THE WHAT AND THE WHY
So maybe someone just told you to “Show, don’t tell” in your writing.
To which you responded, “...what does that even mean?”
And then they said that it means that you need to get some more specific examples and details into your essay, stat. But that just left you thinking, I already put in a bunch of examples…
So what’s not connecting here between you and your reader? What does specific really mean, anyway?
Here’s what’s probably happened: you DID use examples. But you need to use more compelling, memorable, illustrative ones. And how to do so might seem a bit nebulous.
So in this guide, we’re going to break down what “Show, don’t tell” really means, why it’s mostly great advice but also why we’d recommend modifying it a bit for writing essays for college applications, and how to actually do it.
First, we need to dig into your college admission reader’s mind. Figuratively.
MAKE ’EM KEEP READING BY MAKING THEM FORGET THEY’RE READING.
Meet your admission officer at the end of the day after reading 50 college essays:
Their shoulders feel like someone took a jackhammer to them. Their eyelids feel like sheets of sandpaper. Their bed is calling out their name. (Notice that we could have just said “This person is tired,” but that would kinda’ miss the point of this guide.) They have seen it ALL today.
And by “all,” we mean every general, vague, lofty phrase out there: passion this and excellence that.
Passion and excellence are those telling kind of words: they’re general, abstract nouns that sound pretty and often mean little. And they’re not bad words—they have their own place in good writing; but they’re frequently just the wrong kind of words for this gig.
Now imagine that your essay is number 51.
And remember that your reader knows almost nothing about you. All they have to go on in order to geta sense of who you are and what you value, to understand how you see the world and how you want to explore your place within it, is what you’ve put on the page.
And in your first paragraph, they read this:
“I harness salient people skills to connect deeply with others.”
Maybe you were thinking something like
✓Harness: good, active verb, right?
✓Salient: cool, unique adjective, right?
✓Deeply: good adverb, right?
And technically, you’re not wrong. Those words can have those qualities. But your college admission reader just skims right over it, eyes glazing. Or maybe even rolling.
Why? Because this writing is vague. It ain’t compelling. It doesn’t help them see how you’re a different human from the 50 other humans they’ve read about today. In fact, it maybe even lulls your reader to sleep or pushes them away enough that they have to remind themselves to focus and try to see you in the middle of all this vagueness.
This is reason number one you want primarily to show, not tell. You need to make your tired, overworked reader LEAN IN. Help them forget they’re reading by using rich, specific detail. Because if they can’t forget they’re reading and see you clearly, then it’s far less likely they’ll fight for you to make it to the next round.
You’ve got to make yourself a real human being who rises off the page to stand before them. One they can see in their classrooms, clubs, intramurals, study abroad programs, all the places. If you don’t create a mini-movie of yourself, they won’t see you.
So what do we mean by “show, don’t tell*”?
We mean to use language that helps a reader see what you’ve seen, feel what you’ve felt, experience what you’ve experienced. Details big and small that allow readers to live vicariously through you, to understand the world through your eyes and bones and heart. Figurative language that paints clear pictures in your reader’s mind. And since how exactly to do that might seem a bit unclear, we’ll give you a few clear actionable tools in a bit.
*Before we do, a quick note that “show, don’t tell” is generally a great approach, and you should definitely lean far more to the “show” side. But, in college essays, it can be nice to include small “telling” statements after you’ve used nice rich detail to show us.
For example:
Nothing teaches patience like trying to catch 22 rogue quail in your backyard. I incubated 32 quail eggs and every day I dedicated my afternoons to watching the eggs, checking the water levels, and making sure the temperature was okay. In the days leading up to the expected hatch date, I sat there, face centimeters away from the glass, talking to them and waiting for any signs of movement. Once they did hatch, taking care of them wasn't easy and I had to learn a lot about how they acted. I have taken these traits of patience and adaptability into other areas of my life. For example, in crew, creating the ideal "set" in a boat takes eight people working in perfect unison and this is rarely the case. Learning how to love crew for what it is took time.
In this paragraph, the first sentence contains a bit of telling (“teaches patience”), but then focuses mostly on showing (all the different details that actually show patience), then briefly tells us what we should take away, in case we were reading fast and missed it (“...taken these traits of patience and adaptability…”) and shows how they’ve applied these values and insights elsewhere in life.
