Month: July 2026

What I learned about writing – The happy ending debate

The Happy Ending Debate: Is It All About Where You Stop the Story?

We’ve all been there. Lost in a book, glued to a screen, investing our emotions in characters and their journeys. As the story nears its end, a quiet hope stirs within us: Please, let them be happy. We crave resolution, comfort, and the satisfaction of knowing that, in this fictional world at least, good triumphs and love prevails.

But should every story culminate in a neat, tidy, and unequivocally happy ending? And more profoundly, is the ‘happiness’ of an ending simply a matter of where the author chooses to draw the final curtain?

The Allure of the Sunny Conclusion

There’s no denying the power and appeal of a happy ending. They offer:

  • Escapism: Life is often messy and unpredictable. Stories with joyous resolutions provide a much-needed mental break, a reminder that things can turn out well.
  • Hope: They validate our belief in perseverance, the triumph of good over evil, and the idea that our own struggles might eventually lead to brighter days.
  • Satisfaction: A happy ending can feel like a reward for the emotional investment we’ve made, a pleasant closure to a captivating experience.

From classic fairy tales to blockbuster rom-coms, these endings serve a vital purpose, leaving us with a warm feeling and a sense that balance has been restored.

The Unflinching Gaze of Reality

However, limiting all narratives to happy conclusions would be a disservice to the vast spectrum of human experience. Sometimes, stories need to:

  • Reflect Reality: Life isn’t always fair, and not every conflict resolves harmoniously. Stories that acknowledge pain, loss, and unresolved tension can be incredibly powerful and resonant.
  • Provoke Thought: Tragic or ambiguous endings often linger longer in the mind, prompting deeper reflection on themes, choices, and consequences.
  • Offer Catharsis: Witnessing a character’s journey through suffering, even if it doesn’t end happily, can be a form of emotional release and understanding for the audience.
  • Teach and Warn: Some stories serve as cautionary tales or explorations of the darker sides of humanity, and a happy ending would undermine their core message.

Think of literary classics, historical dramas, or poignant independent films – their power often lies in their refusal to sugarcoat the human condition.

The Art of the Final Frame: Where Do You Stop?

This brings us to the most intriguing part of the debate: Is a happy ending simply a matter of narrative framing?

Consider this: Is a character’s failure truly the end, or is it merely the lowest point before a potential rise? Is a bittersweet goodbye truly sad, or is it a necessary step towards individual growth and new beginnings?

  • Life is Continuous: In reality, our stories don’t stop. A “happy ending” might just be a moment of respite before the next challenge, and a “tragic ending” could be the catalyst for profound change in others.
  • The Power of Hope: An ending doesn’t have to be happy to be hopeful. A character might face immense loss, but the final scene could show them finding a glimmer of purpose, taking a first step towards healing, or inspiring others to carry on. This isn’t happiness in the traditional sense, but it offers forward momentum.
  • The Reader’s Imagination: Sometimes, an author intentionally leaves an ending open, trusting the audience to imagine what comes next. What feels unresolved to one person might feel like an invitation for possibility to another. The “end” of the story is merely where the author stops narrating; the characters’ lives, in our minds, continue.
  • Satisfying vs. Happy: A story can have a satisfying ending without being strictly happy. It can be satisfying because it feels earned, logical, and true to the characters and themes, even if it’s painful or melancholic.

Crafting the Right Conclusion

Ultimately, whether a story should have a happy ending isn’t a universal rule, but a deliberate choice. It depends on:

  • The Genre: Rom-coms and fairytales thrive on happiness; noir and tragedies demand a different tone.
  • The Story’s Purpose: Is it meant to uplift, entertain, challenge, or reflect?
  • The Characters’ Journeys: Does a happy ending feel organic and earned, or forced and unrealistic, given what the characters have endured and become?

So, should every story have a happy ending? Probably not. But should every story offer some form of resolution, be it hopeful, cathartic, or thought-provoking? Absolutely.

The true magic lies in the storyteller’s ability to know precisely where to stop, leaving us not necessarily with boundless joy, but with a feeling that the journey was complete, meaningful, and true – even if the sun isn’t shining quite so brightly in that final frame.

What do you think? Do you prefer happy endings, or do you find more satisfaction in realistic or even tragic conclusions? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 184

Day 184 – Show, don’t tell

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The Art of the Landscape: What Thomas Hardy Taught Ursula K. Le Guin About “Showing, Not Telling”

Every writer has heard the golden rule: “Show, don’t tell.”

