In the middle of the lush green countryside, a magnificent cathedral was being constructed. Halfway completed, it already dwarfed all other structures in the vicinity. Four stone columns rose high into the sky, with intricately carved patterns all around their surfaces.
The chief architect had a grand vision for the cathedral. Picturesque frescoes, stained glass windows, ornamented double-doors at the entrance were all part of his design. The hexagonal interiors would have a twenty-foot high vaulted ceiling. Rows of oil lamps would line the walls, with colors representing a rainbow.
The architect walked around the grounds, with a slow smile forming on his lips. Visitors would travel from far and wide to visit this cathedral. And they wouldn’t be disappointed. The cathedral would create a lasting impression on the minds and hearts of everyone who experienced it.
At one side of the construction site, the architect passed by three men toiling away. Each of them performed the same task over and over again. They took a piece of rock, placed it on a flat stone and hit it with an axe till it broke to bits. Each rock took several powerful blows before it could be broken. The strain showed on their arms and shoulders. Their breathing was heavy. Sweat poured down their bodies as the summer sun beat down on them.
The architect stood and watched them for a while. A task of such monotony and requiring so much physical effort would have driven him insane. He observed those three men labor continuously, without a word. Not knowing who he was, the laborers paid no attention to him.
When they took their lunch break, the architect approached each of the three men individually, and posed them the same question, “What are you doing here and why are you doing it?”
The first man answered, “I’m breaking these god damn rocks. I do it so that I can get money to buy some grub and a cold beer at the end of the day.”
The second man answered, “I’m making these small stones which will be part of that building over there. I’m doing it so that I can feed my wife and children.”
The third man answered, “I’m part of the team that is constructing this beautiful cathedral that is taking shape before you. When it is finished, people will come from all over the world to gaze upon this structure. I’m here to learn as much I can about how such a creation is built.”
On an impulse, the architect called his assistant and asked to take down the names of the three men, and to keep track of them over the years.
Four decades later, the first man, who had remained a laborer performing rough physical tasks, died after his body strength eroded over time. The second man had achieved a reputation of being a dependable though unambitious employee. He had retired and lived with his family in a simple house with modest comforts.
And the third man? There was no need to even inquire about him. He had grown to be a master architect who had created several constructions that had surprised and delighted people everywhere. His stature was growing by the day as was his skill and imagination.
*****
Don’t be the person who breaks rocks because he gets a paycheck. Be part of the team constructing a cathedral. Your perception creates your reality. Be conscious of the story you tell yourself about what you do.
Show Don't Tell
One of the first lessons that any writer or storyteller is taught is to ‘show-don’t-tell’. This piece will elaborate on this golden rule of good storytelling.
The writer wants to convey something, whether it’s the description of a place or an emotion of a character or sequence of actions. There are two ways in which this can be done. Telling the reader what the situation is and providing a clear interpretation; or Showing the reader the situation and inviting them to draw their own conclusions.
Let me illustrate this with an example.
Telling: It was an untidy room.
Showing: The room was more crowded than a New York subway at rush hour. But not with people, with things. Clothes, books, CDs, stationery, bags, chairs, and god know what else. Kevin searched for a spot to plant his foot without stepping on anything. He gave up the effort.
Doesn’t the latter version convey the same thing in a more powerful manner? Can you not feel the untidiness of the room, rather than me just telling you that it’s untidy? Did an image of the room pop up in your mind?
Telling summarizes the scene with a simple adjective or adverb. Showing paints a vivid picture and allows the readers to experience the scene for themselves. Showing makes the reader feel what the adjective was intended to imply.
The same technique applies not just to descriptions but also to emotions of characters. Let’s take another example.
Telling: He felt nervous as he walked up to the door.
Showing: He shuffled back and forth, looking downwards and then sideways. His hands fumbled about inside his pockets. Taking a deep breath, he advanced with measured steps as the wooden front door loomed closer.
