Nib #50 — Dickens’ "Show, Don’t Tell" Masterclass

“Show, don’t tell” is one of those literary chestnuts that most writers have heard, but may not quite understand.


So this week - this week in particular! — let’s consider the maxim in the context of Charles Dickens’ classic, A Christmas Carol.


Everyone knows the story is about wicked old Ebeneezer Scrooge. Dickens says as much on page 2: “Scrooge. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner.”


This is telling.


It’s not terrible, as exaggerated adjective runs go. (It’s Dickens, after all, and there are some great word choices in there.) But note how weak and thin these descriptions are. Think the blubbering mess you are at the end of A Christmas Carol — none of Dickens’ emotional payoff is sown here. 


Fast forward a few pages, and see how brilliantly Dickens shows us this character.


Consider Scrooge’s Stave 1 interview with his nephew Fred. We’re so desensitized to the “Bah humbug” bit that it’s easy to overlook. But two other moments remain as achingly evocative this December as they were when the story was first published.


When Fred asks Scrooge why he won’t come to Christmas dinner, Scrooge responds:


“Why did you get married?”


Go read the passage. (Indeed, read the whole book, every December!) It’s an abrupt, weird transition. Scrooge changed the subject in the middle of the conversation, like a petulant child. Almost as if he’s jealous of Fred’s marriage, or secretly preoccupied with the subject. We don’t know it yet, on page seven of the book, but this is the first inkling of Scrooge’s real self. He’s wounded, not evil.


Consider the end of the same scene, when Scrooge is trying to shoo Fred from the office:


“Good afternoon,” said Scrooge.

 

“I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?”

 

“Good afternoon,” said Scrooge.

 

“I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I’ll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle!”

 

“Good afternoon!” said Scrooge.

 

“And A Happy New Year!”

 

“Good afternoon!” said Scrooge.


Again, it’s easy to miss. But Scrooge never makes a case against Christmas. It’s all empty scorn (“Bah!”). He can’t even explain why he won’t come to dinner — because deep down, even he knows there is no good reason. He’s not a cold, calculating villain. He’s just a kid throwing a tantrum.


Or consider the moment in Stave 2 when Scrooge explains Old Fezziwig to the Ghost of Christmas Past:


“It isn’t that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count ’em up: what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”


He felt the Spirit’s glance, and stopped.


“What is the matter?” asked the Ghost.


“Nothing particular,” said Scrooge.


“Something, I think?” the Ghost insisted.


“No,” said Scrooge, “No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That’s all.”


No adjectives. No description of anyone’s body language or facial expressions or tone of voice. But we can feel Scrooge’s conscience pangs, his longing to be more than the man he has become.


This is the real game — for fiction and non-fiction writers alike. Don’t tell your readers what to think. Show them the truth — of your story, your argument, your idea — such that you don’t have to.


Happy Christmas. God bless us everyone.


And until next week… Keep writing!

