Nate Intolubbe

Disclaimer: I am not claiming to be a writing expert, rather am learning from what good works have done right, and where others fall flat.

“Show, don’t tell” is one of the most common pieces of writing advice given, and common criticism of literature is when it is not applied.

Merriam-Webster defines “tell” as “to relate in detail; narrate.” “Show” is “to cause or allow to be seen.” By technicality, all writing is “telling,” because it is narrating. Only through pictures, maps, diagrams, etc., can a book be “showing.” The point could be considered moot on this basis.

Granted, this is not the intent of the advice. For the sake of this post, I would define the terms as:

“Show” relates to narration about character actions, body language, and subtext. It is the indirect form of telling.

“Tell” relates to dialogue, and other narration (imagery, character thoughts, exposition). It is the direct form.

Think of it as akin to “actions speak louder than words.” We learn more about a character’s traits by what they do than what is said about them.

A sentence, either narration and dialogue, saying a character is smart is one thing. But a scene where the character solves a tricky problem will solidify their intelligence for the reader.

Does this mean that “show don’t tell” applies in all scenarios? No. Dialogue is still needed to give context to what is shown, and the reader needs to know about the setting. The two create a feedback loop, and the key is balance.

Tell can still give character traits, such as establishing someone’s wit, kindness, or cruelty via their dialogue.

Conversely, if a character refers to themselves as brave, but their actions show them abandoning a friend at the first sign of danger, that shows us two things. One, they’re a coward, and two, they’re a liar. The reader learns this indirectly, and even gains a level of skepticism to what other characters say, all because these techniques work in tandem.

One could say that “show” works best for the “how” of things like characters and worldbuilding (relationships, effects). “Tell” is great for “why” in these regards (motivation, background, causes). Additionally, “tell” helps be concise through narration using similes and other literary devices.

“Show” would be saying: “After the test, she slumped onto her kitchen table and rubbed her temples.” “Tell” would be saying: “After the test, her brain felt like a donkey had kicked it.” In this case, the latter conveys the same concept, yet the directness makes it more effective because the simile says to what extent the feeling is. A strict following of “show don’t tell” would subtract so much value from the text by drying the life out of it.

The better way to phrase this advice is “show and tell when needed.” Developing this discretion is a key to becoming a good writer, and one I hope to achieve the more I work at it.

I had the pleasure of watching the latest Scream film earlier today. This post will have my non-spoiler review.

Scream is a slasher murder mystery (a slasher mystery?) series, which uses awareness of the horror genre to offer very meta satire. It comes from Wes Craven, the same mind behind Nightmare on Elm Street.

Like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and many other slashers, Scream (1996) is a fantastic comedy. But the Scream franchise goes beyond that with its self-awareness, such as commenting on itself through the characters.

The latest (and fifth) installment released today, and due to conflicting titles, I will refer to it as “5cream.” Out of the franchise, this is my favorite sequel. It had good use of the original material and characters, while offering new elements that I enjoyed.

5cream‘s protagonists bring compelling arcs that actually made me hope they live. In most other slashers, I root for the killer, due to the undeveloped/unlikable victims. The essence of horror is to give us characters we like, so that we actually fear for their survival; yet in the genre, this is pulled off less frequently than one would think. This is a case of the satire being better than the target (like Hellsing UA).

The commentary on modern movies and fandoms works well. 5cream does a good job adapting horror to the changing face of technology. The action scenes are very on-brand, with fun references to previous films while bringing their own flavor to the table. Sidney, Gale, and Dewey had realistic arcs that do not overshadow the main story.

My personal ranking for the Scream franchise is: Scream > 5cream > Scream 4 > Scream 2 > Scream 3.

My rating for 5cream:

Plot: 3/4

Characters: 3/4

Worldbuilding: 2/4

Details: 3/4

Misc.: 4/4

Total: 15/20

Fans of the series have plenty to enjoy. My expectations were a bit lowered, considering that Halloween Kills was underwhelming; but, 5cream has learned from the mistakes in previous films to give an entertaining experience.

