Writing as an art form is a cerebral experience, a painting with words. Unlike a painting on a canvas with solid shadings and crisp lines perceived by the naked eye, writers invite readers to inhabit a world, real or imagined, through words and phrases, to give readers a taste of simulated reality. Writers of both fiction and nonfiction do this in varying styles and approach to the craft. We rely on description, which is in layman’s term, “a statement, picture in words, account that describes, or the act or method of describing."

Your English teacher back in your school days may have given you that indispensable “show, don’t tell” advice, or perhaps your creative writing instructor from that writing workshop you’ve attended somewhere in a secluded retreat. Now, more than ever, the show don’t tell advice is unequivocally useful. Description is a skill that reflects your handle on the craft of writing. However, writers have divided sentiments over description. Some have grown to believe that description is an embellishment of “flowery stuff” that is usually unnecessary; that description at most is a highfalutin attempt to make prose sound sophisticated at the expense of clarity and conciseness - a grave misconception.

I once wrote a tale about a beetle named Benjamin. In one scene, he was making a descent down a jagged, steep rock:

The narrow crack sloped down to a rough surface of dried leaves and dewy grass. Benjamin almost slipped over the edge of the crevasse, but still tackled the obstacle with heart. Each straddling desperate leg held on the rough edges and gripped tight at the same time. Benjamin hung on his weight to prevent himself from falling, remaining still for a moment. He crossed a dangerous shoulder and came to a gentle, lichened slope that led to the bottom.

By showing Benjamin’s difficulty in descending from the rock, the reader could empathize with him. It helps readers to invest in feeling for what Benjamin experiences. Sensory details are not limited to describing an appearance. A combination of showing what our different senses perceive makes for three-dimensional storytelling that eases any burden of representation. In Elmore Leonard’s 10 Rules of Writing, rules number 8 and 9 advise against a detailed description of characters, places, and things. Yet, the first chapter of his novel Djibouti opens with a third-person POV description of a busy flight terminal. What Leonard is trying to say is that a writer should exercise common sense with sensory details: Give just the right description that will not bog down the story’s pace, and it must be given at the right time and situation. Description is something that you don’t just insert - it needs to flow along with your narrative.

The craft of description does not require an erudite vocabulary. It is not an attempt at sophistication. It is not a method of confounding the truth. Description allows for a more concrete telling of your experience or the world you build. The writer who cares about giving his reader a front seat row is not afraid nor lazy to use his pen as a paintbrush. Show don’t tell is a discipline that, once cultivated, provides the writer with more windows to open for his audience to look into his world.