Tell, Don't Show

by Charlotte Hinger

One of the most misunderstood "rules" in writing successful novels is the instruction to "Show, don't tell." Sometimes a story moves more quickly when the writer uses the limited omniscience viewpoint. An engaging narrative voice using descriptive details can jump start mysteries. 

One of my favorite book about the craft of writing is The Successful Novelist by David Morrell. It includes an excellent chapter on viewpoint. He describes his struggles with the beginning of his novel, First Blood. The book is a literary novel, by the way. He warns readers it's nothing like the movie. And it isn't.

He tried limited third person through Rambo's eyes. It didn't work. He tried alternating third person between Rambo and Teasle, the relentless policeman. He still wasn't happy with the beginning. Then he came up with this:

His name was Rambo, and he was just some nothing kid for all anybody knew, standing by the pump of a gas station on the outskirts of  Madison, Kentucky. He had a long heavy beard, and his hair was hanging down over his ears to his neck, and he had his hand out trying to thumb a ride from a car that was stopped at the pump. 

Other best-selling authors begin books with limited omniscience.  

Consider this beginning from Tana French's best seller, In the Woods:  

Picture a summer stolen whole from some coming-of-age film set in a small-town 1950s. This is none of Ireland's subtle seasons mixed for a connoisseur's palate. . . ." 

Of the beginning of Elizabeth George's novel, A Place of Hiding:

Santa Ana winds were no friends of photography, but that was something you could not tell an egomanical architect who believed his entire reputation rested upon capturing for posterity--and for Architectural Digest--fifty-two thousand square feet of unfinished hillside sprawl today. 

In my historical novel, Come Spring, one of my early paragraphs began:

She was a frail watercolor of a woman, very slight, with yellow hair and pale, sensitive blue eyes that could become pridefully unreadable in an instant. In another setting she would have been lovely but the prairie sun was too strong for her. It bleached her out--her hair, her skin, her very soul--with its harshness.  

Morrell recommends experimenting with different points of view. 

One rule that I consider set in stone is this: If something works, it works.