Again, can you feel his state of mind as he approached the door? Wasn’t that more engaging than me telling you that he was nervous, and you take my word for it?
Showing is the key to good storytelling. It makes the reader a participant in the story. However the flipside is that, as you can see, showing takes substantially more words and sentences than telling. If we try to show everything, it will become rather verbose. The craft of the writer is to select what details to show and then tell the rest. So, telling has a place in the story too. For information that needs to be known, but is not as critical, telling is useful to summarize things for the reader.
A good technique for writing a description is to close your eyes and visualize the scene. Pick out few striking details that you see in your mind’s eye. Show these, then summarize or leave out the rest. The readers will fill in the blanks with their own imagination. We want to make the readers feel the scene. For this, the writer has to feel it himself or herself. Remember to feel first, write second.
The difference between a movie and a book is that in a movie everything is visualized for the audience. Every detail, every sight and sound is created for the viewers by the director, his cast and crew. In a book, readers have to exercise their own imagination.
For written works, the story begins in the mind of the writer and is breathed to life in the mind of the reader. No story is alive until it has been read. The reader is the co-creator of the story. In fact, no two readers will see the same picture. I’m sure everyone who reads this piece will see a slightly different image of the untidy room in their heads.
Remember that people read a story to be entertained. They want to get lost in the fictional world created by the author. They want to go on the journey with the characters. The writer’s job is to plant the seeds of the story in the reader’s mind and entice their imagination to do the rest.
The writer wants to convey something, whether it’s the description of a place or an emotion of a character or sequence of actions. There are two ways in which this can be done. Telling the reader what the situation is and providing a clear interpretation; or Showing the reader the situation and inviting them to draw their own conclusions.
Let me illustrate this with an example.
Telling: It was an untidy room.
Showing: The room was more crowded than a New York subway at rush hour. But not with people, with things. Clothes, books, CDs, stationery, bags, chairs, and god know what else. Kevin searched for a spot to plant his foot without stepping on anything. He gave up the effort.
Doesn’t the latter version convey the same thing in a more powerful manner? Can you not feel the untidiness of the room, rather than me just telling you that it’s untidy? Did an image of the room pop up in your mind?
Telling summarizes the scene with a simple adjective or adverb. Showing paints a vivid picture and allows the readers to experience the scene for themselves. Showing makes the reader feel what the adjective was intended to imply.
The same technique applies not just to descriptions but also to emotions of characters. Let’s take another example.
Telling: He felt nervous as he walked up to the door.
Showing: He shuffled back and forth, looking downwards and then sideways. His hands fumbled about inside his pockets. Taking a deep breath, he advanced with measured steps as the wooden front door loomed closer.
Again, can you feel his state of mind as he approached the door? Wasn’t that more engaging than me telling you that he was nervous, and you take my word for it?
Showing is the key to good storytelling. It makes the reader a participant in the story. However the flipside is that, as you can see, showing takes substantially more words and sentences than telling. If we try to show everything, it will become rather verbose. The craft of the writer is to select what details to show and then tell the rest. So, telling has a place in the story too. For information that needs to be known, but is not as critical, telling is useful to summarize things for the reader.
A good technique for writing a description is to close your eyes and visualize the scene. Pick out few striking details that you see in your mind’s eye. Show these, then summarize or leave out the rest. The readers will fill in the blanks with their own imagination. We want to make the readers feel the scene. For this, the writer has to feel it himself or herself. Remember to feel first, write second.
The difference between a movie and a book is that in a movie everything is visualized for the audience. Every detail, every sight and sound is created for the viewers by the director, his cast and crew. In a book, readers have to exercise their own imagination.
For written works, the story begins in the mind of the writer and is breathed to life in the mind of the reader. No story is alive until it has been read. The reader is the co-creator of the story. In fact, no two readers will see the same picture. I’m sure everyone who reads this piece will see a slightly different image of the untidy room in their heads.