I am diving back into blog writing with a series of film and television reviews, specifically ones that blend genre in uncommon combinations. I am setting a challenge for myself during the month of February: I cannot discuss the same genre in two different posts (though multiples in the same genre in the same post are acceptable.

Today, I look at the series that has taken the Internet by storm: Star Wars’ The Mandalorian.

***** SPOILER FREE *****

Genre has always been a fun topic for me. So, a sci-fi western is a good case study on what one can do with literature; I even wrote my final college essay on genre in Westworld.

First, some context: The Mandalorian is a TV show set in the Star Wars universe, some time after the film Return of the Jedi. It deals with the aftermath of the Galactic Empire’s fall, through the lens of the title character.

The planet Mandalore has a strong warrior culture; whereas the Jedi are a creed of the Light Side of the Force, and Sith a creed to the Dark Side, the Mandalorian way is a creed of prowess in battle, relying not on the Force, but technology and skill. They are typically seen as bounty hunters and mercenaries, with a code of honor and loyalty. The show’s protagonist (nicknamed Mando; though his real name is revealed) is one such figure, navigating a land destabilized from the power vacuum left in the Empire’s wake.

The “Drifter” archetype, especially in the Western sense, pervades Mando’s journey. There is an overall story, and each episode feeds into it; yet many of them are small adventures in themselves, where Mando and his ship resemble the archetypal cowboy traveling the west on his horse. The show carries a similar structure to my own book, so I admired how it managed that.

The visuals are amazing, combined with fantastic cinematography and choreography. It is well humored when it needs to be, and does a great job juxtaposing it with the threatening and serious sides. It knows when to be dark or bright, wide or confined, to set the proper tone. Great performances abound; Pedro Pascal is a driving force of the cast (who learned the hard way to wear a helmet).

The lore is described when relevant, woven well into the plot and dialogue. Veteran fans will appreciate the references, and new arrivals can learn more about the world at a nice pace.

All around, a great series. I definitely recommend it for anyone with an interest in the Star Wars franchise.

Plot: 4/4
Characters: 4/4
World-building: 4/4
Details: 4/4

Misc. 4/4
Total: 20/20

(Disclaimer note: my rating system does not measure “perfection” in a work, nor does a full 20 mean it is without flaw. It is more of a checklist-based system, meaning it hits all the points that I look for in literature.)

*****SPOILER REVIEW*****

Holy fuck, those fight scenes.

The first one in the series? Badass. Temuera Morrison as Boba Fett, going full Haka with authentic Maori martial arts? Badass. Ming-na Wen and Gina Carano blasting fuckers to pieces? Badass. Katee Sackhoff as Bo Katan? Badass. Rosario Dawson as Ahsoka Tano, where she basically says “1v1 me noob”? Badass. Luke in the hallway? Badass.

Season One finale, when Moff Gideon cuts out of the wreckage with the Darksaber? Badass. Dave Filoni knew how to use the canon from Clone Wars and other side media.

I also thought the use of Western tropes was great. The whistle whenever Mando enters a scene. Each season premiere starting with him going into a saloon. Greef putting the Beskar in his shirt pocket had me go, “Oh, that’s like the Bible that stops the bullet.” And then he gets shot in the chest, and pulls it out, I’m like, “Ayyy.” All great ways of blending genre.

Grogu (AKA Baby Yoda) brings a lot of heart to the show. The writing sets up Din Djarin (Mando) so well through his backstory where his dedication to protecting the Child is credible to and adds much to his development.

I thought it was interesting how many people (especially in the Outer Rim, which in itself is like a Western frontier) forgot about the Jedi and the Force, and how they have faded into myth for others. It did much to show the realistic consequences of Order 66, and sets up narrative tension when he needs to find a Jedi. And, it shows us multiple attitudes that people have to the Empire’s fall, from cheering at the Death Star’s destruction to cynicism of the overburdened Republic.