It is the advice that launches a thousand creative writing workshops, yet it remains one of the most misunderstood concepts in literature. Does it mean you can never state an emotion? Does it mean your prose must be purely cinematic?

To find the true essence of this rule, we can look to a master of the craft, Ursula K. Le Guin. In her legendary essays on writing, Le Guin often pointed to a specific, masterful example of environmental storytelling: the opening chapter of Thomas Hardy’s The Return of the Native.

Here is how Hardy uses the landscape of Egdon Heath to redefine what it meant to “show” an entire world before a single character ever speaks.

The Trap of “Telling”

When beginners are told to “show,” they often interpret it as a directive to describe every micro-movement—“She clenched her fist, her knuckles turning white, showing her anger.”

While this is “showing,” it is literal and often clunky. True “showing” is about atmosphere, mood, and implication. It is about placing the reader in a space where they can feel the truth of the situation without being lectured by the author.

The Lesson from Egdon Heath

In the first chapter of The Return of the Native, Thomas Hardy does something radical. He doesn’t introduce a hero, a villain, or a dialogue-driven incident. Instead, he introduces the heath itself.

As Ursula K. Le Guin noted in her workshops, Hardy treats Egdon Heath not as a backdrop, but as a living, breathing participant in the story. He writes:

“The place became full of a watchful intentness now; for when other things sank brooding to sleep the heath appeared slowly to awake and listen.”

Hardy is doing something extraordinary here. He is “showing” the reader the tone of the entire novel before the plot begins. He doesn’t tell us, “The setting is oppressive, ancient, and indifferent to human suffering.” Instead, he describes the heath as a creature that “awaits” and “listens.”

Why Le Guin Admired This Approach

Le Guin championed this passage because it teaches writers that environment is character.

By spending pages describing the soil, the colours of the heath, the shadows, and the way the light dies over the horizon, Hardy creates a sense of foreboding. He shows the reader that the human lives within this book will be small, fragile, and ultimately at the mercy of this vast, prehistoric landscape.

If Hardy had simply told us, “The story takes place in a lonely, haunting part of England where people struggle against nature,” the reader would have accepted it as a fact. But by showing it—by making the heath look, act, and “feel”—the reader experiences that loneliness in their own bones.

Three Ways to Apply the “Hardy-Le Guin” Method

If you want to move beyond the surface-level interpretation of “show, don’t tell,” try these three strategies:

1. Use the Setting to Establish Stakes

Don’t just have your characters walk through a room. Have the room reflect the state of the story. If a marriage is failing, show the dust on the mantle or the way the light doesn’t quite reach the chairs. Make your setting a reflection of your underlying themes.

2. Let the Landscape “Listen”

Hardy gave the heath a sense of “watchful intentness.” What is your setting doing? Is the city you are writing in hostile? Does the forest feel like it’s holding its breath? Giving your setting semi-sentient traits can anchor your reader in the mood of the piece instantly.

3. Trust the Reader’s Intelligence

Hardy didn’t need to summarise the history of Egdon Heath. He trusted the reader to pick up the vibe of the place through the sensory language he used. When you write, pull back on the adjectives and lean into the gestures of your environment.

The Takeaway

“Show, don’t tell” isn’t about avoiding exposition; it’s about making your exposition experiential.

As Ursula K. Le Guin taught, the best writers don’t just dump information on the reader. They build a world so tactile and evocative that the “meaning” of the story is felt long before it is understood. Take a page from Hardy: ignore the plot for a moment, look at the world you’ve built, and ask yourself—is my setting just a stage, or is it alive?

…

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Malta

That’s a fantastic way to explore Malta! While the island nation is small, it hides numerous incredible spots away from the main tourist crowds.

Here are five places and activities off the well-trodden path in Malta and Gozo:

1. The Three Cities (Vittoriosa, Senglea, and Cospicua)

While not exactly “unknown,” the Three Cities are often overshadowed by Valletta and Mdina, making them a more authentic and less crowded alternative.

  • Vittoriosa (Birgu): As the oldest of the three, it was the first home of the Knights of St. John in Malta. Wander its narrow, ancient streets, and visit Fort St. Angelo for stunning views across the Grand Harbour back to Valletta.
  • Senglea (L-Isla): Walk through the charming backstreets and find your way to the Gardjola Gardens for one of the most iconic views of Valletta. The watchtower here has an eye and ear carved into its stone, symbolising vigilance.

