Is Fluffy Bunny real?

Fluffy Bunny hopped through the forest. Fluffy Bunny felt sad. Fluffy Bunny had missed the summer fair. All his friends left him behind. Mama Bunny made him clean the entire burrow. Fluffy Bunny had enough. He hopped back to the burrow to collect his carrots to throw at everyone.

What does this tell us? Fluffy Bunny (a bunny), is sad at being left behind. His mother forced him to clean the burrow. Fluffy’s frustration will manifest in the form of flying carrots.

Big whoop.

We’ve heard this story a million times before. Hell, I think I live Fluffy Bunny’s life over and over again. Who cares about Fluffy Bunny? I’ve told you everything you need to know. There’s nothing left for you to discover.

Now, consider:

Fluffy Bunny limped through the forest, his ears drooping, not even bouncing with each hop. His once plush coat sagged, matted with dirt clumps and broom bristles. Mama Bunny wrapped Fluffy Bunny’s forepaws in soft cloth after biting out the pricking broom splinters. He couldn’t even bother to wipe away the sweat beading above his eye, or the tear welling in it. When he arrived at Grover’s Shift, it was deserted. He looked at the long tree shadows, realized he’d missed all of them, and that the fair must have already begun. Sighing, he started limping back to the burrow. As he stumped along, his ears started to draw back. Sharp breaths rushed through his teeth. Faster and faster, the soft cloth dyeing crimson, he galloped back to the burrow. He’d kept his carrots beneath his bed. They’d soon find out.

Same Fluffy Bunny as before, but at least now, he’s a “real” bunny, insofar as anthropomorphic bunnies exist. We can see his post-cleaning exhaustion, his missed-friends and missed-fair dejection, his burgeoning vengeance. We can also see that I have problems in making an angry anthropomorphic bunny. It hurts that reading contains no visual component, aside from the printed word. You may see facial expressions, gestures, appearances in your mind, translate the picture into emotion (as you do everyday), then commit it to paper. You have to disconnect those wires, just transmit what you want them to perceive. You are a conduit, telling a story. Once you get control of that, then you can start interjecting with what’s happening.

“Show, don’t tell” plagues nascent writers. “Fluffy Bunny is angry.” “Fluffy Bunny is tired.” “Fluffy Bunny must destroy humanity.” So easy. So boring. The audience is not straitjacketed and drooling onto padded walls. They are vibrant, curious people (I pray). They want entertainment, challenge, escape. Sure, you can come right out and say that Fluffy Bunny planned to ruin the fair. Or, you can describe the twinkle in Fluffy Bunny’s eye, and the carrots bandoliered across his puffed-out chest. There’s always the danger they won’t get it, but is it not the greater danger you don’t engage them at all?