Another interesting take was the way they showed the Imperial perspective. There are simple things, like the cheering after the mining shipment arrives, resembling the Rebellion’s cheers of victory in the films. But what Valin Hess discusses, about freedom bringing chaos that will cause people to seek the Empire for order – that lingers. Mando’s journey shows us how unstable the Galaxy has become, with how raiders, criminals, and warlords have spread out.

It all adds into the stakes, as this show presents a period of transition. The biggest theme is cause and effect, how what the characters do will determine the future for many groups. The political structure of the Galaxy, the survival of the Mandalorian creed, the fate of the Jedi, the path Grogu will take.

And that’s because that is the heart of the Western. The genre itself focuses on the fate of the West, which had been a significant question across the 1800s. Many John Wayne Westerns take place after the Civil War, which itself was a conflict over whether the West would be free or slave states. A good deal of the fighting took place there, and the genre often deals with former enemies interacting in their former battleground.

This is what makes The Mandalorian a true Western. More so than drifters walking into saloons and having standoffs. The Galaxy, like post-Civil War America, is in a period of transition. A force of tyranny has been struck down (for what are the remaining Imperials, but Confederates refusing to admit defeat?) and a war-beaten Republic struggles to maintain liberated territory. And with this, a hero maneuvers contested territory to influence how it will be shaped.

The Mandalorian invokes the tropes of the Western, but also what led to the genre in the first place.

What are your favorite parts of this series? What uncommon genre melds do you like seeing?

With last week’s basic overview of villain motivations, this next part of October will deal with the types of antagonists, going into how they vary.

In many ways, a villain should complement a character to a similar extent as their best friend, love interest, or foil (if they do not already fulfill this last purpose). This does not require a large amount of history between them, or even a significant rivalry; however, there should still be meaningful parallels between them.

Common ways are having starkly different personalities, as opposites; or having them so similar in mindset that they almost feel like different versions of the same character. A good example of the first is Jack Sparrow and Barbossa, while an instance of the second is Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty.

Family dynamics achieve this, too. Whether it’s Thor and Loki (Marvel or mythology), Zuko and Azula from ATLA, or Hamlet and Claudius, characters related by blood are oft looking to spill it. In many ways, it can show the factors in play that bring people some similar backgrounds into different paths.

With all of this, here are some pointer topics (and subsequent questions) to help flesh out the type of villain intended:

1. Atmosphere: is this antagonist meant to be more comedic, or serious? What effect does this have on how threatening they are, and how they act? What is the writer trying to evoke through these characters, and how are they meant to be viewed? Are they intended to be compelling, sympathetic, irredeemable, and/or mysterious?
2. Rationale: is this antagonist motivated by ideology (with a code, philosophy, allegiance to a group, etc.), or are they more of an opportunist/mercenary? If the former, how dedicated are they, how does it effect their behavior, and could they be dissuaded from it? If the latter, how far are they willing to go to achieve their selfish goals, and could they be persuaded into a higher purpose?
3. Method: is this antagonist more methodical and planning, or adaptive and improvisational? Do they rely more on external or internal processes? Do they approach problems in a concrete or abstract manner? Are they more utilitarian, or do they they also seek meaning through their work? Are they better with people or things?
4. Attitude to the Hero: does this antagonist view the protagonist more as an obstacle to remove, or an asset to try and bring over? Vice-versa can be asked of the hero towards the villain. Additionally, how significant is the hero to this villain personally (and vice-versa)?
5. Role in the Story: is this antagonist meant to be more long-term and even recurring, or are they more of a situational villain (ex “bad guy of the week”)? Are they a major threat in the story (ex the main villain), or a secondary threat (a good way to determine this is if any type of ‘final battle’ will occur with them)?

