"Show" a sentence that the above poster "tells"

I hope I didn't kill this thread. If the previous suggestion is too challenging, then here's an easier one.

The bed is comfy.

edited 13th Apr '13 9:01:54 PM by Tuckerscreator

He grinned, rolling over into the fluffy covers, warm because Randall was wrapped around him; he thought could sleep forever in a bed like that.

She was tall and blonde.

What stood before you was the type of person that requires you risk severe neck injury just to look her in the eyes. Her hair, a waterfall of glimmering golden beauty, was much easier to spot, and generally what people noticed.

The mountain was huge and gloomy.

Hey no problem, it looks like a slow day all around, but it would probably be best to stick with simple prompts. More room for imagination. I gave it a stab but it seemed to insist on being based on jealousy rather than hate or weakness. I also tried to write Mason as a person with down syndrome, but I didn't want to come right out and say it, so I hope you can still tell.

"Alright Mason I know that you know this, we've done this every lesson. Now tell me which side the hypotenuse is," He growled, scratching a right angled triangle onto a sheet of paper and shoving it in front of him.

Mason stared at it dumbfounded, his almond shaped eyes glazed and jaw slightly open. He planted a finger on the drawing, and traced the lines on the triangle around and around as his jaw worked in thought.

"Is it the long one?" he said after a minute of intensely wracking his memory

Jake sighed, and rubbed the his forehead in frustration. Every time they'd gone through this he'd stressed, in the simplest terms he could manage, that the hypotenuse wasn't just the long one, it was the side opposite the right angle of the triangle, but could Mason remember that? No, of course he couldn't. He probably couldn't even tell which angle was right without comparing them all to the his thumb and forefinger.

"Yes it is." No it isn't He thought, but if he said that out loud Mason would misunderstand and throw out an entire weeks progress.

Jake drew down several more triangles and wrote up different measurements for each. Dreading it already he took out his calculator.

"Now sometimes, a test will ask you how long the hypotenuse is, but the test will only tell you how long the two other sides are, so you have to use a calculator to work it out,"

"Can I use a ruler?" Mason asked.

"No, only your calculator," grumbled Jake.

The rest of the lesson plodded along incredibly slowly, Mason questioning every tiny thing and taking an absolute age to input the simplest commands into the calculator. Mercifully the lunch bell rang. He quickly scribbled down a few more sheets of work for Mason to do at home and barreled out the door of the special education classroom before anyone could see him in it. He skulked back to his favorite spot by the stair well and took out his homework, aiming to have his history essay compete before the end of lunch.

Mason left at a more leisurely pace, carefully packing his possessions away into his scooby doo back pack and chatting with the elderly teachers aid on the veranda of the detachable. Then satisfied he bounded, not walked, over to the cola where his friends were waiting.

If you could call them friends.

They pitied Mason. It was clear as day, and they were all drama student types so it wouldn't really be hard for them. still, he greeted every one of them with hugs and exuberant hellos, and they play acted in return, one girl pretending to swoon and collapse into the arms of the boy beside her. They laughed, and sat together on the concrete, some of them taking out books and scrips to practice for their classes.

Jake stuffed his nose into his homework resolutely. They were fake, they had to be. Mason couldn't even do his times tables right, so there was no way he'd be smart enough, or good enough to make people like him. Jake was much more intelligent than Mason was and he couldn't manage it. People were too demanding, too confusing. No matter how hard he studied and tried he could never manage to sort pity from sympathy, kindness from mockery, derision from affection. How on earth could Mason manage it? He couldn't, they had to be using him, joking at him, laughing at him.

His hands clenched into fists, tearing the delicate worksheets.

It wasn't fair, for Mason to be such an utter imbecile in one way, and so effortlessly good in another. He had studied, read and he had tried so hard and it never ever got easier, it just wasn't fair!

—

The mountain, if you could call it a mountain, was huge beyond comprehension. It dwarfed anything and everything that little Jackson had seen in his entire life, even the other, smaller mountains around the behemoth could have hidden his village in their shadows. It didn't look like a proper mountain though, oh no, instead of sloping, forested sides this mountain cam spearing up out of the earth as if some god had planted it their, it's sides as steep and jagged as the split trunk of a tree. The bareness of grey stone seemed to suck the light of the sun from the air around it, compelling him to stare into it, up to it's thorny tip, crowned by swirling clouds and heralded by the angry whistle of far off wind.

next:it was love at first sight.

edited 14th Apr '13 7:48:04 PM by Lockedbox

Thanks! Not bad, I don't mind that it had to change the motive for his hate a bit. It otherwise hit what I was hoping for with the character.