Remember that people read a story to be entertained. They want to get lost in the fictional world created by the author. They want to go on the journey with the characters. The writer’s job is to plant the seeds of the story in the reader’s mind and entice their imagination to do the rest.
It's My Life
In an old, crumbling notebook, which somehow survived since my childhood days, I found this little poem that nine-year-old me wrote to my parents. What a strange feeling it was reading this. I wonder if traces of this obstinate and willful yet loving kid are still left in me.
To my parents
It’s My life
It’s my life
Stop nagging me
Stop scolding me
Stop instructing me
It’s my life
Don’t interfere with it
Let me do what I want to do,
How I want to do it
When I want to do it
Where I want to do it
But please guide me,
Encourage me,
Love me,
Care for me,
Help me,
Forgive me,
And don’t forget me.
And you will get all these things back from me.
Your loving son,
Varun.
To my parents
It’s My life
It’s my life
Stop nagging me
Stop scolding me
Stop instructing me
It’s my life
Don’t interfere with it
Let me do what I want to do,
How I want to do it
When I want to do it
Where I want to do it
But please guide me,
Encourage me,
Love me,
Care for me,
Help me,
Forgive me,
And don’t forget me.
And you will get all these things back from me.
Your loving son,
Varun.
The Professor
Raj darted forward, skipping over two steps at a time. He had four flights of stairs to climb. His lungs pleaded for air, but their request was denied. He had to be on time that day.
Professor Goldstein was not a man to be kept waiting.
Raj felt lucky to even have an appointment with the legendary scholar. Considered as the Godfather of natural history studies, Goldstein’s work in the field was admired by all and sundry. His research ranged from all varieties of plants to insects to micro-organisms to aquatic life forms. His published papers were widely acclaimed and lauded as a benchmark by many academic institutions.
Every year he selected two or three new students to help with his research. God alone knew how many applied. Raj was certain that all of the 200 students in his class at the university had applied. The same was probably true for many universities the world over.
Near-perfect grades, exemplary research work and a heartfelt application essay had earned Raj the chance to work with the reclusive Mr. Goldstein, whose picture rarely appeared anywhere despite all his fame.
As he raced along the final set of stairs, Raj couldn’t stop his mind from imagining what the professor would be like. Would he be genial or stern? How would he like Raj? Would there be further tests?
Raj paused at the top of the stairs to collect his breath. He strode forward towards the black wooden door at the end of the corridor. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a small rectangular name plate on the top right corner of the door. It read Goldstein’. No doctor or professor Goldstein, both of which would have been more than deserved. Just Goldstein.
Raj steadied himself. He checked the time. He was two minutes early. He raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door. “May I come in?”
“Yes.”
Raj slowly pushed the door open and took a step in. His eyes took in a spacious room with numerous desks and sofas. All four walls were covered with shelves, lined with jars of samples: insects, plants, and every other creature. The glass jars came in all shapes, colors and sizes. There must have been close to a thousand of them filling the room.
At the far end of the room, sitting on a reclining chair behind a round oak table was the man himself. A white mane of hair reached just below his shoulders. His face was thick with beard. Behind a pair of round, black-rimmed spectacles, the professor’s eyes locked onto Raj. The eyes flickered up and down, seizing Raj up.
A wrinkled hand motioned for him to sit. Raj lowered himself. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Professor Goldstein.”
The professor nodded ever so slightly. “So, why are you here?”
“Umm…to do research.” Raj blurted. The professor’s eyes bore into his. Raj continued. “Actually, my field of interest is aquatic life, fish of all kinds.”
The professor continued to stare at Raj for a moment longer. His breathing was slow and rhythmic, like a sleeping child. He rose from his seat, retrieved a sample from a shelf and placed it before Raj.
It was a fish. A haemulon to be specific, the kind found in tropical waters. It was kept in a neckless glass bottle fitted with a cork, and immersed in yellow alcohol.
