We all know the mantra: to write a better novel, show, don’t tell. It’s the lead-off topic in nearly any how-to book on fiction writing. You hear it repeated endlessly by creative writing teachers. You see it scrawled in the margins of the stories you’ve submitted for critique.
What’s the big deal? Let’s say I write: “She lingered after dinner, savoring the wonderful fruit dessert he served.” What’s wrong with that?
Nothing. Nothing is “wrong” with it. But if I really want my reader hanging on for dear life as she turns that page to read on, I’d better consider writing it more like this: “She lingered after dinner, savoring the mix of fruits he’d plucked from his garden–sweet bites of Bartlett pear, chilled watermelon balls, and plump strawberries, cut, sugared and drowned in cream.”
Okay, a little over-written perhaps, but I can always tone that down. (Over-writing is never the problem when it’s the right KIND of writing.)
But why go to the trouble? For aesthetic reasons? Are we talking “art for art’s sake?” Why is the second version “righter” than the first?
The reason is simple: the second version is full of specific images that hook the reader’s senses, stimulating her to visualize what she’s reading. In effect, the second version says to the reader: hey, two can play this game. I’ll pass you the ball, you see what you can do with it. In the first version, you don’t get to touch the ball, and that’s no fun.
Summarizing: readers are more attentive to your story, more committed emotionally, if their experience of it is active. But when you keep them at arms’ length by using generalized terms like “fruit dessert,” or even just “dessert,” they are hearing a report from far, far away.
Their experience is not active. They aren’t touching the ball. That’s when you risk losing them.
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