But again, if you’re going to err on one side or the other, err on the side of over-showing (rather than over-telling).
And since just telling you “Show, don’t tell” is, ironically, telling you how to write well rather than showing you…
How to pop from that pile
Again, think about it from your reader’s perspective. If you were in their job, would you want read this line:
“I harness salient people skills to connect deeply with others”
or
“Because I’m quite curious, I often engage with customers at my Target register who chat with me about their beloved, rambunctious grandkids. I’ve asked questions that lead to stories about all kinds of pranks and family trips where these grandparents spoil their descendants. My customers remember me because I always remember them.”
You see what the writer did there? That writer built a mini-scene. That writer found a series of specifics like “Target register” and “pranks” and “grandkids” that help us experience what they’ve experienced. Now we’re seeing this cashier—this curious cashier who sounds like they are ready to connect with new folks and build community in college. Now the reader is leaning into that story a little more, eyes a little less droopy.
Here’s the good news: sometimes, during the writing process, we have to start with telling ourselves what we want to say—“I’ve got people skills!”—before we come up with a way to show it, like “how I am at Target!” So don’t judge yourself if you come up with a general statement first. That’s part of the craft of writing: going back and forth, back and forth between scene and summary, the specific and the general.
Here’s another Before and After:
BEFORE: “I hope to have the honor of learning from professors about their academic journeys and discussing everything from current issues to their favorite pastimes.”
AFTER: “Through Dean’s Scholars seminars, I’d have the honor of learning from world-renowned experts such as Professor Hawkins about the Milky Way’s structure and Professor Dominguez about how hormone regulation relates to addiction. I’d love to ask Professor Esbaugh what surprised him most from his fish physiology research and talk with Professor Bierner about sunflower taxonomy.”
Not. Even. Close.
This section of this supplemental “Why Us?” essay just went from dull to dazzling. And see? The writer even kept the big concept—the idea of conversing with experts—while getting into writing that shimmers. It’s memorable, it’s convincing, it’s sticking in the head of the reader. Specifics like these make you leap off the page so that those readers don’t forget you when they’re considering which applications get to move to Round 2.
And if you are application number 49 in today’s pile of 50, you’ll want to use the tools available to you to nudge your chances of moving to Round 2. One of the best tools available to you is to (mostly) show, don’t tell (like maybe a little, but minimally).
Pull out your (figurative) movie camera and engage them using cinematic strategies, AKA creative writing strategies, that draw your reader’s eye, convince your reader you really lived these moments, and really are passionate about some things (without actually saying the word passion, since it’s up there for most-used word in college essays).
Because college admission readers don’t want your fancy language. They don’t want shiny, general, polysyllabic summations. What they want is storytelling.
Make them go from this
To this
Make them want to fight for you!
WHAT ARE “SHOW, DON’T TELL” CRAFT MOVES?
There are tons of ways to show who you are. Here are a few you can add to your toolbox, illustrated with how students have harnessed these craft moves.
1. Lean into the images using sensory detail (any of the five senses)
Visual images are great, but also don’t feel like you need to shy away from taste, or smell, or touch, or hearing. Engaging your reader’s senses is a great way to pull them into your writing. For example…
“A dusty, dry wind brings tears to my eyes…”
— — —
“You can never go wrong with Raleigh’s Guasaca. Order two arepas stuffed with steamy rice and beans, juicy chicken, and their signature Guasaca sauce that makes your taste buds tingle.”
— — —
2. Lean into specific names of things, or proper names
Each one can help build your world for your reader.
“Just two weeks in and our first plants began to sprout: rainbow chard, broccoli, spinach, tomatoes, and lettuce.”
— — —
“Whenever I travel to Argentina, I make note of every unfamiliar, fascinating cultural tradition. The kissing each cheek to greet each other. Making steamy empanada pastries stuffed with juicy ground beef and spices. The late dinners with cousins that go on until 1 am with heated arguments about politics or the River vs Boca soccer teams.”
— — —
3. Lean into specific, active verbs
But instead of just using good verbs to lead into bland phrasing like harness salient people skills to connect deeply with others, use them to help us experience what you’ve experienced.