“Study it.” The professor said. “You will not use any instruments, you will not read anything on the internet, your phone will be switched off. Only your two hands, your two eyes and the fish. I will come back from time to time and ask you what you have seen.”
The professor rose again, his six-foot tall frame was lean and gaunt. He made his way out of the office. Just as he stepped out, he turned and called out. “Oh, and make sure you keep it moist. The instructions for how to handle it are on the jar.”
With that, he was gone, leaving Raj to the fish.
Raj stared at the little creature. He opened the jar and gently placed the specimen on a tin tray in front of him, taking care to replace the stopper. Bringing out a pen and paper, Raj started taking notes.
Within ten minutes, Raj concluded he had seen all he could of the fish. He put the fish back in the jar and waited for the professor to return.
Half an hour passed and no sign of the professor. Raj removed the specimen again and looked at it some more. New things began to appear to him. He looked intently at the fins, the tail, the mouth, the eyes. He turned it over and from side to side. He moistened its surface with alcohol from the jar.
An hour later, Raj decided to break for lunch. He made his way to the cafeteria and carried with him that unmistakable fish smell. The girl at the checkout counter pinched her nose closed as she collected his money, and shot him a dirty look.
After lunch, Raj returned to the professor’s office, and the round spectacles had re-appeared on the reclining chair. The professor wiped the glass of his spectacles with care. He looked at Raj, waiting expectantly.
Raj cleared his throat and began to recount all that he had learned and previously knew about the fish. He spoke about its body, its pores, it lidless eyes, it lack of canines, its forked tail. He finished his summary and looked at the professor.
The professor ran a hand down his white mane and waited, as if expecting more.
Raj paused. “And that’s all I had.”
The professor shook his head. “You have missed such obvious features. Keep looking.”
Raj’s eyes widened. What more could there possibly be to that little fish?
He looked up, but the professor had already stepped out. Raj sat down, and resigned himself to the task. He was not to use a magnifying glass or anything else. His two hands, his two eyes and the fish.
He brought out his tiny friend again. He began to examine it from all angles, wondering what all he had missed. He pushed it and poked at it. He began to count the scales in different rows. As time went by, he grew increasingly desperate.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. He took his pencil out and started to draw the fish. Just then, the professor returned and looked over his shoulder.
The professor nodded. “A pencil is one of the best eyes indeed. Also, I’m glad to see you have kept the specimen wet and the bottle corked.”
Once again, the professor left.
Raj drew the fish once, twice and three times. He drew it from different perspectives. He focused all his attention on it. To his surprise, he discovered one new thing after another. The afternoon passed quickly.
The professor returned. “So, have you learned everything?”
“No,” Raj replied, “But I realize now how little I saw earlier.”
“That is the next best thing,” The professor’s eyes approved. “Keep looking.”
So Raj did. He spent hour after hour with his specimen. The deeper he dug, the more he uncovered.
Finally, as evening turned to night, the professor addressed him. “That’s enough for today. Put your fish away. I will hear you tomorrow morning before you look at the fish again.”
Raj took one last, long look and put his fish away. On his way to his dorm room, his mind was pre-occupied by the fish. Everywhere he looked he saw its shape, he smelt its odor and felt its slimy surface. He lay on his bed at night, thinking of nothing else.
The next morning, the Professor greeted him cordially. “So tell me.”
Raj took a deep breath. “I had missed so much earlier. Firstly, the beautiful symmetry of it. All of its organs are paired and are exactly equidistant from the lateral line.”
“That is good.” The professor said. “Go on.”
Raj launched into a long discourse about all he had learned about each tiny part of the fish from its reddish mouth linings to its fringed gills to its fleshy lips.
The professor listened carefully. He waited for Raj to finish. “Good work.”
Raj felt pleased. He exhaled and sat down. He looked up at the professor. “So, what next?”
“Oh, keep looking at the fish, of course.” And the professor left.
