Lawyers Discover Why Drama Requires “Show Don’t Tell”
I’d been writing fiction with intent to publish for more than fifteen years when I finally understood an imporatant difference between exposition and dramatic writing. Or at least, the nuance that had been eluding me up until that time. The nuance many lawyers miss when admonished to “show not tell.”
All writing seeks to convey clarity. But the methods vary. In this context, the nuance I’m referring to is the distinction between clarity in dramatic writing and clarity in expostion. Both require precision. Exacting word choice is essential. This much we all know.
But the missing nuance, for me and for many lawyer-writers, until the morning I “got it” was the method dramatic writing uses to convey clarity and how it differs from exposition and legal writing. That is, what it means to “show” instead of “tell” and why showing is more powerful than telling for dramatization.
Legal writing is exceptionally precise. We all know the difference in a statute between the words “shall” and “may,” for example.
Exposition, such as this essay itself, would explain (tell) the difference between “shall” and “may” as we learned it in law school. Shall means must and may means there is a choice or discretion, we would say. To be sure the reader grasped our meaning, we’d provide examples, we’d explain how those examples work in practice.
In dramatic writing, the clarity of meaning between shall and may is shown, that is delivered through demonstration, seeking to evoke the essence of the concept, not instruct or explain. Both forms seek to convey knowlege, but do so in very different ways. But why? And what difference does it make?
A lawyer colleague asked me to read his novel manuscript, which led to a series of conversations about reader involvement with the story. During this exchange, we both learned something about the power of showing.
We readers want to identify with the characters in a story. We want to be on their side, root for them, hate the bad guys, understand the other dudes. Beyond that, we want to taste the great food, get drunk on the thin red wine, smell the cow mature, hear the clash of the bocce balls, feel the bite of the cold wind those character are bundled up against.
And when we do all of those things, we love the story that much more. We remember it longer, too, because we experienced it instead of simply understood it. Most of what we lawyers write is meant to be understood. But dramatic writing is meant to be experienced. Experience requires involvement. it’s as simple as that.
Any time we humans do anything, we remember it longer and more vividly if we have an experience that involves at least two and preferably more of our senses. Psychological studies prove it. Advertisers know it. And so does Disney and every good teacher in the universe.
Giving readers a memorable experience using nothing more than words on a page is quite a feat. This is the challenge the novelist or dramatist has set for herself.
Dramatic writing is a challenge because it suggests and infers more than explains or elucidates, as expository writing does. Dramatic writing draws us in. It entices, attracts us. It uses a variety of devices to do this, such as the appliation of universal experiences. Shared memories, particularly sense memories, or emotional memories (vs. cognitive recollection) are most vivid.
What does cat fur feel like when you pet a kitten? What does ice cream feel like on a sore throat? Why do we still eat comfort foods like mashed potatoes when, really, wallpaper paste probably has better flavor? Why do we enjoy the circus or baseball or Christmas trees or birthday cakes? Because everyone was a kid once. Everyone had a mom or a mom figure to whom food was love. Everybody had a dad or a dad figure who at least talked about baseball, even if he didn’t take us out to games or pitch/hit/run in the back yard.
Everybody’s been lonely, heartbroken, broke. Everyone’s felt the outsider or been sexually excited, or felt like a loser. These shared experiences can be conjured up and applied in your prose to create that involvement that makes your fiction not only enjoyable in the moment, but memorable, too.
Dramatic writing is slower and longer because it’s less direct. And pacing must still be maintained. Hey, if it was easy, anybody could do it, right?
Expository writing is: He was handsome. What was he hiding?
Dramatic writing is: His face was leathered by years at sea. Dark brows and lashes outlined brilliant whites and robin’s egg irises uncommon bright. Squinting had left white lines dashed from the corners of his eyes to his temples like a child’s drawing of sun rays from an orbed center. A straight nose, narrower at the nostrils than his broad cheeks demanded rested above full lips he moistened with quick darts of tongue. A well-trimmed white goatee dressed the bottom of his face, but with such visibly pleasant features in full view, he’d have been forgiven a weak chin if shuch was what he concealed.
See how much clearer a picture you have in your head of what the guy looks like with the second example? You even know a bit of what he’s about, where he’s been, what he’s done in life and why he’s mysterious, don’t you?
Also, writing with all five senses helps to bring the prose alive.
Better expository writing is: He smelled so bad we could taste him before he limped, thumping his way into the room, although he was handsome in a mysterious way. What was he hiding? When he talked, too loud, he revealed a heavy Southern accent.
So we’ve used our sense of sight, smell, taste, hear, touch. Much better. Still all expository, though — telling. Not as involving as it could be. Dramatic style using all five senses would evoke and involve us more. Something like this:
Body odor and garlic stench wafted ahead of him, announcing his approach even before he called out, “Where are y’all? Y’all in there?” He lifted then thumped the walker down hard, stepped with his left foot and dragged his right into position, repeat. Each time he moved closer, the noises louder. Our nerves stretched to the snapping point long before he entered the room and extended his filthy hand in greeting.
The dramatic style is more involving. You invite the reader to engage with the story and its people. To get inside their skins, see what they see, feel what they feel. In your story, we want to be there. We really do. Let us go there. Simply show, don’t tell.
