There’s a reason “show don’t tell” became writing advice in the first place. The goal was never just to make writing prettier.
It was supposed to stop stories from feeling explained.
Because when a writer explains everything directly—what the character feels, what the moment means, how the reader should interpret it—the experience becomes strangely lifeless. Even when technically nothing is wrong.
So the solution became:
Use sensory details.
Use body language.
Use description.
Dramatize the moment instead of summarizing it.
And to be fair…that does help.
A sentence like:
Sarah was nervous.
usually feels weaker than:
Sarah rubbed her palms against her jeans and glanced at the clock again.
One is labeling the emotion.
The other creates a visible experience the reader can witness.
That’s the purpose of show don’t tell. Or at least…what it was trying to solve.
But there’s a problem with classic “show don’t tell” advice
A lot of writers follow this advice correctly and their writing still feels flat. Still feels strangely hollow. Still feels like “writing pretending to be writing.”
And the reason is because “showing” puts on a show. It’s something for the reader to watch. It’s not something the reader experiences.
You can absolutely show a scene while still preventing the reader from actually experiencing it. Which is why so many writers end up polishing, cutting, rephrasing, adding more imagery, removing adverbs and blah blah blah *insert every other writing rule you’ve learned* blah.
The worst part of it all…
Is when you pass it along to writer friends or beta readers or, hey, even random people on the internet in writing forums or Facebook groups, and they tell you that it’s good.
It’s fine. It’s vivid. Great word choice! The imagery is strong. (and maybe the occasional unhelpful “i couldn’t even follow this” from a writer just trying to put you down). So now you feel insane because technically…the writing is good. But every time you read it, you still feel it:
Something isn’t right. But everything on the internet is telling you you’ve done a good job. You’ve edited all the right places. You must just be a perfectionist and you need to move on.
You’re not a perfectionist. Well, maybe. But at least not with this. What you’re feeling is legitimate and here’s what’s happening:
Your writing is clean technically, but your reader has nothing to do.
And I don’t mean physically reading words on a page. I mean mentally. Emotionally. Interpretively.
Because great writing is not just transferring information from your brain into theirs. It’s not just witnessing a story (not the way I want to write, anyway). It’s creating the conditions for the reader to participate in meaning.
That’s what most “show don’t tell” articles/videos never fully explain, even though technically “showing” should encompass participation beyond witnessing. So let me show you how that really works.
Showing vs interpretive writing
I’ll show this in 3 versions. The first, you are probably beyond already, it’s very beginner writer. The second is likely where you stay. The third is exactly what I’m talking about.
Example 1
Mark slammed the cabinet shut.
“I’m fine,” he said angrily.
This is technically functional but likely first draft or new writer-ish.
We understand the emotion because we’re literally told (a la telling) what it is.
Now look at this:
Example 2
Mark shoved the cabinet closed harder than he meant to, his hands clenched as a plate clanged against another.
“I’m fine.”
He forced a hand open and dragged it down his face as he turned toward the sink.
Now we’re showing the anger instead of labeling it. And this is where a lot of writers stay. It’s what all the show don’t tell advice out there will tell you is right and good and working.
Because technically, it does work. The body language is believable. The physicality communicates emotion. The dialogue has subtext. But the reader is still mostly observing the emotion from the outside. They’re watching anger happen.
Example 3
Mark shoved the cabinet shut. A plate cracked sharply against another inside.
Neither of them looked at it.
“I’m fine.”
The dishwasher was still half unloaded. She always stopped halfway through now.
This is the shift.
Notice what changed:
The writing stopped displaying anger and started allowing the reader to connect the dots.
Now the reader has things to do:
- Neither of them looked at it creates the feeling-in-the-room of ignoring painful things.
- What does She always stopped halfway through now mean?
- How long has this been happening?
- Why does that line hurt more than the cabinet slam?
- What’s actually wrong between them?
The reader begins constructing emotional meaning themselves instead of merely witnessing visible symptoms of anger. That participation is what creates depth.
That participation is what most “show don’t tell” advice misses completely.
And that tiny act of recognition changes the entire experience of reading.
Because now the emotion happens inside the reader instead of merely being delivered to them already completed. That’s the difference between visible emotion and experiential emotion.
So yes, technically you are still showing this way. But it’s a step beyond where classic writing advice stays. You’re showing the shape of thought, the absence of something in the room, the subtle interactions (or avoidances) between characters.
But showing =/= witnessing.
Sometimes, showing leads to interpretation. And it’s the interpretation that feels strongest to the reader.