Raj was mortified. Still more of the fish? But now, he set himself to the task with renewed will. The passing time brought more new discoveries, new nuggets of information.
Every few hours, the professor would drop by and hear Raj’s insights.
“That is good,” The old professor would say. “But that is not all. Keep looking.”
And so it went on. For three long days, Raj studied the fish. He began to feel an intimate connection with the creature. As he would with many of the specimens during his two year spell under Professor Goldstein’s tutelage. Raj would find out, to his dismay, that no amount of soap or perfume could cover up the fish smell. The smell would grow to be a part of him.
For all the knowledge and expertise, Raj acquired over the years, he still remembered those first three days. His two hands, his two eyes and the fish. Keep looking…
Professor Goldstein was not a man to be kept waiting.
Raj felt lucky to even have an appointment with the legendary scholar. Considered as the Godfather of natural history studies, Goldstein’s work in the field was admired by all and sundry. His research ranged from all varieties of plants to insects to micro-organisms to aquatic life forms. His published papers were widely acclaimed and lauded as a benchmark by many academic institutions.
Every year he selected two or three new students to help with his research. God alone knew how many applied. Raj was certain that all of the 200 students in his class at the university had applied. The same was probably true for many universities the world over.
Near-perfect grades, exemplary research work and a heartfelt application essay had earned Raj the chance to work with the reclusive Mr. Goldstein, whose picture rarely appeared anywhere despite all his fame.
As he raced along the final set of stairs, Raj couldn’t stop his mind from imagining what the professor would be like. Would he be genial or stern? How would he like Raj? Would there be further tests?
Raj paused at the top of the stairs to collect his breath. He strode forward towards the black wooden door at the end of the corridor. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a small rectangular name plate on the top right corner of the door. It read Goldstein’. No doctor or professor Goldstein, both of which would have been more than deserved. Just Goldstein.
Raj steadied himself. He checked the time. He was two minutes early. He raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door. “May I come in?”
“Yes.”
Raj slowly pushed the door open and took a step in. His eyes took in a spacious room with numerous desks and sofas. All four walls were covered with shelves, lined with jars of samples: insects, plants, and every other creature. The glass jars came in all shapes, colors and sizes. There must have been close to a thousand of them filling the room.
At the far end of the room, sitting on a reclining chair behind a round oak table was the man himself. A white mane of hair reached just below his shoulders. His face was thick with beard. Behind a pair of round, black-rimmed spectacles, the professor’s eyes locked onto Raj. The eyes flickered up and down, seizing Raj up.
A wrinkled hand motioned for him to sit. Raj lowered himself. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Professor Goldstein.”
The professor nodded ever so slightly. “So, why are you here?”
“Umm…to do research.” Raj blurted. The professor’s eyes bore into his. Raj continued. “Actually, my field of interest is aquatic life, fish of all kinds.”
The professor continued to stare at Raj for a moment longer. His breathing was slow and rhythmic, like a sleeping child. He rose from his seat, retrieved a sample from a shelf and placed it before Raj.
It was a fish. A haemulon to be specific, the kind found in tropical waters. It was kept in a neckless glass bottle fitted with a cork, and immersed in yellow alcohol.
“Study it.” The professor said. “You will not use any instruments, you will not read anything on the internet, your phone will be switched off. Only your two hands, your two eyes and the fish. I will come back from time to time and ask you what you have seen.”
The professor rose again, his six-foot tall frame was lean and gaunt. He made his way out of the office. Just as he stepped out, he turned and called out. “Oh, and make sure you keep it moist. The instructions for how to handle it are on the jar.”
With that, he was gone, leaving Raj to the fish.
Raj stared at the little creature. He opened the jar and gently placed the specimen on a tin tray in front of him, taking care to replace the stopper. Bringing out a pen and paper, Raj started taking notes.
Within ten minutes, Raj concluded he had seen all he could of the fish. He put the fish back in the jar and waited for the professor to return.
