Importance of "Show, don't tell" and Big Update
Only a few of the brightest stars dared pierce the dark sheet of the midnight sky, and the air had a skin crawling chill to it. A slight breeze susurrating through the early autumn leaves urged a crumpled coffee cup along the deserted street. The neighborhood was one of the poorest in the city, framed with dilapidated three to five story apartment buildings, boarded up echoes of once flourishing businesses, and sidewalks with cracks like wrinkles of old age that could tell a hundred stories of those who have walked its pitted surface.
Tonight, the sidewalks would recall the uneven footsteps of a middle-aged man that trudged along them, hobbling ever so slightly on a tender right leg. A ragged faded baseball cap with the team logo long worn off did its best to restrain long graying hairs peering out from beneath. The man’s face was torn by years of drug use and a life unkind. His hollow blue eyes sat deep, bloodshot from an overindulgence of cheap liquor, which sullied his already rotting breath. His dark jacket was as scruffy as his facial hair, unzipped and flapping gently in the breeze. A tattered sweater and faded blue jeans held up by a belt older then the man completed his ensemble, along with a soil infused pair of sneakers to which the soles barely clung.
The man’s eyes flinched up and peered out from under his cap, catching a hint of activity coming toward him on the sidewalk across the narrow two-way street. Jezebel had just finished her late night shift at the local pub and strode quickly toward her apartment about a block and a half away. Her makeup, still in good standing after a quiet night, was lit by the glow of her smart phone, her eyes scanning repeatedly across the screen and thumbs prodding away busily. The gentle wind tossed her golden locks about as they danced to her quick bobbing pace.
The girl figured she wouldn’t need her jacket tonight, but elbows packed tightly against her exposed midriff spoke of her regret, her pink sleeveless shirt and black push-up bra offering little environmental resistance. Her matching pink pantyhose, yawning with holes that deliberately exposed her smooth flawless skin, and short denim skirt didn’t fare any better in keeping her warm. Bright red t-straps that clopped on the concrete completed her look, along with a small teal baguette slung over her left shoulder.
The gruff man licked his lips and altered course to intercept the girl, mumbling softly to himself, a mischievous grin creeping across his mug. Jezebel peered up to check her path, then did a double take. She observed the man hobbling across the road. Her eyes with their long dark eyelashes bulged and twitched around, trying to find a safe location to avoid the menace headed her way. Only two choices crossed her mind as she let her arms dangle, left hand tightly clamped around her phone. She could turn around and head back the way she came, or head into an alley that cut across to another street. She bolted right.
Less than a dozen feet into the alley, a heel snapped off Jezebel’s right shoe, sending her stumbling into the dimly lit gravel alleyway. She let out a wail and her phone flew across the air, landing with a few clunks several feet away from her. The impact almost left her breathless, her pink shirt and denim skirt etched with moist sandy particulates. Jezebel winced as the gravel heartlessly gouged into the palms of her hands and thighs. She rolled over to face the aggressor, only to find him few feet away from her.
“Give me your money little girl and I won’t need to hurt ya!” spat the man in a hoarse voice.
Jezebel cried out for help, but her voice seemed get lost in the breeze.
“Well, if ya like it rough…” The man reached into his back pocket with his right hand and retrieved a folding knife. With a flick of his thumb, the shiny metal blade spun open with a satisfying click, the glow of the surrounding streetlights glimmering off its edges.
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Much better, if I do say so myself (and I also kid you not, the first example actually demonstrates quite closely how poorly that novel was written). Here are some key points:
- The first paragraph quickly sets up the environment. Where are we? It also helps set the ambiance of the scene. Notice that I don't necessarily spell things out. I let your imagination fill in the details and sounds, like the breeze shuffling the leaves and simile of the sidewalk's poor state of being.
- The second introduces our antagonist and gives us a good feel for the type of character he is. Notice I didn't say he walked with a limp. Instead, I showed you how he walks unevenly, minding his right leg.
- As we continue, we get a good feel for the girl. Works in a pub, attire is a bit slinky, probably does it for tips.
- I could have simply said something like, "She was cold," but that would not be terribly interesting. Instead, I showed you how she held her arms / elbows tightly against her body; she's also in a rush to get home.
- The man starts to approach the girl, so we show you how he feels by licking his lips and mumbling to himself. He's probably a perv.
- A whole paragraph goes into the agony of her fall. I like to use this to build a bit of suspense. C'mon! What's gonna happen to her already?
- In the novel I stopped reading, the mugger took out his knife. Period. Great. Here, a little more effort goes into describing this moment that would be quite terrifying for a young lady.
- Speaking of mugger, did you notice I didn't use that word? Why? Let the reader figure it out!
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