her phone; a funny video from her brother about a girl falling at graduation; a post from HIM on the group Facebook page. Not too much correspondence to answer, the way she liked it. When she finished she took another moment to breathe and center herself, and then mapped out the day ahead in her mind. She would practice writing to her heart’s content, there was plenty of time for that. Then she would end the day with some singing practice and a little yoga before bed. It sounded so ideal to her; she loved relaxing days like this! She decided to celebrate her freedom with a favorite meal of hers for breakfast. It was a little heavy, but it was still early so she would have plenty of time to digest everything before bed. She should be feeling light and clear-minded again right around time for bedtime this evening; just in time to kick off another round of those vivid, exciting dreams she loved so much…
Dawn appeared brightly and without decency of prior warning through the apartment blinds. Like that obnoxious, distant relative who wasn’t invited to Christmas dinner but somehow managed to show up anyway, this day also wasn’t likely to bring anyone gifts. She grunted at this reality, attempting to find escape beneath the closest pillow. Minutes dragged by, and then hours. Still no luck. A huff forced itself from her lazy lips as she glared at the sunlight with stubborn vengeance.
“Fine,” she said to the lifeless daybreak, “I’ll GET UP and shut the blinds MYSELF!”
Slapping the feather comforter off of her frail body, she stomped as heavily as her weight would allow from her bed all the way to the window, and forced the sunlight from the room. She slugged back to the side of the room from which she came and just barely managed to drag herself back up on top of the mattress when her phone rang. She screamed out her rage into the pillow she’d landed upon before daring to pick it up. Once her frustration was somewhat manageable, she forced her hand near the proximity of any button that would answer the call.
She cast a muffled “hfflmo” in the general direction of the phone, still lying face-deep in the pillow.
“Hello?” The voice asked.
Silence.
“Hello?!”
More silence. And a (probable) eye-roll.
“Cassie, are you there? At least say something so I know you can hear me.”
“mmmmmm…”
“Alright. There you are. Well, clearly you don’t want to speak to me right now. But when you do- call me, okay? We’re all worried about you. I lov-”
Click. She found the energy to react quickly at the expense of hearing more. With such an eventful morning, it was clearly time for a nap anyhow.
Depression….maybe even heartache?
Very engaging protagonist. Enjoy how the description is coloured by her personality, e.g. ‘dawn appeared without decency of prior warning’ and ‘she cast out a muffled ‘hffflmo’ in the general direction of the phone’. Thought the parts where you talk about ‘rage’ and ‘frustration’ slip into telling, though.
I would guess frustration or maybe anger.
Standing there he felt as if the wind had been knocked from his belly. Stolen by some swift kick in the midsection. His heart seemed to bang irregularly, like a clock missing the necessary pieces to click over to the next minute. The door stood in front of him, but seemed the heaviest door in the world, not a door as much as a stone pillar of immovable density. The knob an iron blob hot and foreboding. His mouth dry as if a bad lemon had been rotting away in there for months. Every single molecule of his being screamed “run!”. Yet he remained, he knew the next move must be to open that door and to step inside to lay in the bed he himself had made. She was in there. He could hear her humming sweetly as the clatter of dishes getting scrubbed tingled into his burning ears. That humming of hers was the humming of some child soothing a great beast, pure and divine. He knew it would stop the moment he turned the knob and swung the front door inwards to disturb the serenity of that humble space she kept so sweetly. “Well.” He thought. “Here goes everything.”
I’m guessing anxiety.
Standing there he felt as if the wind had been knocked from his belly. Stolen by some swift kick in the midsection. His heart seemed to bang irregularly, like a clock missing the necessary pieces to click over to the next minute. The door stood there in front of him, but seemed the heaviest door in the world, not a door as much as a stone pillar of immovable density. The knob an iron blob hot and foreboding. His mouth dry like a bad lemon had been rotting away in there for months. Every single molecule of his being screamed “run!”. Yet he remained, he knew the next move must be to open that door and to step inside to lay in the bed he himself had made. She was in there. He could hear her humming sweetly as the clatter of dishes getting scrubbed tingled into his burning ears. That humming of hers was the humming of some child soothing a great beast, pure and divine. He knew it would stop the moment he turned the knob and swung the front door inwards to disturb the serenity of that humble space she kept so sweetly. “Well.” He thought. “Here goes everything.”
This is my writing style –
Cassia felt to one knee and hissed as fire washed up her side. She sucked in an achy breath and pulled her hand away from the wound. Her shirt was turning red around the gash.