It was just another glance at the clock, like every other one he had done during this church service. Fifteen minutes left, it read. Then Andrew turned back to sleep through the droning sermon. Or intended to. He took just a little too long, and in that brief second locked eyes with another person. It was a girl about his age, passing him on the way back to her seat.

It was a mistake and they both knew it. Next step was just to blink, apologize silently, and face back towards the pulpit. In an hour they'd have forgotten this. But she didn't do that. Instead she smiled at him, still smiling as she continued down the aisle. Andrew hadn't smiled. He hadn't expected to do anything but snooze.

But the next fifteen minutes became flashes of confusion. Who was she? Why did she smile at me? Is she new here, or just visiting? Where was she sitting? He tried to peer ahead to figure out where she went, inspecting each person in the crowd. Does that one look like her? Does that one? What did she look like? She had red hair, it was short, she was tall, wore bright blue, no shoes, and, and...

You idiot! he thought. Don't let yourself get swept up so emotionally! Don't do it! Don't do it, don't do it, he kept insisting to himself the rest of the sermon. But the more he tried not to, the more he did. He loved her.

Next: A guy is unironically enjoying a crappy movie.

The movie the guy had bought was dirt cheap, not even ten bucks at the local mart. Nothing on the DVD case implied anything of this movie's quality, no magazine names under star ratings, no flamboyantly eyecatching cover... And yet the movie was somehow enjoyable through its unironic b-movie premise, it's horrible acting and shoestring budget stunts actually making it seem like a comedy or a satire more than anything.

Next: He takes a bite of some food, only to spit it out immediately.

edited 14th Apr '13 3:59:21 AM by Nitro836

Tentatively, Carlos parted his lips and made a tiny dent in the cube of hakarl. Within seconds his features had twisted and stretched out as if sucked into a tube, the little fragment of decomposed shark spattered at the edge of the table. He wheezed a little before muttering to himself: "Not for me."

Submitted for your approval: She danced joyously.

And yet the movie was somehow enjoyable through its unironic b-movie premise, it's horrible acting and shoestring budget stunts actually making it seem like a comedy or a satire more than anything. Honestly, it feels like that is indeed just telling, not showing. Write some of the horrible acting. How is the shoestring budget affecting the film? Also (let's call the watcher Joe), the premise above said that Joe is enjoying the movie unironically, not that the movie itself is unironic, though it might be.

edited 14th Apr '13 9:34:47 AM by Tuckerscreator

@Tuckerscreator This is a recurring problem of mine, I absolutely CANNOT tell showing and telling apart when I write it myself.

edited 14th Apr '13 9:51:42 AM by Nitro836

The previous page's "the commercials were annoying" demonstrated one way to do this pretty well. It showed an excerpt from the commercial, then someone expressing they were annoyed by it. Likewise for this one you could try writing a Narmful excerpt from the movie, then Joe gushing about how awesome this is. One way to try it.

Also, here's the rule I use: Try not to use the actual detail words in the premise. For instance, with "she was tall and blonde" above, you notice that Matues avoided writing the words "tall" and "blonde" anywhere in their paragraph. That forces you to have to describe what those qualities are like instead.

edited 14th Apr '13 10:28:47 AM by Tuckerscreator

So I need to describe what an action is like? I can't tell "The punch hurt him a lot", but rather describe the pain: "His opponent's fist connected with his stomach, his stomach feeling like something ripped open inside, weakening him on his knees."

Trying this again:

The music was turned to eleven, the bass of the song penetrating her whole being, the beat of the song hitting her funny bones and his muscles almost subconsciously twitching and beckoning him to show his moves. As such, upon the song reaching a perfect spot, she swung his legs and hands around inan earnest damnest to at least preserve some manner of choreography in her contortions.

Next: He called his friend. Suddenly, his scooter exploded!

edited 14th Apr '13 11:31:13 AM by Nitro836

YES. Description is exactly what showing calls for. Just like that. Nice job with your next attempt.

edited 14th Apr '13 6:20:22 PM by Tuckerscreator

There was a series of beeps on the other end of the phone as it tried to connect. All of a sudden, he noticed the smell of petrol, followed by a deafening blast behind him as one of the wheels of his trusty moped rolled past.