Half an hour passed and no sign of the professor. Raj removed the specimen again and looked at it some more. New things began to appear to him. He looked intently at the fins, the tail, the mouth, the eyes. He turned it over and from side to side. He moistened its surface with alcohol from the jar.
An hour later, Raj decided to break for lunch. He made his way to the cafeteria and carried with him that unmistakable fish smell. The girl at the checkout counter pinched her nose closed as she collected his money, and shot him a dirty look.
After lunch, Raj returned to the professor’s office, and the round spectacles had re-appeared on the reclining chair. The professor wiped the glass of his spectacles with care. He looked at Raj, waiting expectantly.
Raj cleared his throat and began to recount all that he had learned and previously knew about the fish. He spoke about its body, its pores, it lidless eyes, it lack of canines, its forked tail. He finished his summary and looked at the professor.
The professor ran a hand down his white mane and waited, as if expecting more.
Raj paused. “And that’s all I had.”
The professor shook his head. “You have missed such obvious features. Keep looking.”
Raj’s eyes widened. What more could there possibly be to that little fish?
He looked up, but the professor had already stepped out. Raj sat down, and resigned himself to the task. He was not to use a magnifying glass or anything else. His two hands, his two eyes and the fish.
He brought out his tiny friend again. He began to examine it from all angles, wondering what all he had missed. He pushed it and poked at it. He began to count the scales in different rows. As time went by, he grew increasingly desperate.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. He took his pencil out and started to draw the fish. Just then, the professor returned and looked over his shoulder.
The professor nodded. “A pencil is one of the best eyes indeed. Also, I’m glad to see you have kept the specimen wet and the bottle corked.”
Once again, the professor left.
Raj drew the fish once, twice and three times. He drew it from different perspectives. He focused all his attention on it. To his surprise, he discovered one new thing after another. The afternoon passed quickly.
The professor returned. “So, have you learned everything?”
“No,” Raj replied, “But I realize now how little I saw earlier.”
“That is the next best thing,” The professor’s eyes approved. “Keep looking.”
So Raj did. He spent hour after hour with his specimen. The deeper he dug, the more he uncovered.
Finally, as evening turned to night, the professor addressed him. “That’s enough for today. Put your fish away. I will hear you tomorrow morning before you look at the fish again.”
Raj took one last, long look and put his fish away. On his way to his dorm room, his mind was pre-occupied by the fish. Everywhere he looked he saw its shape, he smelt its odor and felt its slimy surface. He lay on his bed at night, thinking of nothing else.
The next morning, the Professor greeted him cordially. “So tell me.”
Raj took a deep breath. “I had missed so much earlier. Firstly, the beautiful symmetry of it. All of its organs are paired and are exactly equidistant from the lateral line.”
“That is good.” The professor said. “Go on.”
Raj launched into a long discourse about all he had learned about each tiny part of the fish from its reddish mouth linings to its fringed gills to its fleshy lips.
The professor listened carefully. He waited for Raj to finish. “Good work.”
Raj felt pleased. He exhaled and sat down. He looked up at the professor. “So, what next?”
“Oh, keep looking at the fish, of course.” And the professor left.
Raj was mortified. Still more of the fish? But now, he set himself to the task with renewed will. The passing time brought more new discoveries, new nuggets of information.
Every few hours, the professor would drop by and hear Raj’s insights.
“That is good,” The old professor would say. “But that is not all. Keep looking.”
And so it went on. For three long days, Raj studied the fish. He began to feel an intimate connection with the creature. As he would with many of the specimens during his two year spell under Professor Goldstein’s tutelage. Raj would find out, to his dismay, that no amount of soap or perfume could cover up the fish smell. The smell would grow to be a part of him.
For all the knowledge and expertise, Raj acquired over the years, he still remembered those first three days. His two hands, his two eyes and the fish. Keep looking…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)