As one would expect, there is some bleed-through on these question answers, and they are not always strictly binary. The answers at one given point in the story may be different than another, because of character change.

And this leads into my final point of the night: villains are people too. All advice on character development applies to them. Especially if they are more long term and major threats, they should have their own story arc as the hero would, as they have the page/screen-time.

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

This week, I finish my look into literary beginnings for March. Before then, I want to remind everyone to stay safe and sensible in these trying times. My home state of Arizona has recently issued a stay at home order; so hopefully, my content here and in The Cases of Inspector Marshall: Vol. I can help entertain and stimulate the minds of those stuck in their homes.

2020 so far has been a roller coaster on a track made of glass, and my recent slew of Cthulhu dreams has me laughing nervously.

But, speaking of dreams, this final week of March, I will share some of my insight on starting a character, using Inspector Marshall as my example.

Like with previous posts, this should not be taken as an end all be all approach, rather a way to assist in brainstorming.

This all started with a literal dream – one night in my second year of college, I had a dream about a man in a bowler hat and trench coat going to a manor in a swamp, and looking into the owner’s missing husband and son. Not much else happened that I remembered upon waking, though I did take down notes not long after.

In a creative writing workshop class, I needed to submit a short story, so I decided to flesh out the detective in the dream. I already was curious of the occult monster hunter style, so this fell greatly into place.

Thus, “The Creature of Kettle Hall” was typed. And I liked what I created so much, that I started two more stories that I finished over the summer and fall. And the rest is published history.

When first crafting Inspector Marshall, I wanted a character who would make a good action star, while being relatable and engaging. His mental asides, the sarcastic thoughts he keeps to himself, helped show his wit. His skills and knowledge-base follow from the archetype of the “situational adventurer.”

A method I have found to make a character more likable, and balanced in capabilities, is to put a restraint on or take something away from them. And, the common trope of the loner monster hunter without a family gave me an idea – why not give him a family he cares about, then separate him from them?

As a mundane human, he already has a limitation compared to the things he goes up against. Thus, an emotional weight on him fulfills this role, and allows the reader to relate more to him.

More of his backstory was written in “The Haunt in the Walls,” where his past as Marine Corps Intelligence demonstrated where he gained his combat and investigative skills. The most significant part about fleshing his character and past out made the best use of the short story structure: never giving too much at once. Gradually introducing more and more of him as time went on.

This allows the reader to learn about the protagonist, without it interfering with the plot at hand.

Which leads me to suggest the following model to develop a character: know their skills and advantages, understand their disadvantages, and create a backstory that plays to both of these. This can be revealed in how they act and react in certain scenarios the work presents.

Details on personality can be brainstormed in all three of the above criteria, and can be freestyled when writing dialogue. For instance, given the traumatic nature of his job, it fits that Marshall has a dark sense of humor – as often develops in soldiers, medical personnel, and morticians. In effect, a personality trait that develops from his skills and backstory.

Thus, some of the questions you can ask about your characters to begin them include:

What are their goals, long and short term? Who are their closest relationships, and what are they willing to do for them? What skills do they have, and how did they acquire them? Where have they lived and visited, and how did this impact them? What vulnerabilities do they have, and why? Why is this character in the story at this time and place, and what impact do they have on the story?

Most of these questions should be asked for protagonists, major antagonists, and deuteragonists; minor characters and “extras” fill these in as needed.

Characters are the life of a story, and developing them often involves diving into their perspective and motivations. Knowing how they would respond, to create internal consistency. If the author cannot empathize with their characters, then the reader never will.

Writing the personalities of characters as they respond in real time is a delight; and starting them could be as simple as a dream brought to paper.

To start, I would like to thank all of my supporters, friend, family, and otherwise, for bringing me this far.

On this site, you can expect to see updates on any and all upcoming books by Nathaniel “Nate” W. E. Intolubbe, as well as a variety of posts relating to literature and storytelling.