2. Wied il-Għasri (Gozo)

For a secluded and unique swimming spot, head to the island of Gozo to find this hidden gem.

  • The Place: Wied il-Għasri is a spectacular sea gorge, or “fjord,” with crystal-clear turquoise waters. It cuts inland between dramatic cliffs, ending in a tiny pebbly beach.
  • The Activity: It’s perfect for a quiet swim, snorkelling, or simply enjoying the serenity away from the more crowded beaches. For the adventurous, you can rent a kayak to paddle through the gorge and out into the open sea.

3. Coral Lagoon (Malta)

The Coral Lagoon, also known as the Bilblija Cave, is a stunning natural sea cave located in the north of the main island, near Armier.

  • The Place: It’s an open-air cave with a large hole in the roof, allowing light to pour into the azure water below. The opening to the sea is small, making the lagoon feel like a massive, natural swimming pool.
  • The Activity: You can carefully climb down into the water for a unique swim. Many locals also use the surrounding cliff face as a jumping-off point. It requires a short hike to reach and is best visited on a calm day.

4. Il-Majjistral Nature and History Park (Malta)

If you’re looking for a dedicated nature escape, this park on the northwestern coast offers beautiful hiking trails, historical sites, and untouched coastlines.

  • The Place: The park stretches along the coast from Golden Bay up to Popeye Village. It’s Malta’s only natural park, protecting the area’s geology, archaeology, and ecology.
  • The Activity: Go for a walk or hike to explore the rural landscape, see the clay cliffs, and discover abandoned military and historical structures. It offers views that are completely different from the fortified cities and coastal resorts.

5. Ta’ Ċenċ Cliffs (Gozo)

While the Dingli Cliffs on the main island of Malta are famous for sunsets, the Ta’ Ċenċ Cliffs on Gozo offer a similar dramatic clifftop experience with far fewer people.

  • The Place: Located on the southern coast of Gozo, these cliffs are less accessible by major roads, ensuring a peaceful experience. The area is also a designated bird sanctuary.
  • The Activity: Take a sunset stroll along the top of the cliffs. The vast, uninterrupted views of the Mediterranean Sea are breathtaking, and it’s a perfect spot for nature photography or a picnic. You can also hike along the coastal path toward Xlendi or Mgarr Ix-Xini.

In a word: Angle

We all know this to be an intersection of two lines like a crossroad is at a 90-degree angle

But…

It’s an angle bracket that keeps the shelf up, hopefully with books on it.

Did you know that it was something someone did in order to get something?

She began to angle for an invitation to a party that she would not normally be invited to, or he has angled his answers to the prospective employer in a bid to be more likely to be selected for the position.

It can also refer to a position, or judgement, so that someone might say, try and see it from my angle, or another angle.

Or that it refers to fishing, and the fisherman or woman is known as an angler.

It can be a position from which something is viewed, or in crime parlance, the CSI people will work out the angle of the bullet’s entry do they can locate the position of the shooter.

Angle can refer to people of Germanic origin, such as an Anglo Saxon

And, here’s something even I didn’t know, in Astrology, it is each of the four cardinal points of a chart, from which the first, fourth, seventh, and tenth houses extend anticlockwise respectively.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect them.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half-brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Sicily

That’s an excellent choice! While the major sites like Taormina and the Valley of the Temples are stunning, Sicily’s true soul often lies in its quieter villages, ancient ruins, and dramatic nature reserves.

Here are five places or activities to explore on the road less travelled in Sicily:

1. Cycle and Swim the Egadi Islands (Favignana/Levanzo)

  • What it is: A small archipelago off the western coast near Trapani. Favignana is the largest and most accessible, and Levanzo is even smaller and more remote.
  • Why it’s less travelled: While popular with Italian vacationers, they remain largely car-free (especially Levanzo), promoting a slow, relaxed pace of travel that’s rare on the mainland.
  • Activity: Rent a bicycle upon arriving at Favignana’s port and spend the day cycling to the gorgeous turquoise coves like Cala Rossa and Cala Azzurra. On Levanzo, you can hike to the prehistoric Grotta del Genovese cave, featuring ancient Paleolithic rock carvings.

