BC Williams, Writer/Poet
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Shush! Don't Tell . . .

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Shush! Don't Tell . . .  Empty Shush! Don't Tell . . .

Post by BC Williams on Sat 12 Feb 2011, 2:17 pm

What if I told you I know of a nasty man who likes to make hooch and doesn't tolerate anyone who gets in his way . . . you might remember that for a minute or two, but it probably wouldn't stick with you for long.

There are a few reasons why:

  • The mental picture you create would be momentary at best.

    You may not believe me because I've not shown real evidence that what I say is true.

    By telling you instead of revealing some vivid evidence, the information is only one dimensional.

Let's put it another way.

Have you ever had a conversation with a person that didn't want to talk? It's really bad when you talk to a person like this on the phone:

“So, whatcha you been up to lately?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Are you still seeing Susan?”


“What happened!?”

“I don't know . . . .”

“Well . . . huh, did you guys have a fight or something?”


And there you are, uncomfortably stuck in a one side conversation. You may even find yourself trying to talk both sides:

“Well Chuck, she is a really nice girl and all, but I know you two had problems . . . .”

“Yeah . . . .”

You've been forced to try to find answers to your own questions, hoping Chuck will show you.

Don't count on readers working that hard to figure out what makes your story shine.

You have to SHOW them. You have to show them that little Johnny broke his arm and how it hurts like heck – THAT'S why he's cranky. If you don't show them why he's cranky, why should they believe you?

Shush! Don't Tell . . .  Shush110

What's a caption without a picture?

Let me SHOW you how mean that old moonshiner really is!

An excerpt from:In a Georgia Backwoods, by BC Williams

Clancy was digging a hole. He threw down his shovel and went behind his truck. He dragged a dead man out from behind the bumper, grunting as he yanked and tugged the limp body toward the hole.

Gulping moonshine, Clancy shouted at the dead man. “I told ya not ta try nothin' on ol' Clancy. You know'd better, you son-of-a-bitch.” The wild, drunken moonshiner pushed the body into the hole, kicking arms and legs into forced submission with a steel-toed boot. The boys listened in horror, heard the dead man's leg crack as Clancy stomped on it, then shoved it with his toe to rest across the corpses' chest. Grabbing up the moonshine, he took a long, sloppy drink, then wiped the back of his filthy hand across his unshaved chin.

A sick little sound oozed out of Lester and he stumbled as he stepped backwards, falling against a rock. An owl hooted, trying to keep Clancy from hearing the boy's scream but it didn't work.

“Who's there? Who'n the hell's out there?” Slurring obscenities, Clancy slowly staggered the twenty feet toward his truck. “I'ma kill me a trespasser.” The shine had hit him hard, and he went sideways, almost stumbling into the fire before falling against a tree.

© Feb 27, 2006 by BC Williams

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