July 31, 2026
Smart writers have a weakness for overcomplicated sentences. The more ideas a writer can hold in his head, the harder it can be to present them in a reader-friendly way. If you ever find yourself writing or editing a sentence that feels overstuffed, stop and ask yourself, What is this sentence’s job? Most sentences perform one of three tasks: Saying what something is or is not. Saying what something is or is not like. Saying what something caused or was caused by. Once you decide which job the sentence needs to do, rewrite it as a simple independent clause doing that job and nothing else. Add back only what is necessary to express that one thought. Leave the next thought for the next sentence. If you’re having trouble connecting all your dots in one sentence, use two or three. Your readers will appreciate it. Until next week… keep writing!
July 24, 2026
This week, another addition to the Nib’s list of phrases writers should always delete from their work: “In today’s world…” First of all, it’s just a longer way of saying “today” or “nowadays” or “these days.” And writers should always look to trim extraneous words.  Second, the phrase is clunky. No confident human being in relaxed conversation ever says “in today’s world.” It’s the kind of thing we write when we are insecure and trying to fake it. Be confident. Be relaxed. Don’t let “in today’s world…” survive past your first draft. Until next week… keep writing!
July 17, 2026
At some point in the last two decades, around became the monster that ate the other prepositions. Every day we read of “debates around immigration” and “plans around the weekend” and “coordination around fundraising.” Good writers have to fight back. Around is a perfectly good word. But it means around. It does not mean about , regarding , for , toward , with , over , on , or to . The problem isn’t grammar; it’s clarity. When one word tries to do the work of half a dozen others, communication breaks down. Writing gets sloppy and readers get confused. Luckily, there’s an easy fix. Young writers who grew up amidst the Great Aroundening should make around a yellow-flag word, like that or issue . Every time you read it in your own work, pause and ask whether another preposition would better capture the relationship you're trying to describe. Prepositional precision may seem like nitpicking. It’s not. It can mean the difference between a clear sentence and a fuzzy one, a fluid paragraph and a clanging one, and a writing sample that earns an interview instead of a rejection. Always go the extra mile for your readers, not around them. Until next week… keep writing!
July 10, 2026
The trick to persuasive writing is that you have to change readers’ minds without putting them on the defensive for not agreeing with you in the first place. A great way to make arguments more palatable without watering them down is by using five humble but rhetorically powerful words: “It seems to me that…” Consider these three claims: City life is better than country life. Tax cuts boost economic growth. Yogi Berra was better than Johnny Bench. Now compare them to these: It seems to me that city life is better than country life. It seems to me that tax cuts boost economic growth. It seems to me that Yogi Berra was better than Johnny Bench. The assertions remain the same. But see how open and gracious the sentences become? Now imagine you prefaced each with a fact or two backing up the claim. All of a sudden, you have a confident, forceful argument that nonetheless draws your audience in by proposing rather than imposing your conclusion. When backed by evidence, humility and generosity are much more persuasive than swagger. “It seems to me that…” invites your audience to agree with you, which is the surest way to get them to yes. Until next week… keep writing!
July 2, 2026
Tomorrow Americans will celebrate Thomas Jefferson’s best piece of writing. Today, though, the Nib tips its cap to what may be Jefferson’s second-best line: a bit of writing advice, of all things. “The most valuable of all talents,” the Sage of Monticello said, “is that of never using two words when one will do.” He’s not wrong. Concision ( Nib #48 ) has distinguished good writing for far more than 250 years. It simultaneously signals humility and confidence, intelligence and generosity. It makes sentences clearer, easier to read, and much more persuasive. Indeed, as Jefferson himself proved, clear and concise writing can change the world. Until next week… keep writing!
June 26, 2026
Most writing advice has caveats. Even words like significantly and whomsoever have their place. But some words and phrases you really can just delete every time you see them in your drafts. Here are three: 1. “In order to…” 2. “The fact that…” 3. “It should be noted that…” These phrases are pure clutter. Instead of “in order to…” just say “to.” Instead of “the fact that…” try “that.” Or better yet, rework the sentence. It’s clunky. And instead of writing “it should be noted that…” just skip to the noting itself. (So “It should be noted that the stock price remains high” becomes “The stock price remains high.” ) We all write these phrases from time to time. The important thing is that when you come across them, don’t try to edit them. Don’t massage them. Just cut them. We don’t negotiate with terrorists. Until next week… keep writing!
June 19, 2026
Apostrophes are like deodorant or salt: people only notice if you use them wrong. So here is a quick Nib refresher. Apostrophes have three uses:  1. To indicate possession — as in “Bob’s haircut” or “Ted Williams’s bat.” 2. To make contractions, like “can’t” from “cannot.” (And remember, it’s always a contraction for “it is,” as opposed to the un-apostrophed possessive pronoun its .) 3. To pluralize individual letters, as in, “Sally got straight A’s” or “Mind your p’s and q’s.” Apostrophes do not make words plural. So it’s the 1980s , not the 1980’s. It’s a collection of CDs and DVDs , not CD’s and DVD’s . And it’s “keeping up with the Joneses,” not “the Jones’s.” No one will ever think you’re smart because you use apostrophes correctly. But if your résumé includes lines like managed intern’s or drafted constituent letters’ don’t be surprised if you don’t get called in for interview's. Until next week… keep writing!
June 12, 2026
There is nothing wrong with “to be” verbs — is , are , were , was , am , etc. Sometimes they’re the right word (like in this sentence!). But often “to be” verbs hide the right word. Consider: The Senator is a supporter of gun control. The storms were responsible for the delayed flights. In each case, an action verb can convey the same thought in a tighter, livelier sentence, like: The Senator supports gun control. The storms delayed the flights. Active verbs give your nouns something to do. And when your nouns move, so does your writing. So next time you’re editing something you wrote, circle every “to be” verb and then re-read the sentence. See if there is an active verb in the second half of the sentence masquerading as a noun or an adjective, like in the examples above. If swapping that verb in for the “to be” one makes the sentence brisker and more vivid, congratulations: you just learned a way to improve every paragraph you ever write. Until next week… keep writing!
June 5, 2026
For all the rules against using AI in your writing, there is one way all young writers should be using it: finding typos. AI apps are excellent at identifying the kind of mistakes that our eyes might overlook. Think misspelled or repeated words, doubled-up prepositions, that kind of thing. Writers get worse at finding these things after a few reads because familiarity with the text dulls our proofreading eyes. So when you have edited something yourself a few times already, have AI scrub it -- not for content, just for typos. Never have the app make the changes for you. Tell it to give you a list of typos it found, and then enter the changes yourself. That way you will always hold pen and own every correction yourself. Until next week… keep writing!
May 29, 2026
Reading is hard enough when words’ meanings are fixed. When they are fluid, it’s like trying to play catch in the dark. Young writers who want to join the rearguard fight for clarity against confusion can start with these five words that almost everyone misuses these days: 1. Enormity means terrible sin, not scope. So don’t refer to the “enormity of America’s victory in the Cold War” unless you’re a communist. 2. Unique means one of a kind, not rare. Never say “pretty unique” or “very unique.” Something is either unique or it’s not. 3. Nauseous describes things that make one nauseated ; it doesn’t mean sick at the stomach. As Strunk & White put it, “Do not, therefore, say, ‘I feel nauseous,’ unless you are certain you have that effect on others.” 4. Disinterested means impartial, like a judge. Uninterested means indifferent to, like the way people feel about professional lacrosse. 5. Finally, to imply means to hint at or suggest something as a writer or speaker. To infer means to conclude, as a reader or listener, what a writer or speaker might be implying. Always remember, precision in writing isn’t about pedantry; it’s about generosity toward one’s readers. Until next week… keep writing.