With a start, she realized she would die here. But the thought failed to scare her. “Has to happen some time.” She mumbled. And anyway, she couldn’t predict the future.
So….now I see how tweaking my style a little to show and not tell more often could really help me show character in addition to physical state. Maybe she’s aloof-
With a start, she realized she would die here. With a smirk, she mumbled, “Has to happen some time.”
Or maybe she is in a lot of pain –
With a start, she realized she would die here. She gritted her teeth as pain spiked up her side and growled “Has to happen some time.”
It had been a lighthearted tease from a concerned friend that got him into the seer’s shop to begin with and he was wishing now he had ignored it. So, he had his heart broken and wanted a new start, why couldn’t he just sensibly get drunk like his buddies? He brushed the dirt from the spade he picked up from the hardware store and put it in his pocket. Oh no, he had to let his curiosity run wild with the suggestion of a new fortune teller on the other side of the small town he driving through. No, he had to make it a stop for the night and go find out his destiny. It was a longer walk than he had estimated back to the motel from the cemetery, but he was almost there. He could hear the dry leaf skittering along the cold moonlit pavement before he saw it come to rest against the corner of the building closest to him that made up the south wall of the small town square. Someone had tried to brighten the place with a planter whose faded red paint was now peeling and the plants it once held he could only assume had dried up and blown away. His motel room and relative safety was but a short walk past that building and then diagonally across the street to the right and he was eager to get there to look at the book he had unearthed from the base of the tree in the cemetery, but ever since he brushed the dirt off the oilskin the small book had been wrapped in he had felt someone watching him that he could not see. Remembering the way the fortune teller’s eyes stared through him as she had told him where he would find a hidden message that would change his life, he suppressed a shudder. With the memory of that vacant empty stare, the book itself was somehow heavier his jacket pocket, as the hair on his neck stood up, and he took a deep breath of the windswept night air. Warmth, light, safety.. His feet seemed to pick up the pace in measure with his heartbeat beginning to race. He told himself he was paranoid as he turned the corner of the building and the world went black.
My guess is you’re portraying fear. Starts with your protagonist regretting going to see the seer. Creepy setting including a lonely walk at night and wishing he was back in ‘relative safety’, and he suppresses a shudder.
Five minutes. They say time flies when you’re having fun, what about its evil cousin? Why does time do this to me when all I want is for five o’ clock to come?
Don’t know why I’m alone in wanting it to come when my friends are both on the edge of their seats. James makes a few attempts at black humour. “Won’t see you guys at graduation, man. Come back to Burger King to see me, won’t you?”
Four minutes. I notice how a yellowish stain in the shape of a bird’s head. James’ wallpaper hasn’t been wiped in some time. Think of cracking some joke about how even the dirt agrees that James is a birdbrain, but one look at my friends changes my mind. Right now, an army of clowns wouldn’t be able to make anyone so much as smile.
Three minutes. I start to drum my fingers on the wall, but stop when Brianna shoots me a glare. Guess someone’s still capable of emotion, then.
James’ room seems to have gone oddly quiet.
The pill bottle sounded like a rain stick as it hit the floor. Gary spun.
“You’re home early,” he said, swallowing.
she wakes up with a sharp intake of breath, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. her eyes shift about, a thick fog clouding her mind, blinding her from catching the familiar of bundle of her sweater that she’d carelessly thrown to the floor. blocking the sight of the stars shaped nightlight that she placed on her bedside table. There’s a tingling sensation like tiny needles prickling her neck. Her hands shoot up and they trace the skin without a sense of direction. Dry and thick. Yet, she pulls her hand back just to make sure, to confirm that there is no blood dripping down her neck. That a sharpness didn’t cut across and spraying the person with the red liquid just like she had witnessed mere seconds ago. A dream. No, a nightmare. She swallows the thick lump in her throat that absorbed all the liquid like a sponge, takes a large gulp air to trap it in before she releases it in a small pace.
Ryan stood, fingers fidgeting in the confines of his pockets. He rocked on his toes, a smile glowing on his lips, prickling at the dimples in his cheeks. He thought to sit down, but the moment his bum touched the soft couch, he bounced back up, giggles bubbling from his mouth. The infectious, inexorable force took the entrepreneurs by surprise, fits of snorts and laughter rippling through the room. He chuckled, desperately trying to draw a breath and present his ideas to his colleagues, but in place of his words came a frenzy of uproarious hysterics, sending the seasoned professionals rolling on the floor.