Show don’t tell is the piece of advice most given to authors of all descriptions, whether writing novels, plays, television or films. I have said it myself many times and try my utmost to apply this principle to my work, sometimes more successfully than others.

For the uninitiated, in essence it means don’t simply tell the reader something about a character (often known as “info-dumping”) but instead show an incident that communicates the information more interestingly. For example, instead of saying “John was a thief” have him steal a wallet. That instantly tells the reader what they need to know about him, and also adds intrigue and ambiguity. It could be that John is actually a thief, but on the other hand perhaps he is taking back what is rightfully his. Or perhaps he is stealing the wallet to win a bet. The possibilities are endless, and showing an incident will keep a reader hooked in a way telling will not.

However, there are times when showing becomes wearying to the reader. It is not necessary to “show” every single incident from the protagonist’s life, or else the book would be interminably long, dull and difficult to read. Pacing is vitally important to any novel, so the key is to determine which incidents to “show” and which to “tell”.

In The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, the journeys from the Shire to the more dangerous lands are covered in great detail with all manner of incident and danger, over several chapters. Much of the action defines the characters our hobbit heroes meet along the way. However, the return journey is summarised in just one chapter in both cases. This is quite correct. We don’t need every step of the return detailed with Tolkien’s lengthy descriptions of mountains, trees, rivers, landscapes and so on. These added a lot of atmosphere when the characters were being stalked by the forces of evil earlier, but going to such lengths when such threats no longer exist would be foolish, especially as the characters have now been changed so much by their adventures. Therefore these later events are summarised or “told”.

This principle is true in any novel. Some scenes want to be expanded over great length with every detail pored over, such as the suspenseful exploration of a haunted house, detectives investigating the scene of the crime, the moment when lovers fall for one another, and so forth.

But sometimes it gives a book focus to know when to summarise rather than expound in great detail. As an example from my own work, Uncle Flynn originally had a lengthy chapter near the end from Max’s father’s perspective, which provided a much greater insight into his character arc. But this chapter was cut because 1) it slowed down the action and 2) took the focus away from Max. The changes in Max’s father were instead summarised briefly in the final chapter; “told” rather than “shown”. I maintain that this was the right choice.

In the end, as I once heard a famous author say, it is called storytelling for a reason. The trick is to know what to “tell” and what to “show”.

One writing technique difficult to pull off, but brilliant when done correctly, is that of the story (or stories) within the story.

For example, in Watership Down, there are several entire chapters devoted to the legends of El-ahrairah, a kind of rabbit Robin Hood who encounters rabbit god Frith, the Black Rabbit of Inle (a kind of rabbit grim reaper) and so on. These interludes provide mainly comical asides away from the grimmer main narrative, but they are also important as they provide commentary on the ongoing story. SPOILER WARNING: the notoriously tear-jerking epilogue, when a now aged Hazel at the moment of his death is visited by El-ahrairah himself and invited into the rabbit afterlife brings the rabbit mythology and the main story together brilliantly.

No less brilliantly, in the graphic novel Watchmen, there is a comic within the comic about a shipwrecked man determined to return to the mainland to protect his town from the marauding pirates that attacked him. It’s a grim, gory affair that provides an allegorical parallel to the villain of the story and his character arc. Specifically, it is about how a good man with good intentions can lose all perspective and fall to madness and evil in end-justifies-the-means thinking. Although Watchmen is rightly regarded as a classic, since first reading it as a teenager I have become less and less convinced by the naïve pseudo-student political views it contains – a pet peeve I have with author Alan Moore, even more so with his V for Vendetta. However, there can be no doubt that the story-within-a-story element of Watchmen works brilliantly.

Of course, the whole of Cloud Atlas follows this principle to an extreme, with six separate stories separated by centuries being read by people in subsequent generations. To be honest, although it was extremely well written, I found Cloud Atlas a pretentious bore. But it won a Booker Prize so perhaps I am in a minority.

At any rate, the story within a story technique is one I have even attempted myself in some of my presently unreleased work. Time will tell if I consider it good enough for publication, and then it will be up to you to judge if I was successful or not.