An inventor' looking at a Shoddy Knockoff Product version of his latest creation.

What...is...this? thought the professor to himself. He didn't really need to, of course. He knew perfectly well what it was. Yet he still, on some level, refused to comprehend it. To comprehend it was to acknowledge it, and, normally humble as he could be, he really, really did not want to comprehend such an insult to his own skills.

Which was unfortunate, because he also wanted to sue for copyright infringement, and for insulting the good name of his invention with this bucket of irregularly-shaped bolts.

Next up: The orc warrior, laughing, comes Out of the Inferno having entered into a Super Mode where he becomes a Magma Man.

"Burn in hell!", he yelled. Granu threw his spear at the Great Orc. It bounced off its armor as before, but that was enough. The Orc stumbled from the hit and slipped into the fiery chasm below. Granu stared into it in awe. After fifteen years, this monstrous murderer was finally dead! Doomed to be sent to eternal pain, where the gods would burn him with their...

"Aaugh!" A flame burst onto his shoulder. Granu dropped to put it out, and before him saw a burning hand. It was reaching out of the chasm, now wreathed in flame and burning the ground it was pulling itself up on. The entire body emerged and stood up before Granu to display its flaming figure. It grinned at him.

"I AM hell."

Next: Terry is a caring boyfriend.

Rachel sat in front of a window. Her eyes were turned to the outside, to the cars passing by. Though, "passing by" would be a great exaggeration: the cars were stuck in endless rows that expanded into the horizon. Next to her there was the seat for Terry, who pulled her right hand towards himself. There was a narrow red cut on that hand's pointer finger.

"Come on, it's just a scratch.", she said in a voice fittng for an energetic child coping with reality of being stuck in one place.

"You might get infection from that. And it's bleeding. Sit still, it won't take more than a minute.", he wrapped a patch around the wounded finger.

"There you go. Be more careful next time, cupcake.", he patted her on the head.

"Fine, thanks...", she continued to watch cars, completely oblivious of her own redding cheeks.

(criticism would be appreciated too, please)

Telling sentence: She really enjoys racing against other people.

"Good luck, Terri", Jenny called to her sister from the entrance to the pits.

As Terri put on her helmet, Jenny finally realised why she was so particular about maintaining her Bob cut. It was trimmed perfectly to the shape of her headgear, as if she was always wearing it, even when she wasn't.

Jenny wondered if Terri left the visor open to smile back over the din or just to enjoy the smell of grease and petrol. Either way Terri left both behind, fastening the helmet, the car door and the seatbelt in a few familiar fluid motions. She drove off to the starting grid nearly as quickly as she'd strolled towards her vehicle, leaving Jenny to make her way to the spectator seats.

Alice looked on with horror as Bob drank from a mug that smelled like turkey grease mixed with pine oil. The dark, dank fluid made her nose scrunch up as Bob took a large swig. "How can you drunk that stuff? I'm getting queasy just being near it!"

"It gets my system going." Bob said as he went back to typing.

As his stomach made a churning and bubbling sound, Alice giggled. "Looks like it just went." She quiped.

edited 3rd Oct '13 8:04:52 AM by TairaMai

@Bisect -

With a caution, he breathed a noseful of the smell of the coffee. The liquid was contained in a white mug adorned with rose pattern. At least, that was what he thought it was, before containing the liquid. The surface it touched have gone darker and it seemed to spread even as he observed. Perhaps he should have made that observation before smelling it. His nose was filled with unpleasant smell, and he couldn't tell if it was the coffee or his nostrils being incinerated, and he guessed that it was most likely both. He felt slightly dizzier just from it.

Nevertheless, he paid for that thing, and he will not let any amount of money go waste. Surely it couldn't have been that bad. Even as he kept telling himself that, his hands were still trembling when he lifted the mug and brought it to his mouth. The coffee rippled, and he could've swore that he heard a sinister whisper. He looked around himself and saw nothing, and resumed to his bold act. Going against his better instinct, he gulped, closed his eyes, and drank the coffee. Contrary to his expectation, the coffee tasted surprisingly fine...

...for one second. The black substance splashed through his mouth like a plauge, corrupting everything it touched. He tired to spit it out, but it was no use; the wave of biological warfare seemed hell-bent to snufff out anyu life that it sensed. His throat screamed as it flowed down. He dropped the mug, which exlploded in dozens of pieces. His vision started to blur and his balance left him. He fell on the floor, the shards digging into his hands and face, forming a small pool of blood and coffee. He managed to form one last thought before his conscious faded away completely.

