In the writing world, the words “Show, don’t tell” are often given as advice. Countless blogs describe why it’s better to show and not tell, how to show instead of telling, and (naturally) why sometimes it’s better to tell and not show. Let’s go beyond that and say you’ve mastered the art of “show, don’t tell.” None of us ever will, but for sake of argument, we’ll pretend we subscribe to this sentiment and are looking to take our skills to a higher level. Is there another step to increase the effectiveness of your writing?

Perhaps the answer lies in the movies, especially horror movies. The most effective of these movies follow an adage of “don’t show the monster until the end.” The best of these movies like Jaws or Alien allow your brain to fill in details the camera never shows you. Just recently I watched a newer movie called The Ritual which did exactly the same thing. The Ritual has some problems but it shows only part of the monster until the end. In one scene, when it’s following the victims, and you see it briefly, it’s very creepy. Goosebumps properly raised.

Video has sort of ruined this adage for movies as you can pause your movie and observe the movie in full glory. Yes, directors have gotten smarter and show you only part of the monster—Alien did this extremely effectively because that darn thing’s head looks like the pipes of the ship—at a time, reducing the pause effect. However, I miss the thrill of being in the theater and seeing something that might have been the monster but I’m still unsure. Now is there a lesson here that the written word could benefit from? I think so.

If you allow your reader to imagine and fill in the details, your story will be far more effective than if you explain in detail what’s going on. Who wants to see the magician show you the trick? Keeping specific details from the reader draws them in and invests them more into your story because they’re telling parts of it to themselves.

Consider: “Shaina stepped into the empty room, disturbing a thin layer of dust on the floor and walls. Noticing a gold-framed mirror hanging askew on one wall, she stepped toward it, stopping in the middle of the room. She completed the circuit to the reflecting glass and blinked. Shaina extended her fingertips, swiped away the dust, and peered into the reflection. A translucent second face stared back at her over her shoulder.

Now let’s end this passage a different way: “Shaina extended her fingertips, swiped away the dust, and peered into the reflection. Only her own pale face, wide-eyed and drawn, gazed back at her, and she released an unsteady breath. Laying a hand on her chest, she turned around and stood still. Slippered footprints from the opposite end of the room had joined her own trail and the ended next to hers.”

So both are examples of show, don’t tell. I don’t have to tell you that Shaina is scared and worried about what she’ll find in the room. The face that appears over her shoulder in the first passage is written matter-of-factly without any description. You should know Shaina is freaked out by what came before and how you react to the passage. But what about the second passage? You could say it’s different, but not really. Other than the ghost being visible, there’s little difference here. A woman enters an empty room and encounters a ghost is an apt description for both paragraphs.

Does “Imagine, Don’t Show” only work for horror or the supernatural, or only in scenes that evoke fear? No, it can work in all sorts of situations. Consider:

“Jiu’s eyes sparkled in the candlelight, her warm smile inviting me to ask her more. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I gulped and lowered my hands and unfolded the paper where I had written down my questions. I cleared my throat to speak, but Jiu spoke first.”

Or

“Jiu’s eyes sparkled in the candlelight, her warm smile inviting me to ask her more. How to continue this conversation? The paper with my questions in my hand felt like a fifty-pound weight and I debated opening it. What was the best question I could ask? Looking into her eyes, I knew the perfect one, but she asked me a question first.”

Both describe a nervous narrator. Yes, the second passage has more “deep voice” going for it, but focus on the difference. Readers ask themselves in the second passage “what was this perfect question?” and then they answer it using their imagination. And now, as the conversation may go in a different direction, the  unasked question hangs large, investing the reader in what will happen next. Will they ever hear the perfect question?

If you’re worried about using this technique, let me assure you that this is what you do when you end a chapter. Chapter endings are often cliffhangers, asking questions that fire the readers’ imagination and wanting them to read more. So you already do it at the end of chapters but not throughout the chapter. Take that skill and employ it more throughout the narrative.

Is there a downside? Absolutely. You have to have details because you’re also painting a picture in your reader’s minds. It’s inherent in movies but not on the printed page so you must supply the relevant information. Also, if done poorly, it won’t fire up the reader’s imagination, and if the writing is too obscure, it may work against you. Readers won’t be able to follow the passage. As with all writing where you balance show and tell, you should balance imagine and show. In fact, “imagine” is not to be used excessively. It’s best if you sprinkle it in, not dump its contents into a chapter. Be careful. It may end up that the reader imagines a better scene in their mind than you plotted. In the first example, if their ghost is a shrivelled-up desiccated corpse and later you describe it as a beautiful woman, your reader may be disappointed.

So the next time you want to liven up a paragraph, think of “Imagine, Don’t Show” and see if you can rearrange something to fire up your reader’s inner eye. They’ll come up with a lot on their own, elevating your novel, and participating in making it a great story.