In a previous post I discussed how an important principle of adaptation was to remain faithful to the spirit of the original novel, rather than the letter. For this, I used The Remains of the Day as something of a case study.

However, in this post I want to examine something a little more potentially controversial: how and when it is acceptable to only very, very loosely adapt a text, or even to reinvent it entirely.

Such methods will inevitably cause controversy, and more often than not using a well established text as a basis for something completely different will only frustrate fans of the original work and fail to win over a new audience.

However, there is one exception to this principle: if said “loose adaptation” is utterly brilliant in its own right, or even surpasses the original text, no-one will care.

Examples of this principle include Alfred Hitchcock’s 1935 take on John Buchan’s The 39 Steps. There are many major, major changes to the plot, but the most potentially contentious addition is that of a romantic comedy subplot. However, it doesn’t matter because it all works brilliantly. The 39 Steps is justly one of Hitchcock’s greatest films, but if you haven’t, do check out the John Buchan original text. It’s a cracking read that stands up superbly in its own right.

Other examples are found in the films of Dangerous Liaisons (1988), The Last of the Mohicans (1992) and The Iron Giant (1999). All of these drastically change or reinvent the text, but all three are brilliant and therefore rise above such criticism. The Iron Giant in particular is a truly radical departure from the Ted Hughes source material (his novel, The Iron Man). All that stuff about the Iron Man battling a hideous space creature the size of Australia was ditched. In fact, the only plot incident director Brad Bird kept in his film was the gigantic robot eating scrap metal as food. The underlying morality about pacifism does remain however. In fact, it is much stronger in the context of Cold War paranoia, which is why The Iron Giant is also an example of a film that is better than the book on which it is based.

Perhaps the most famous example of novels that are loosely adapted is the James Bond series. Ian Fleming’s original books are massively altered both in terms of plot and character; mostly to brilliant effect, but occasionally to their detriment. For example the Moonraker novel is completely different and vastly superior to the film version. Conversely, the only Bond film that sticks precisely to the book is On Her Majesty’s Secret Service – a much maligned film on release but posthumously recognised as one of the very best Bond movies.

Both Moonraker and On Her Majesty’s Secret Service are examples of why it is sometimes best to stick to the original text. But the rest of the Bond series proves it is also possible to completely reinvent a novel into something different and brilliant in its own right.

I’ve recently been re-reading Kazuo Ishiguro’s masterpiece The Remains of the Day. For those unfamiliar with the story, it concerns an English butler Stevens, who during the 1950s looks back over his years of service in Darlington Hall. During this time he and the housekeeper Miss Kenton were obviously attracted to one another but Stevens kept her at arms length, fearing that any relationship would somehow constitute a dereliction of duty to his master Lord Darlington. Matters are complicated by the fact that Darlington became involved in Nazi appeasement, and as Stevens looks back he begins to wonder whether his loyalty was in fact misplaced.

I am a huge fan of both the book and the film, but I had not read the book for some time and was genuinely surprised at how different it was to the film. Why had I so misremembered it?

The answer perhaps lies in that crucial adaptation adage that it is less important to be true to the precise content of a book, and more important that the spirit of the novel be alive and well. This is obviously true of, say, Peter Jackson’s films of The Lord of the Rings. They are often different in incident to the books, but they feel like they are the same work, because they are true to what was important to Tolkien.

James Ivory’s film of The Remains of the Day is no different in this respect. However, much of the novel’s incident differs or is omitted entirely. Here are some examples of how the book is different, sometimes quite drastically so (SPOILER WARNING):

Firstly, the character of Stevens’ father is much more important in the novel. A huge part of Stevens’ complex character derives from what he learned from him, most critically his definition of “dignity”. There is far more background detail about his father’s ideals, incidents from his past, and a sense that this paternal figure exerts a very strong influence over Stevens even after he is dead.

Secondly, many key incidents that take place during Stevens’ journey to the West Country occur in different locations to the film, such as his Apostle Peter-like denials of association with Lord Darlington. Because the nature of the English countryside is one of Stevens’ most memorable asides in the novel, this detail becomes important. The reasons for his admiration of said countryside provide a vitally important clue as to his character and motivations, so the scenery isn’t merely there to be pretty.