2. Explore the Labyrinthine Town of Erice

  • What it is: A beautifully preserved medieval hilltop town perched 750 meters above sea level, overlooking the city of Trapani and the western coast.
  • Why it’s less travelled: Many tourists bypass it for coastal towns. It’s famous for its atmospheric, narrow, cobbled streets and the frequent, dramatic mist that engulfs the town, making it feel completely isolated and otherworldly.
  • Activity: Wander the maze-like stone streets, visit the Norman Castello di Venere (Castle of Venus) built on the site of an ancient temple, and taste the famous local almond pastries from the historic Pasticceria Maria Grammatico.

3. Hike or Canyon the Gole dell’Alcantara

  • What it is: A spectacular series of gorges and canyons carved by the cold Alcantara River, located on the northern slopes of Mount Etna. The walls are made of dark, columnar basalt lava rock.
  • Why it’s less travelled: This is a nature and adventure destination that requires active participation, pulling visitors away from the historic towns.
  • Activity: Walk along the floor of the icy river (wetsuits/boots are highly recommended in the cooler months and often available for rent) or descend into the gorge for a dramatic, up-close view of the unique vertical lava formations.

4. Visit the Carved Cave Village of Sperlinga

  • What it is: A truly remote medieval village in the mountainous heart of Sicily, dominated by a Norman castle carved directly into the rock. The town’s name, Sperlinga, comes from the Greek word for “cave.”
  • Why it’s less travelled: Located deep in the rugged Sicilian interior, it is far from major tourist routes. It offers an incredible look at ancient rural life.
  • Activity: Explore the castle with its massive staircase carved from a single piece of rock, and wander through the small network of ancient cave dwellings (grottos) below the main structure that once housed the peasant community.

5. Discover the Hidden Baroque of Scicli

  • What it is: One of the spectacular Baroque towns of the Val di Noto (a UNESCO area), but significantly quieter and less visited than its neighbours, Noto and Ragusa Ibla.
  • Why it’s less travelled: It feels genuinely lived-in and has fewer large hotels, offering a relaxed and authentic glimpse of Sicilian life. It’s built into the cliffs of a canyon, giving it a unique layered appearance.
  • Activity: Stroll the main street, Via Francesco Mormino Penna, admire the honey-colored Baroque palaces and churches, and climb the hill to the top of San Matteo for a panoramic view of the town nestled in the valley.

An excerpt from “Amnesia”, a work in progress

I remembered a bang.

I remembered the car slewing sideways.

I remember another bang, and then it was lights out.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky.

Or I could be underwater.

Everything was blurred.

I tried to focus, but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water.

What happened?

Why was I lying down?

Where was I?

I cast my mind back, trying to remember.

It was a blank.

What, when, who, why and where are questions I should easily be able to answer. These are questions any normal person could answer.

I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake.

I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.

“My God! What happened?”

I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up.

I was blind. Everything was black.

“Car accident; hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.”

Was I that poor bastard?

“Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative.

“Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.”

“What isn’t broken?”

“His neck.”

“Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.”

I heard the shuffling of pages.

“OR1 ready?”

“Yes. On standby since we were first advised.”

“Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”

Magic.

It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.

Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time underwater.

Or somewhere.

I tried to speak but couldn’t. The words were just in my head.

Was it night or was it day?

Was it hot, or was it cold?

Where was I?

Around me, it felt cool.

It was incredibly quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or that was the sound of pure silence.  And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy.

I didn’t try to move.

Instinctively, somehow, I knew not to.

A previous unpleasant experience?

I heard what sounded like a door opening, and noticeably quiet footsteps slowly came into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before.

My grandfather.

He had smoked all his life until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that, he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way down the same path. I could smell the smoke.

I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking.

I couldn’t.

I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later, the clicking of a pen, then writing.

“You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a bad accident. You cannot talk or move; all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days and just came out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

She had a very soothing voice.

Her fingers stroked the back of my hand.

“Everything is fine.”

Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant.

“Just count backwards from 10.”

Why?

I didn’t reach seven.

Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning, I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent.

It rose above the disinfectant.

She was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive.

It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.

The next morning, she was back.

“My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very severely injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.”

More tests, and then when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. This was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time.

The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.”

Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accidents, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted.

How could that happen?

That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact that I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment, was the fact that I could not remember before the crash either, or only vague memories after.

