"Show, not Tell!"--oh really?

I've heard (and seen in writing) that phrase many, many times, but I've never really looked into what it means. Being a very poor writer myself, I looked it up today to see what it meant, and if, perhaps, I am guilty of "telling".

So I read through some examples, and was left with my jaw on the floor.

Sure enough, I am guilty of telling--but then, so is G.K Chesterton, J.R.R Tolkien, C.S Lewis, Andrew Lang, Winston Churchill, Emily Bronte, Mary Shelley, Jane Austen and a host of others. To be frank, while reading through some of the examples of "showing", I was reminded strongly of Certain Writers. My emotions were not engaged, as "showing" is alleged to do, and I was only filled with a deep, lingering resentment towards whomever created the specimen I had just read.

Oh--pardon me. I just told you how I felt. Let me show you, instead.

As my eyes fitfully scanned the glowing screen of my Hewlett Packard, I felt all my muscles begin to tense with every word. There was a peculiar tingle in my fingers, and my stomach was sloshing like the sea itself. Without any control over myself, a sneer crawled upon my face before I broke down, and collapsed to the floor in a puddle of my own wet, salty tears.

Many of the examples were exactly like that. Except worse. Much, much worse.

This obsession with "showing" is typically accompanied by long, involved descriptions of absolutely everything, and typically not very well. It would not suffice to say, in today's world, that Arwen Undomiel had hair dark as night and clear grey eyes; we would need to have information about the precise shade of grey, whether her hair was raven, dark brown or black, how long her forehead, nose and chin were, whether her lips were thin or full (and whether they could best be described as rose or mauve), the coloring of her cheeks, and whether or not her figure could be described as "willowy". Some authors, I think, would even go to the extent of describing her nostril size (and whether or not there was any snot in said nostril), and by the time that Today's Author would be finished describing her, you would have forgotten entirely that she was a centuries-old elf. The point would be entirely, utterly, completely lost.

For that matter, if one thinks back to many of the Great Writers, how often does one read long, involved physical descriptions? It is my belief that such things ought to be left to the reader--vague, broad descriptions are all right, but the really fine points ought to be left up to the reader. It makes things..unique. Buildings are a bit different, in my opinion--rooms and such typically have a definitive appearance, but people are different.

So while we read about Athena's flashing grey eyes, the Iliad does not explain everything about her right down to her shoe size (sandal size? helmet size?). When descriptions are left vague, it leaves more room for the imagination--when everything is being "shown", it tends to make things really, really easy (and boring...for me) for the reader. Creativity is like a muscle--it needs to be exercised, ja?

To return to a previous format, let's think about something. Throughout the whole of Pride and Prejudice, we are never told what color Lizzie Bennet's eyes are, in spite of how they fascinate Darcy. We're never told of their precise appearances--in fact, we're told very little! During Wuthering Heights, we are informed of golden hair and blue eyes, but never more (and even then, it is Catherine saying, "I am envious of Isabella's golden hair and blue eyes, but I do not speak of it!").

In other words--showing, as the majority of the population sees it, is practically unheard of throughout the Classics.

Thus, I will keep my telling, thank you very much. You, modern readers, may keep your "chocolate for the ears".