Thirdly, I had forgotten that Stevens’ present master, the American Mr Faraday, is an entirely different person to the American Mr Lewis who turns up at Lord Darlington’s conference in between world wars. In the film, Mr Faraday is not included. They simply have Mr Lewis fulfil his role instead. But the Mr Lewis of the novel is a much more ambiguous character; a more underhand man whose methods are called into very serious question by his fellow guests, in spite of the fact that he is obviously ultimately proved correct in his distrust of the Nazi regime.

Most fascinatingly, the finale (which takes place in Weymouth, unlike the film), contains a full-on breakdown, where Stevens talks to a total stranger lamenting the loss of the woman he loved. He is also forced to confront the fact that he has given his best years of service to a man who didn’t deserve them. This scene was filmed, but crucially removed from the finished cut of the film (it can be seen on the deleted scenes in certain DVD/Blu-ray releases). I think James Ivory was absolutely right to keep it out of the film as everything the scene contains is inherent in the stunning performance Anthony Hopkins gives elsewhere. But the book is a different matter. In the book it is a critically important moment essential to the narrative.

Stevens’ absurdly repressed nature is often comical, but the genius of both the novel and the film is that we are gradually taken from laughter to tears. This is – above all – a tragic tale of wasted lives; of a man who knows his place and keeps it at the expense of his own convictions and happiness.

I’d highly recommend both the book and the film if you haven’t read/seen either, but to return to my original point, The Remains of the Day provides an excellent example of how it is less important in the adaptation process to remain true to the incidents of a novel and far more important to remain true to the spirit. If one considers the alternative – for example the slavishly faithful yet ultimately rather mediocre film of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone – the wisdom of this approach becomes clear.

Here’s a little about what to expect from me in 2014.

I have at least two – possibly even three – new novels I will release.

First out of the traps will be Dr Gribbles and the Beast of Blackthorn Lodge, a thrilling adventure story set in 1987 involving spies, haunted houses, mad scientists and a monster. If you enjoyed Uncle Flynn or George goes to Mars, you’ll love this!

Later this year I’ll be releasing my first novel aimed entirely at adults. The Birds Began to Sing is a mystery thriller that previously on this blog I described as “the closest I’ll ever get to an Agatha Christie, murder-in-a-country-house type scenario”. If you like a page-turning mystery I believe this one will grip from the very beginning and never let go.

Of course, I won’t just be releasing books but writing in earnest. I hope to complete at least two entirely new novels this year, one of which is the third in the George Hughes series, George goes to Neptune. The other project will remain top secret for now, but I will say it is another book aimed at a more grown-up audience. And it will be very scary.

The third book I might just release this year (though don’t hold me to it) is Children of the Folded Valley, which I have referred to in a number of previous posts. I had originally intended to release it in 2013 but somehow I am struggling to let go of it, perhaps because it is a far more personal work. Tolkien once wrote that he was dreading publication of The Lord of the Rings because he felt he was exposing his heart to the world to be shot at. I know how he feels!

Anyway, exact release dates for Dr Gribbles and the Beast of Blackthorn Lodge and The Birds Began to Sing will be announced on this blog as the year unfolds. Look out for an announcement soon regarding Dr Gribbles!

In addition, I will continue to update this blog with all the usual reviews and book related articles. Keep checking back for regular updates.

Finally, don’t forget you can still purchase my three current books: Uncle Flynn, George goes to Mars and its sequel George goes to Titan. Print copies can be ordered from Lulu.com and digital downloads are available from Amazon, Goodreads, Barnes and Noble and various other places – including Smashwords where George goes to Mars is downloadable for FREE (see links below).

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/136132

Print copies can be ordered from: http://www.lulu.com/shop/simon-dillon/george-goes-to-mars/paperback/product-21336550.html

Print copies can be ordered from: http://www.lulu.com/shop/simon-dillon/george-goes-to-titan/paperback/product-21336576.html

Print copies can be ordered from: http://www.lulu.com/shop/simon-dillon/uncle-flynn/paperback/product-21165126.html

Happy New Year!