"I should have just gone to Starbucks."

@Taira -

According to his observation for past couple of weeks, Mary, for the most part, was consistent in her action. There was one thing that made her stand out, though. Monday, her hair color was brown. The next day, it was blond, and then red, and so on. He has yet to see her with same hair color. He probably saw more colors in her hair than in the rainbow spectrum.

David felt something snap inside of him.

edited 3rd Oct '13 9:50:52 AM by dRoy

Taira's cue: "Mary dyes her hair frequently."

I've stolen the basis for this one from Drunkie's novel. I admit it freely

"Hmmm," thought Will, as he walked by Mary's desk. "I didn't know that people were doing drive-bys with Manic Panic now." He wisely did not say it out loud.

There is only so much one man can take. Being ambushed by atomic masked luchadores on the way to work was one thing. Fleeing from a city under attack by a giant monster that looked like it had stepped out of a Showa era kaiju movie, that was another. Attacked by a homicidal zombie clown? That was a third. These were all things David could take in stride. But this...

"I'm... sorry, sir, but we don't have any more creamer..."

"... qrhbvlaehbvnahebnvlqeihbvnareBHFLVARUHBCF LFIHERYBV WHQERV CLBQIJR DVLEHCV LWEQHBRNVHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" David gargled at the barista in his anger.

edited 3rd Oct '13 12:11:25 PM by KSPAM

I'm not as creative as everyone here so I don't have a "show" to give but I am wondering if anyone can come up with a longer "tell" and a shorter "show." Isn't is possible to have a lot of words, like a line or two, but still not have shown anything and also possible to show something in just a few words?

@KSPAM -

I’ll give dRoy’s a try:

David heard a horrible sound, and the pain faded. He looked down and saw the piece of shrapnel was still embedded in his leg. The hit had cut the gash even wider but he could no longer feel it sawing against his flesh. It was as though his entire lower body had been sheared away. He tried to reach for his oxygen mask but his arm wouldn’t move. He stared dumbly at the useless dangling piece of plastic. The air escaping his cockpit hissed past him, but the only sound he registered was the echo of his body’s last sharp snap.

(I’ll attempt to make this longer, so the next poster can try to respond to lexicon’s challenge)

Mrs. Richardson, who taught biology, was the most evil teacher Mackinac High had ever seen. She was sarcastic to her students, merciless with her grades, and even condescending to the other teachers. The only time she ever seemed happy was when it was time to dissect a new batch of frogs. Everybody who took her class left with a deep and abiding hatred of the subject, most vowing never to so much as touch a frog again.

I'm sitting in detention. Stupid Bobby getting me in trouble again. He's sitting just two desks away, but I cant talk to him. Can't really do anything. I tap my fingers on the desk, and Mrs. Richardson gives me a glare, looking up from the paper's she's grading. I could see the red ink all over the one she was grading. On a monday, her cup would have five red pens in it, tuesday, four. She was currently using the last red pen in her cup. The sunlight pouring in the windows and the other kids hanging out in the school yard taunted me.

There was a knock at the door, we all looked at it. Mrs. Richardson stood, an annoyed look on her face and went over. When the door opened we could see the Principle of Mackinac High standing there with Johnny. The door was closed most of the way, open just a crack to make sure we did not talk to each other. The voices were muted, speaking softly. Her posture was unmistakable though. She had her arms crossed and her head held back like a horse about to rear. Even muffled, her voice carried no respect and perhaps a bit of condescension. Perhaps that was why this was her fifth school in so many years.

I swear the only time that she looked happy was in lab, showing us how to slice open a frog with a sadistic glee. Then she would proceed to ignore us for the rest of the class and work on her frog on her own. I remember first day of class when Sara, a budding biologist if I ever saw one, made a tiny mistake with her frog. "Good job there." Mrs. Richardson said her voice dripping with sarcasm, then proceeded to verbally rip her to shreds in front of the whole class. Watching Sara's face fall from pleased at her work to eyes welling with tears was painful. Everyone likes Sara. After that we all knew what to think of Mrs. Richardson.

She escorted the new prisoner into the room, like a guard. making sure that no fun was to be had in her detention. He got seated two seats to my left. She then returned to her seat, picking up the red pen again and making her student's papers bleed. My eyes went to the clock, one minute down, fifty nine more to go.

(So, how is that?)

Sacre was a bloody mess from what they had done to her.