The Matrix for Teaching Writing: E (Exposition)

One of the fascinating elements of putting this writer’s matrix together as a series of tips is that when I get to each one, I’m tempted to say: “This is the most important one.” I certainly felt that way with #1, avoiding unnecessary use of the Passive Voice, and #2, Grammar. I mean, what could be more important than either (both?) of those in trying to craft lucid and compelling prose? But today, as I contemplate Writer’s Matrix Point #3, “E” for Exposition, I think that here we must be getting to the absolute cusp of what distinguishes story telling from mere competent prose. For anyone contemplating a life writing fiction, an understanding of exposition will be among your most valuable tools – because you will recognize it and know that usually you want to avoid it.

E – Exposition

So what is “exposition”? Well, basically it’s telling what is happening, or what has happened, instead of dramatizing, or showing it. If you’ve been to many writing classes or conventions, no doubt you’ve heard the mantra “show, don’t tell.” These three little words are all about avoiding exposition. I have found the best way to make this concept clear is by example: If you read the words, “Bill is sad,” you have some basic information about Bill, but it is flat information. We don’t “see” Bill being sad. We are just told that he is sad, whatever that means. On the other hand, consider these words: “Bill opened the door to his office, his shoulders sagging with an invisible weight. Inside, the door locked behind him, he stood still for a long moment until finally he sighed and crossed over to his desk. Lowering himself into his chair, he reached out and lifted the framed photograph of his wife that he’d turned face down when he’d heard the news. Seeing her smiling face, he set the picture back down, folded his arms on the desk, and rested his head down on them. He thought he might never move again, and wasn’t sure he ever wanted to.”

Now, do we know Bill a little better here than we did earlier. Of course we do. And why? Because we’ve “seen” his sadness dramatized. Our understanding of his sadness comes from his actions. This is the very meaning of drama, and as such, is essential to effective story telling. This is, for example, why dialogue is such a friend to the writer of fiction. When people are talking – when we “hear” them talking – they are acting. The narrator is not explaining anything – stuff is simply happening and we’re in the middle of it. There is no exposition. (And by the way, avoid the temptation to tell readers stuff they need to know in the course of dialogue – this is what I call “creeping exposition” and should be avoided at all costs. Dialogue always has to sound like people really talking, not conveying plot information.)

Finally, here is a good tip: search your manuscript for occurrences of the word “had.” This is almost always an indicator that your narrator is telling something that happened in the past, rather than going back and showing it.