“I slip out of my chair and see the guard on duty backing away from the ruckus. I also see two men on the pool deck, tensing their muscles, ready to pounce. I freeze.”
— — —
4. Lean into the data and the stats
Though the phrase is usually used to refer to warfare, it’s also generally true for writing that quantity has a quality all its own.
“$630. That is how much a single pair of Hermès’ Oran Sandals cost—$830 if you want the same sandals but with little studs.”
— — —
5. Lean into the feelings
Use language and phrasing that helps us feel what you’re feeling.
“My heart raced in my chest as I went to meet with the athletic director. Would Coach kick me off the team for going behind his back? Would he take away playing time? Would he make fun of me too? Even though my coach’s behavior didn’t improve, I am still proud of myself.”
— — —
Or combine several moves, like this student has here:
“In the 55th minute, with the game deadlocked at zero, South African winger Siphiwe Tshabalala fired a rocket of a ball into the top corner of the net to score the first goal of the tournament. Shock in the crowd quickly turned to joy, vuvuzelas droned down from the rafters, and South African flags waved with passion as the players danced in unison.”
— — —
There Are Degrees of Showing, Too.
Have you ever seen old-school sports films? Shot in standard definition, before the invention of high definition, HDTV?
A lot of sports essays, for example (think the standard here’s-what-I’ve-learned-from volleyball or the we-were-down-in-the-final-minute-and-down-by-X-points/goals/whatever kind of essays), tend to read like standard definition film: distant, blurry, and hard to identify key players’ moves. Because these stories are so common, if you write about them in the same general way using the same general themes that other writers will, you’ll probably make your admission officer’s eyes glaze over. So what follows applies to all writing, but especially to any writing on a more common topic, such as sports.
Here’s another analogy: make sure that your details pass “the eye test.” Sports commentators will use this phrase to mean “use your own eyeballs (rather than, say, advanced statistics) to judge an athlete’s skills.” Put aside all the media pundits’ analytics, and decide for yourself: what does the performance look like?
Apply these concepts to your own writing (in general, but especially if you’re going to write about a common sport): give us the play-by-play, moment-by-moment cinematic detail, so that just with your specific descriptive language, you “pass the eye test.”
How? Get as specific as you can with your examples.
Rather than writing, "Listening is important in soccer" (we probably know that), tell us instead about how
the tension increases exponentially in the seconds before a corner kick, and everyone in the box braces, leaning on the opponent just enough to gain an advantage but not so much that you get called for a foul, and in those seconds, if you aren't paying attention—that is, if you aren't listening with your entire body—and you do foul your opponent, you risk a penalty that could cost your team the game.
— — —
What’s this writer doing? Using
Active verbs (and forms of verbs): braces, leaning, called, foul, cost
Repetition: using words over and over to create a powerful, relentless rhythm
A long sentence broken up by commas and em dashes: punctuation that cues the speed and intensity of a soccer game.
In other words, some sports poetry. That’s one way to take something more common and, through showing and (mostly) not telling, bring us into your world!
How do you apply this to your own writing?
Look at your draft. Mentally or physically (or digitally) highlight all of your general telling phrases (like “listening is important in soccer”). Then, convert all your generalities to really specific examples.
Don’t say, “I run a lot and eat a nutritious diet.”
Do say, “I rise at 5am, seven days a week, and run two miles, no matter what the weather. I push through even when I feel like mush or I’m weathering a head-rattling migraine. Then I make my favorite protein and carb-loaded breakfast: eggs over easy, savory Greek yogurt with honey, turkey bacon, and almond butter toast.”
What’s this writer doing? Using
stats (numbers like “seven”),
figurative language (simile, “like mush”),
sensory details (“head-rattling”–touch;“savory” + specific examples for taste),
and active verbs and verb forms like “rise,” “pushing,” and “weathering.”
Yes, colleges would rather see a vivid detail about almond butter toast than a more general summary phrase. Now this applicant will be remembered as the kid who powers through migraines and who’s mastered the art of breakfast!
Don’t underestimate the power of small details to make a memory for the application reader. Add more of these specifics, and the admission committee will start to see you in all your clear vivid reality, distinguishing you from all those other applicants who speak in generalities.
