Reading is Interactive

 
There’s a fundamental fact we don’t talk about nearly enough:
Reading is interactive.
Very.
 
To the point where if we don’t take this into account, our writing can end up dead flat.
 
We’ve all heard “Show, don’t tell.” Yes, you should generally show us (i.e. describe the scene in such a way that we feel like we’re there, experiencing it) rather than tell us (using direct exposition) when it comes to important scenes.
 
But… it’s also extremely important not to show us (or tell us) everything. Because of the interactivity inherent in reading. The writer puts words on the page and the reader interprets them according to her background, experiences, and beliefs… and thus creates her own possible reasons for why certain things happened within the story. Which leads to educated guesses about what might be coming next, based on her assessment of the implications of the text so far.
 
We need to understand that all this is happening within the mind of the reader, and not expressly through the words we put on the page. (Sometimes, the best thing we can do is leave words off the page, as we’ll see in a minute.)
 
This “solving the micro-mysteries,” as I call it, is one of the main pleasures people get from reading fiction. This is most obvious with a literal mystery, of course. (Can I figure it out before the book’s detective does?) And SF/F is well-known for having authors hold certain explanations in abeyance, allowing the reader to figure things out largely through contextual clues.
 
But this concept also applies to almost every work of fiction, regardless of genre. Even in a so-called “normal” setting, like a realistic/contemporary novel or a romcom, this still applies.
 
Consider this scene:
It’s our protagonist’s first day on her new job. (Let’s call her Janet.) Her boss introduces her to a co-worker who will be showing her the ropes. (Brad.) Upon seeing Brad, Janet tells us Oh my God… he was the last person I ever wanted to see again. Then she smiles at him, saying, “Hi Brad. Nice to meet you!”
 
Then the scene ends, and we move to another part of the story.
 
Wait… what’s really going on here?
 
The reader doesn’t know for sure, but they’re curious so they start to formulate various possibilities…
 
Did Janet treat Brad poorly when they were younger and now she feels bad about it?
Did Brad crap on Janet at some point in the past and Janet never forgave him?
Did she have a thing for Brad and she showed it publicly, only Brad didn’t reciprocate?
Did something embarrassing happen to Janet in front of Brad and she’s mortified about it?
Or…???
 
And what’s with the subtext in Janet’s reply to Brad? Does Janet actually think that Brad doesn’t remember her? Or do they clearly know each other and Janet’s just doing this so the boss won’t know she already knows Brad? And why would that even matter?
 
The reader will carry this curiosity in the back of their mind as the story goes forward, until the whole truth eventually comes out (ideally in some sort of contextual situation where it adds dimension to the scene, vs. via an info-dump).
 
Now, imagine the book has the same scene as above (Janet being introduced to Brad as her co-worker who’s going to help her get started at her new job.) She thinks, Oh my God… if I never saw Brad again for the rest of my life, that’d be fine by me.
 
BUT… imagine the scene continues (via internal monolog from Janet):
I’d had a thing for Brad through high school, and when we were seniors he finally asked me to the Winter Formal. I was so excited, I bought a new dress and shoes. Then—on the day of—Brad called to tell me he was sick with strep throat. I asked if there was anything I could do for him and he said no, but I should go to the dance and enjoy it. I said I didn’t want to go without him, so I stayed home alone, feeling sorry for both of us.
 
The next morning my friend Sally informed me she’d seen Brad at a party the previous night, whooping it up with some girl she’d never met before. “They seemed mighty cozy,” she said. “Like, ‘get a room’ cozy.” The whole thing absolutely crushed me and I never spoke to Brad again. My self-esteem plummeted and I didn’t go on a single date all through college… I just kept my head down and did my work so I could graduate and get a job…
 
Besides the snooze-fest of telling us this instead of showing it via scenes, the real problem lies in giving us this information at all. At least at this point.
 
How much more intriguing might it be for the reader to formulate their own ideas as they read further into the book, building up their own theories about what happened as you (hopefully) add subtle clues via context as the story progresses, to the point where they feel fully invested in the story… almost like a co-author in a way?
 
The first key to doing this is simply assuming your reader is smart.
 
The second key is to quash the need to explain to the point where everything is crystal clear and there’s absolutely no doubt as to what’s happening. That way lies boredom for the reader, which is the exact opposite of what you want them to feel.
 
The third key is understanding & internalizing that you’re NOT “telling them a story.” You’re PRESENTING certain select scenes and actions and bits of dialog and inner monolog and body language and so on, with the ultimate goal of giving the reader enough nuanced information to figure out what the heck is happening in the story without some sort of deity coming down and simply telling them in no uncertain terms.
 
Which is exactly how real life works. There’s no one explaining everything that’s happening in our lives… we have to figure it out for ourselves, using things we pick up as we go along.
 
(Which is why humans have curiosity in the first place—it goes back a million years, rooted in survival. If we didn’t figure out where the tigers hung out—and avoided that place—we didn’t live long enough to pass along our genes.)
 
On some level, readers want to be allowed to apply this to the stories they read as well. Even young children want the fun of guessing what might be happening beyond the page turn of an engrossing picture book, and then get the satisfying feeling of confirmation (if they’re right) or the thrill of surprise (if it’s other than expected).
 
No one wants to be taken entirely out of the creative part of the equation… which is exactly what we do if we tell the reader everything we think they “need to know” upfront. They don’t “need” to be told anything… they just need to be presented with the right amount of information to permit them the opportunity to figure it out for themselves and get that little “aha!” of a mystery well solved.
 
So—regardless of genre—involve your reader in your work.
You’ll both be better off for it.