Lessons From the Podium: Show, Don't Tell

What can a career conducting orchestras teach you about screenwriting? Turns out, a lot.

For many writers, "show, don't tell" is heard so often that it’s lost its meaning. But my 20 years as a professional conductor forced a nuanced understanding of the phrase on me. On the podium, "showing" is a multi-dimensional language ranging from physical gestures to the effective use of silence.

Failure to speak that language can result in losing the room.

Trust me, cold, blank stares from 85 musicians will teach you exactly how you’ve failed to show your intent.

Here are four key insights I picked up along the way:

Economy of words matters. 

Rehearsal time is money. A union orchestra's clock doesn't stop for a conductor who loves the sound of his or her own voice. More importantly, professional musicians know the difference between conductors who respect their time and those who don't - - and they’ll quickly dismiss the ones who don’t.

The parallel in screenwriting is white space…

A page filled with black ink isn't impressive.

It's a sign that the writer doesn't trust the reader, doesn’t respect their time, or both.

The point: "Showing" requires concise direction, sharp dialogue, and the courage to trust your readers to fill in the rest.

Don't describe the feeling. Show it. 

Orchestras have a violent allergy to lofty, poetic instructions from the podium. Tell 85 musicians to "play with longing" and, at best, you'll get 85 different ideas of what “longing” means. And at worst, you’ll lose their respect entirely. But tell a violin section to play with more weight on the bow, and with intensifying vibrato into the third bar, and a visceral, unified sense of longing emerges.

The best instructions are detailed and specific, describing sound, phrasing, and nuance. Occasionally, a metaphor will land. But when it does, it's because it's intelligible, not because it's beautiful.

Screenwriting works the same way…

"She felt a wave of grief" tells the reader what to feel, but trusts them with nothing. And it does nothing to create the image in the reader’s projector.

But the grief becomes visible (and therefore, felt) through a gesture, a pause, or an object the character holds close and can't bring herself to put down.

Specificity makes the feeling land, but poetry about it makes it trite.

And stating the obvious, directors can’t film poetry.

Gestures, not dialogue. 

A conductor's hands and body speak a visual language - - one in which the most powerful moments are those that words can’t express. This might be a breath before the downbeat that tells the orchestra something important is about to happen, or a cutoff that allows the sound to ring before fading into silence. But none of that can be said aloud without diminishing the moment.

The same is true on the page…

Two characters lock eyes across a room, one of them is leaving, but can’t say what’s in their heart.

No dialogue could serve that moment without cheapening it. Rather, the moment is delivered most poignantly through physicality: averting their eyes, or a single tear.

On-the-nose dialogue is what writers resort to when they don't trust a glance, a gesture, or a catching breath to do the work.

Silence is as important as sound. 

A rest isn't a soulless void. And how a conductor holds a silence can be as important, if not more important, than how he or she handles the sound before or after it. Move too quickly through a rest, and the structure will fail. Hold it too long, and the tension collapses. But get it right, and that silence can be the most impactful moment in the piece.

On the page, the same is true of what a character doesn't say….

The question that goes unanswered.

A long pause after an accusation.

Silence isn't empty space in a script.

It's where truth lives.

Ultimately, my time on the podium changed how I look at this well-worn rule. When the price of over-explaining is immediate and costly, you realize that "show, don't tell" isn't just writing advice. It’s a fundamental tenet of trust and human connection.

I'm building stories in the world of the performing arts. From the inside.

What did you learn the hard way -- perhaps in a completely different field -- that applied to your writing?

Ethan Danov

Conductor | Screenwriter

Creator, Firebirds

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