Academic Writing Doesn’t Have to Suck

Why Showing, Not Just Telling, Makes Your Writing More Powerful

Photo by S O C I A L . C U T on Unsplash

Academic writing often gets the rap for being dry, esoteric, and dense. We pack jargon and theoretical terms into complex sentences but rarely stop to think about the experience of being a reader. Journal articles are expected to be dense, to pack a punch, and to reference many important ideas that came before ours, so sometimes we don't feel we have enough word count to tell stories or to add flourish.

Long ago, one of my favorite academic writers, Ralina Joseph, taught me that it is much better to “show” rather than to “tell.” That lesson continues to pay dividends in my own writing and is what I am sharing with you today.

The Power of "Show, Don't Tell"

The phrase "show, don’t tell" is practically gospel in creative writing circles, but Ralina convinced me that it has enormous value for academic writers as well. When we "tell," we simply state facts or conclusions. When we "show," we provide concrete evidence that allows readers to experience our ideas. As Anton Chekhov famously wrote, “Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

Example One

Let’s say you’re writing about the concept of “affective labor” in social media—how influencers and even academics are expected to package their personalities for public consumption. Instead of writing:

The contemporary knowledge worker is enmeshed in networks of affective labor, wherein the performative self becomes a commodifiable entity.

You could show what this means with an example:

A postdoctoral researcher meticulously curates their Bluesky profile, highlighting achievements, presentations, and collaborations, while engaging warmly with comments to enhance their well-networked image. The emotional and intellectual effort required to maintain this online persona is affective labor—unrecognized but critical for professional visibility—that they regard as a time-consuming but necessary step toward obtaining a tenure-track job.

Suddenly, the reader isn’t just nodding along; they see the concept at work in a real-world scenario.

Example Two

Or maybe you’re writing about Foucault’s idea of discipline and control. You could write:

Institutions exert power through subtle disciplinary mechanisms that produce docile bodies.

A clear, compelling example does a lot of work to make the writing clearer for the reader:

A university classroom shapes behavior before the professor speaks, with rows of desks indicating authority. Discipline is reinforced by unspoken norms such as the act of silencing phones, sitting upright, and raising hands, which encourage students to embody the power structure of academia.

By making the theory tangible, you’re not just presenting an idea; you’re inviting the reader to experience it.

But What About Word Counts?

I know what you’re thinking: "Jenn, I barely have room for my theoretical frameworks! How am I supposed to squeeze in examples?"

Fair concern. Journal word limits are real. But showing rather than telling isn’t about adding more words—it’s about choosing the right ones. A well-placed example can replace whole paragraphs of abstract explanation.

Instead of writing,

Symbolic capital operates in professional networks to establish hierarchies of influence,

consider:

This is symbolic capital in action: a well-cited professor receives an automatic invitation, while a graduate student with few publications is overlooked for a panel.

This approach doesn’t just make the idea clearer—it often makes it more concise than a dense theoretical sentence.

When I’m working with developmental editing clients, I often say, "This paragraph needs a concrete example." And sure enough, once they add one, their writing isn’t just clearer— their own thinking snaps into focus, too. Simply adding a one-sentence example in a paragraph of theory and jargon can do wonders.

Why Showing Works in Academic Writing

When we provide concrete examples in academic writing, several wonderful things happen:

• We build credibility: Examples demonstrate that our theoretical claims are grounded in observable reality.

• We improve comprehension: Abstract concepts become accessible when illustrated through specific cases.

• We uncover gaps in our own thinking: If you can't provide a concrete example of your theoretical concept, it might need refinement.

• We make our work memorable: Readers may forget your theoretical framework, but they'll remember a vivid example.

Photo by Nong on Unsplash

Shifting Your Audience

Confession time: When I am stuck on a difficult section of writing, I tend to use the most abstract, jargon-heavy language possible. It's like my insecure brain thinks, "If I make this sound complicated enough, no one will notice that I'm not entirely clear on what I'm saying."

The cure? I force myself to explain the concept to an imaginary smart undergraduate who doesn't know the literature. This inevitably leads me to concrete examples and clearer language—and often reveals where my thinking needed more work.

Say I'm struggling to explain "cultural hegemony" and default to

Dominant ideological apparatuses reinforce prevailing power structures through consent rather than coercion.

If I imagine explaining this to a smart undergraduate, I might say:

Consider the manner in which Hollywood films frequently portray wealth as glamorous and hard work as the foundation of success. This prevalent representation subtly persuades viewers that inequality is both natural and justifiable.

By shifting the audience in my mind, I move from abstract theorizing to concrete illustration, which almost always results in stronger writing.

The Takeaway

Like all writing advice, this isn't about rigid rules—it's about finding the right balance for your specific project and audience. Different disciplines have different conventions, and there are certainly times when efficient, abstract language is exactly what's needed.

That acknowledged, I challenge you to think of writing like giving directions. If someone asks how to get to your house, you wouldn’t just say, “Head north and navigate the urban grid efficiently.” You’d say, “Turn left at the bakery with the giant croissants, then right after the red house with the ivy.”

Examples help people find their way—whether in a city or an argument.

So, next time you’re working on your manuscript, take a moment to ask yourself, Am I just telling, or am I showing? Your readers will thank you for it.

Related Newsletters

---