My math professor at Akron University pointed to a differential equation and said, "It begs to be touched."
He meant that anyone who knew the things he was about to teach us could profitably use them to transform the beggar step by step (touch by touch) into a different but more understandable statement of the same thing: Each touch does the same things to each side of the equal sign, so the equation is always equal. After many touches, we produce an equation that probably looks very different from the original but certainly keeps the same equality.
It's all part of a delicious circle: Knowing the techniques of transformation can help students see how an equation is begging to be transformed; and transforming the equation helps us master the techniques.
Authors in the lit-biz have a similar delicious circle. The hard part is to recognize the begging in our writing. But this becomes easier as we master the craft by taking instruction and by reading a lot of well-written books. The literary techniques we learn allow us to transform the same scene back-and-forth between “telling it” and “showing it”. (Writing a few scenes both ways is a good exercise.) This works because showing and telling are themselves different forms of the same thing: With every word, punctuation mark, and even blank space, readers automatically build or recall mental constructs of feelings, images, ideas, events, even other words. In fact, producing those mental constructs is the entire function of words and language. Knowing the strengths and weaknesses of both “show” and “tell” is part of the mastery necessary for good writing .
After a while, though, our mastery will interfere with our enjoyment of any book. So, beware. This delicious circle can turn vicious.
Here is a scene snippet between Dr. Maynard Little (an inventor) and Guy Wilson (the young man Doc chose to do programming). It's okay, but eventually I saw their conversation begging to be touched:
"By the way," said the boss, "did you think more about what I asked you last time?”
“You mean ‘free will’?”
“Yes.”
Giving his stock answer, Guy said, “Even if someone knows what I’m going to choose, that doesn’t mean it isn’t a free choice.”
“That’s not what I meant. Let’s start with this: Your Bible says God tests people. Why does he do that if he already knows the results?”
“God tests me and lets me be tested because I need to know, not because he needs to know.”
“That is so strange, and yet…”
“God tells us things,” said Guy, hoping to explain. “But we don’t listen—or we don’t believe them. Does telling us over and over help?”
The boss gave an agreeing grunt.
“When I was a boy,” the programmer went on, “one of my dads was an EE, and he warned us not to put our fingers in the electric outlet. Of course, now that it was taboo, I had to test it. I got zapped. He came running.
“ ‘Guy, you dummy, why did you do that?’ he said, checking my hands. ‘You were lucky. You didn’t lose any fingertips.’
“Then it was like he read my mind: ‘No, we won’t send you back.’ And he took me to the basement to show me how to reset the circuit breaker.”
“We often don’t believe our parents—or God. We believe ourselves. We live life a day at a time, finding things out, hopefully.”
After another moment, the boss interrupted his think to add, “The ‘finding out’ is doubtful unless the feedback is quick like that.”
There was another pause. Guy let the conversational tennis ball bounce to the back fence.
That scene has some "telling" which could be turned into "showing". The challenge is to avoid bloat. Here is my edited version, enhanced and re-arranged just a bit. My notes are in brackets:
"By the way," said the boss, "did you think more about what I asked you last time?”
“You mean ‘free will’?”
“Yes.”
Giving his stock answer, Guy said, “Even if someone knows what I’m going to choose, that doesn’t mean it isn’t a free choice.”
“That’s not what I meant. Let’s start with this: Your Bible says God tests people. Why does he do that if he already knows the results?”
“God tests me and lets me be tested because I need to know, not because he needs to know.”
“That is so strange, and yet…”
“We’re told rules and things all the time,” said Guy, hoping to explain. “But we don’t listen—or we don’t believe them. Does telling us over and over help?”
[Leave God out until later. The “we” in that paragraph is not an error. It's a setup that's paid off beyond the back fence. The rest of the snippet here should use "I".]
The boss gave an agreeing grunt.
“When I was a boy,” the programmer went on, “one of my dads was an EE, and he warned us not to put our fingers in the electric outlet. Of course, now that it was taboo, I had to test it. But I was careful; I used a paperclip.
[I re-arranged the next few sentences to enhance suspense a bit, pay off an earlier setup, and set up the basement thing.]
“The bang-zap sent me flying—and the power went off.
“Dad came running. ‘Guy, you dummy, why did you do that?’ he said, checking my hands. ‘You were lucky. You didn’t lose any fingertips.’ Then he took me to the basement. I knew what that meant:
[I'm giving Guy an idea based on what the reader knows about him, and then I'll debunk it with my original idea. This is a great way to tie any story together as well as build tension in the current scene without spending time groping for a new idea.]
I’m gonna get a beating, just like the other places.
“Instead, he showed me how to reset the circuit breaker.
“Then it was like he read my mind: ‘No, we won’t send you back to the agency.’
[Guy was an orphan who “didn't fit” in some foster homes. I put this "we won't send you back" idea here originally because readers already knew that he was an orphan and that he was afraid of getting fired. In Guy's mind, getting fired is like getting sent back.]
[The next quote must be first-person singular, not plural. Singular cannot be taken as preachy:]
“…I sometimes didn’t believe my parents—or God. I believed myself. But I did manage to stay alive and find things out. I hope that’s still true.”
After another moment, the boss interrupted his think to say, “The ‘finding out’ is doubtful unless the feedback is quick like that.”
There was another pause. Guy let the conversational tennis ball bounce to the back fence.
Those edits didn't change the scene's inputs and outputs, but it is more showing now, more entertaining, and more tightly bound to other bits of the story.
I'll celebrate with a delicious café mocha.