But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised I could not remember my name.

I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic.

I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I will remember tomorrow. Or the next day.

Sleep was a blessed relief.

The next day I didn’t wake up feeling nauseous. I think they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that but not who I am?

Now I knew Winifred, the nurse, was preparing me for something unbelievably bad. She was upbeat and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.”

So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems.

But there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me.

This time, I was left awake for an hour before she returned.

This time, sleep was restless.

Scenes were playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Other people, I didn’t know. Or I knew them and couldn’t remember them.

Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.

The morning the bandages were to come off, she came in early and woke me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable.

“This morning, the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly, or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.”

I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live.

I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender; the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened.

I was amazed to realise at that moment, I wasn’t.

I heard the scissors cutting the bandages.

I felt the bandage being removed and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes.

Then a moment when nothing happened.

Then the pads are gently lifted and removed.

Nothing.

I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing.

“Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later, I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. There was ointment or something else in them.

Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey.

She wiped my eyes again.

I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance.

I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again.

Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty.

I nodded.

“You can see?”

I nodded again.

“Clearly?”

I nodded.

“Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.”

I couldn’t wait.

When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring; there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the most handsome of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.

I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.

They came at mid-morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. She was the distraction, taking my mind off the reality of what I was about to see.

Another doctor came into the room before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon who had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.

I found it hard to believe that if he were, he would be at a small country hospital.

“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months.”

Warning enough.

The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.

Then it was done.

The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with it. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.

I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand and was reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said, noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the result. The doctor said it was going to heal with little scarring. You have been extremely fortunate that he was available. Are you ready?”

I nodded.

She showed me.

I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess, I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.

And I still could not talk. There was a reason; he had worked in that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.

“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement in last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”

A new face?

I could not remember the old one.

My memory still hadn’t returned.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024-2026

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 184

Day 184 – Show, don’t tell

…

The Art of the Landscape: What Thomas Hardy Taught Ursula K. Le Guin About “Showing, Not Telling”

Every writer has heard the golden rule: “Show, don’t tell.”

It is the advice that launches a thousand creative writing workshops, yet it remains one of the most misunderstood concepts in literature. Does it mean you can never state an emotion? Does it mean your prose must be purely cinematic?

To find the true essence of this rule, we can look to a master of the craft, Ursula K. Le Guin. In her legendary essays on writing, Le Guin often pointed to a specific, masterful example of environmental storytelling: the opening chapter of Thomas Hardy’s The Return of the Native.

Here is how Hardy uses the landscape of Egdon Heath to redefine what it meant to “show” an entire world before a single character ever speaks.

The Trap of “Telling”

When beginners are told to “show,” they often interpret it as a directive to describe every micro-movement—“She clenched her fist, her knuckles turning white, showing her anger.”

While this is “showing,” it is literal and often clunky. True “showing” is about atmosphere, mood, and implication. It is about placing the reader in a space where they can feel the truth of the situation without being lectured by the author.

The Lesson from Egdon Heath

In the first chapter of The Return of the Native, Thomas Hardy does something radical. He doesn’t introduce a hero, a villain, or a dialogue-driven incident. Instead, he introduces the heath itself.

As Ursula K. Le Guin noted in her workshops, Hardy treats Egdon Heath not as a backdrop, but as a living, breathing participant in the story. He writes:

“The place became full of a watchful intentness now; for when other things sank brooding to sleep the heath appeared slowly to awake and listen.”

Hardy is doing something extraordinary here. He is “showing” the reader the tone of the entire novel before the plot begins. He doesn’t tell us, “The setting is oppressive, ancient, and indifferent to human suffering.” Instead, he describes the heath as a creature that “awaits” and “listens.”

Why Le Guin Admired This Approach

Le Guin championed this passage because it teaches writers that environment is character.

By spending pages describing the soil, the colours of the heath, the shadows, and the way the light dies over the horizon, Hardy creates a sense of foreboding. He shows the reader that the human lives within this book will be small, fragile, and ultimately at the mercy of this vast, prehistoric landscape.

If Hardy had simply told us, “The story takes place in a lonely, haunting part of England where people struggle against nature,” the reader would have accepted it as a fact. But by showing it—by making the heath look, act, and “feel”—the reader experiences that loneliness in their own bones.

