First Proper Attempt At Show, Don't Tell - A Practise Short Story

This is my first proper attempt at writing out a short story that involves the scary process process of show, don't tell that makes other writers run away from it after hearing those two words, especially me at some point. Just trying to fixate your head around it gave me migrains and hypnotized my brain like a zombie of how on earth am I going to combat this problem if I ever want to be a writer. First of all, it's best to get it over and done with by just having a simple short attempt to get your mode of thinking around, and then adapt your writing to that adjustment. From the moment of what I was going to say and plan what to write, the words easily began to form in my head and then onto the page. Instead of repeating and telling a story, I found that showing what the story is and describing the character's actions and feelings, it alters the perspective in which you tell your story in a way that becomes unpredictable because your simply avoiding that silly rule of trying to control by not telling your audience of what that story is about. I feel as though I have learnt something from this, and this is just the beginning for me as an aspiring writer. I now am one step closer in learning and progressing my writing abilities. All I have to do is practise and observe.

Here's a short passage of what "Shows" a story rather than telling it. It might not be perfect, but it's a start. Have a look. At the moment it's unfinished, but it's just an example. It's the opening of my short story.

Deadbeat Dad

·         Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock…

·         The hands on the clock were just insulting me now as my gaze looked up towards the clock. 15 minutes before my shift ended at 7pm. I couldn’t stand another second working here, at KFC, it just wasn’t me. My name is Jake and I am just 16-years-old. I shouldn’t even have to work here but I have to. I have to reset my mind and wake up every morning and stand in front of the mirror to tell myself that you have to do this, you’re the only who can now. I now look at my watch and release out a tension of hot air hidden in my lungs from an exhausting day at work. My legs were feeling like tooth picks from standing around. I sighed again. Still nothing. It was only 6:46pm. How boring? I now leaned and pressed my back against the hot oven where they placed the chicken to keep it freshly warm. The warmth from it soothes my skin, sings to my bones and relaxes me. I now whistled away in the lonely restaurant with my eyes wandering away around the room, trying to relieve myself of the boredom. A deep sigh exhaled out through my nasal passages. The only thing that kept me company was my boss, Paul, working behind the fryer as he poured the uncooked chicken as I listened to the oils crackling against it when he placed them in. The fresh odours of fried chicken that made my tongue and nostrils dismal with the same scent every day. It grew old. The odours from the restaurant reminded me of my Deadbeat Dad who smelled of it. Just matching him to the smells made me realise how pathetic he was. A man whose son has to work to pay his bills. My fingers began to squeeze at my arms. I just had to keep thinking of something else that wouldn’t make me angry. My friends, my career, for instance. Those thoughts made me mull over the future, erecting a smile on my face. The success of my future overpowered the smell of KFC chicken in the room. My fingers were now relaxed, nestling on my red uniform that they made me wear. Now I looked up. The hands on the clock were now pointing at 6:56pm.    

What do you guys think? Leave your comments and suggestions at the bottom.


Thank You For Your Time.