Lesson #6: Show Through Action

Hi writers! Jenn again. 👋

In my early days as a writer, one of my biggest mistakes was skimming through a scene. I would write a few paragraphs establishing where the characters were, have them talk about whatever they needed to, and then end the scene.

Now. Did those early stories convey the plot I meant them to? Yup. We checked off plot points, moved characters from location to location, and had all the meaningful conversations we were supposed to. On paper, the story hit all the marks. But the scenes themselves ended up feeling more like outline notes than an actual story, and a big part of the reason is that I didn’t include any action.

This isn’t to say you should pack your story with fight scenes and car chases. “Action” is any movement that, along with dialogue, is the foundation for what propels your scenes forward.

Showing character moods and movements

When used carefully, action can reveal all sorts of things, from character to relationships to setting — or even a plot point. Just picture how much more powerful a scene would be if a woman flinches away when her husband goes to rest his hand on her back, as opposed to saying “he was making her uncomfortable.” I don’t know about you, but I flinched a little when I read that, transferring a sense of the character’s discomfort right to me.

A lot of this will build off the last lesson, so hopefully, you’ve practiced those skills. But character movement goes a lot deeper than just their body language! We can see this in action with a very direct line from the first chapter of Katherine Addison’s The Goblin Emperor:

The door opened with savage abruptness, and Setheris stood in the opening, glaring.

Nowhere do we see how Setheris is standing, but we don’t need to. His actions opening the door tell us all we need to understand that he’s seriously peeved at the person on this side of the door.

Actions in the world around you

But action goes beyond just the movement of your characters. A gathering of enemy ships in the harbor can bring a sense of foreboding. The bustle of an airport and the “final boarding” calls ringing overhead can create anxiety as someone waits until the last possible second to get in line.

Consider the opening lines of Rakesh Satyal’s No One Can Pronounce My Name:

Harit descended the rubber-coated stairs of the bus and tripped as he jumped to the sidewalk below. He turned around to see if anyone had noticed, but the bus was already pulling away, leaving a dispersing cloud of smoke and people.

It’s not just Harit’s movements here that give us clues to his personality — clumsy, concerned what other people think of him, perhaps a bit of a dreamer — but also the world’s response to him: no one is paying nearly as much attention as he fears. From the bus “already pulling away” to the “dispersing” cloud, there’s no reaction to Harit except ours as the reader, the sole witness to his inner life. Two lines, and we’ve already established several critical themes of Harit’s character arc.

When working on your own story, keep the movements of your setting and your characters in mind. How can you convey indifference, lust, or greed through how they move about the world?

Now, you don’t want to go overboard with action; readers don’t need to see every time a character picks up their glass at dinner. Always ask yourself: does this action carry meaning? Or are they just scratching their arm because of an irrelevant itch?

And with that, I will gather my papers and go. With a wave of my hand, I declare today’s class dismissed!

Jenn

Recommended Resources

• Show Don’t Tell with former Random House editor Jim Thomas (webinar)

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