Tell a cinematic story as only you can. Put your close-up camera on surprising angles of your life: that means keeping the camera on elements that are unique in your narration, then delivering an interesting, non-cliché insight.
Example:
“I rise at 5am, seven days a week, and run two miles, no matter what the weather. I push through even when I feel like mush or weather a head-rattling migraine. Then I make my favorite protein and carb-loaded breakfast: eggs over easy, savory Greek yogurt with honey, turkey bacon, and almond-butter toast. I learned the hard way in ninth grade not to subsist on PopTarts, and to discipline myself to shop ahead and actually plan my meals. Now, I’ve even roped my brother into my breakfast routine, helping him to avoid the mistakes I made.”
— — —
See what the writer did there? They made unique connections by
Persuading the reader they understand growth through change, using specific examples. Using a quick flashback to prior behavior that wasn’t so disciplined and acknowledging where they’ve gone wrong, the writer shows their increased maturity.
Naming the value itself: discipline.
Identifying impact: The writer shows that the breakfast routine is helping a sibling.
Readers see a growth-oriented, adaptive, and focused individual, ready to handle the independence of college life.
KEY TAKEAWAYS
Shift up on the specifics spectrum
If your tendency (like it is with many writers) is to begin with vague phrasing, and you like to tell things first, that’s fine! Just level up to a more cinematic approach with each round of revision.
And let go, as you go, of pretty phrasings and summations. Note how the voice amps up with each simpler yet more cinematic version? Do you see how the person emerges, more than the vocabulary?
| GOOD START | BETTER BUT STILL KINDA VAGUE | BEST SPECIFICS EVER |
|---|---|---|
| I am deeply committed to the profession of oncology. | I’d love to specialize in pediatric oncology. | I’d love to specialize in pediatric oncology and serve kids with leukemia at a hospital like Grand Kenyon, where I’ve been shadowing Dr. Abdullah. |
| I am passionate about my community and define community in many ways. | I discover community on the bus, around the city, even with animals. | I realized ‘community’ was more than the people whose names I knew—it was the bus driver I’d say hello to each morning, the street cleaner I’d never met, even my neighbors’ pets were part of my extended community. |
| We had lots of concerns about starting a community garden. | We asked a lot of big questions we were concerned about when starting a community garden. | We had many concerns at first. Where would we get the money? Who would participate? Where would the vegetables we grow go? |
It was all a misunderstanding
To recap, here are some misconceptions we’ve hopefully exploded over the course of this guide:
Misunderstanding #1: College admission officers want general, elaborate, fancy, academic-sounding language. (Nope)
Misunderstanding #2: College admission readers aren’t interested in the tiny specifics of my life because I’m, well, ordinary. (Wrong and wrong)
Instead…
Know your superpower
You are the streaming generation. Cinematic moviemaking, anime, graphic novels, manga, VR and AR, all things visual? In your blood, bones, and heart.
You’ve got this.
So what should you do next?
STUDENTS: Try some exercises:
Read some awesome essays and annotate them. Where do you see
Specific sensory detail?
Specific feelings?
Specific data?
Specific active verbs?
Choose a vague section of your essay and rewrite it with the above craft strategies: sensory details, active verbs, data and stats, and feelings. Pay attention to the specifics spectrum, and try to go “HD.”
Take that section from Good to Better to Best.
COUNSELORS: Need a course?
Check out our Practical Strategies Course, which offers specific strategies for coaching students to write immersive, memorable details.
Written by Lyn Fairchild Hawks, founder of Success Story essay consulting. Lyn is a graduate of Stanford University and the Vermont College of Fine Arts program in Writing for Children and Young Adults. She loves helping students tell cinematic, insightful stories. She is also the author of young adult novels, short stories, and books for educators, including lessons for teaching Shakespeare. For 15 years she designed and ran online programs for gifted youth at Duke University and prior to that, served as a high school and middle school English teacher. She lives in Chapel Hill, NC.
And
Andy Simpson has worked as an educator, consultant, and curriculum writer for the past 15 years, and earned degrees from Stanford in Political Science and Drama. He feels most at home on mountain tops and in oceans.