Three Ways to Apply the “Hardy-Le Guin” Method

If you want to move beyond the surface-level interpretation of “show, don’t tell,” try these three strategies:

1. Use the Setting to Establish Stakes

Don’t just have your characters walk through a room. Have the room reflect the state of the story. If a marriage is failing, show the dust on the mantle or the way the light doesn’t quite reach the chairs. Make your setting a reflection of your underlying themes.

2. Let the Landscape “Listen”

Hardy gave the heath a sense of “watchful intentness.” What is your setting doing? Is the city you are writing in hostile? Does the forest feel like it’s holding its breath? Giving your setting semi-sentient traits can anchor your reader in the mood of the piece instantly.

3. Trust the Reader’s Intelligence

Hardy didn’t need to summarise the history of Egdon Heath. He trusted the reader to pick up the vibe of the place through the sensory language he used. When you write, pull back on the adjectives and lean into the gestures of your environment.

The Takeaway

“Show, don’t tell” isn’t about avoiding exposition; it’s about making your exposition experiential.

As Ursula K. Le Guin taught, the best writers don’t just dump information on the reader. They build a world so tactile and evocative that the “meaning” of the story is felt long before it is understood. Take a page from Hardy: ignore the plot for a moment, look at the world you’ve built, and ask yourself—is my setting just a stage, or is it alive?

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“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

Now only $0.99 at https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

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John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly, he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

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The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 28

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

 

By the time they reached the outskirts of Munich, what the Standartenfuhrer considered their biggest hurdle, it was quite dark and almost impossible to see where they were going.

The whole city seemed to have disappeared so effectively was the blackout.  

But there was one benefit, there was little or no traffic on the roads, which lessened the chance of running into another car or truck.

And it was time to refill the tank with two more petrol cans, leaving two remaining.  Filling up now, the Standartenfuhrer said, would get them to Innsbruck.

He sounded confident, but Mayer got the distinct impression it was mostly that he was putting on a brave face.  There had been one instance, the checkpoint before Munich where he nearly lost his nerve.  For the first time, there had been SS guards at the checkpoint, and which had been entirely unexpected.

An SS officer of the same rank had been summoned and he had requested their written orders.  They had paperwork, but Mayer wasn’t sure if it related to their current situation, further confirming his belief this had been a very carefully planned operation to get him out of Germany, and that there was a more pressing reason why.  It definitely had something to do with the V2’s, but had their intelligence services found out about something else, something he didn’t know about?

Given the level of risk to the two men with him, and that at every turn there was a possibility of capture or death, given the level of planning and the run so far, one he would have never thought of trying on his own, he didn’t have a very high level of confidence that they would get away with it.

Those in the SS were not fools, trusted no one, believed nothing they were told, and disregarded anything written on paper.  Check, double-check, then check again.  Take nothing as read.  The document he’d been given on what made a first-class SS officer in the eyes of the Reich, was fundamentally not him, nor most of the German population.

The officer at this checkpoint reminded him of the one who had shot the shooting in the hotel, and for at least ten tense minutes, during which time the other two had conferred quietly in English, one suggestion they cut and run.

That would have invited a hail of machine-gun fire that none of them would survive.

Both looked visibly relieved when he returned, having obviously called the name of the officer who had signed the order.  The only explanation he had for this was that the level of discontent among officers Military of SS must be greater than he thought.



They managed to cross over into Austria without any problems, the route they had taken, a series of back roads and tracks which had been given to them.  Once again, Mayer was surprised that so many people could be working against their own country, but, of what he’d seen, conditions were harsh no matter which part of Germany they were in.

The war was not going the way the German people were being told, and it was hard to see any resolution of the conflict any time soon.

Perhaps everyone in the high command was hoping the new V2 rockets were going to change the country’s fortunes in the war.  If they were, they were going to be bitterly disappointed.  What they needed was the jet-propelled fighters and bombers, something that remarkably had not been implemented years earlier, and would have given them air superiority.

He’d worked on those early jet engines and they were remarkable, and faster than anything the British or the Americans had.  It was hard to comprehend why high command had not pushed forward the new jet-propelled planes that Belin had finally decided to implement.  

And just when the trio had agreed that everything would work out about 100 kilometers from Innsbruck, on the road to the Italian border crossing, they took the wrong route.  It was a mistake brought on by tiredness, and a momentary lapse in concentration.

A checkpoint where there shouldn’t be one.

© Charles Heath 2020