Is 'Show Don'T Tell' A Good Guide For Beginner Writers?

Wow — watching the before-and-after of 'Nikocado Avocado' is equal parts fascination and unease for me. Early on his videos felt quieter and more grounded: smaller mukbangs, calmer energy, and a creator who seemed to be exploring food content without theatrical extremes. The 'before' shows someone whose channel growth was steady and niche-focused. The physical changes as his content shifted are obvious — fuller face, larger body, and more overt physical strain — but what's really striking is how the whole production evolved. The editing, the clickbait titles, the escalating portion sizes, and the intense emotional beats turned eating into a spectacle. That progression tells a story about what the platform rewards and how a creator adapts, sometimes in ways that look unhealthy or performative. Beyond the surface, the transformation showcases a mix of economic reality and performative identity. On one hand, bigger videos, shocking moments, and drama drive views and ad revenue, so there’s a clear incentive to escalate. On the other hand, you can also see how the persona itself morphs: more dramatic outbursts, contrived conflict, and emotional vulnerability that blurs authenticity and performance. To me, that raises questions about mental health, self-image, and the potentially exploitative loop between creator behavior and audience reaction. The comments I read from fans are split — some send love and concern, others treat it as pure entertainment — and that split is part of what the before-and-after highlights. It’s a reminder that online fame can reward extremes and that viewers have power in how they respond, whether that’s empathy, critique, or click-driven encouragement. At the end of the day I feel both drawn in and wary. The visual change is undeniable, but the deeper takeaway is more subtle: what we watch online isn’t just content, it’s a feedback mechanism that influences behavior. Watching 'Nikocado Avocado' before and after weight gain is a vivid case study in how algorithms, monetization, personal crises, and audience demands can converge into something that’s entertaining and uncomfortable at once. I find myself hoping for healthier choices and more honest conversations about well-being from creators and viewers alike, while also recognizing the complicated mix of responsibility and agency in internet culture. It’s a lot to unpack, and honestly, I’ll keep watching because it sparks so many thoughts about fame, consumption, and empathy — even if it’s a little worrying.

Here's how the show laid it out for viewers: the reveal that Mona Vanderwaal was the one who killed Charlotte in 'Pretty Little Liars' was staged like a slow, satisfying unraveling more than a single cliff‑hanger drop. The writers used a mix of flashbacks, forensic breadcrumbs, and emotional confrontations to guide both the Liars and the audience to the same conclusion. There are key scenes where characters and police piece together timelines, and those little details — phone records, a missing alibi, and a fingerprint or two — get stitched together on screen. I felt the pacing was deliberate. They didn't just show a dramatic confession and leave it at that; instead, the show layered context around Mona: her history with being ‘A’, her obsession with control, and the tangled relationships she had with Charlotte and the girls. You see old grudges, the escalation of paranoia, and then cutaway flashbacks that reveal things you’d misread earlier. The result is a reveal that feels earned because the narrative planted seeds weeks earlier. Beyond the who and the how, the series made the reveal emotional — not just procedural. Mona’s motives are tangled up with betrayal, fear, and a desperate need to protect her constructed order. Watching all that logic and raw feeling collide made the reveal stick with me; it wasn't just a whodunit moment, it was a character payoff that landed hard.

Bright British wit has a way of sneaking into my captions, especially when I’m quoting something wickedly concise from 'Sherlock' or cheeky from 'Fleabag'. I love pairing a sharp line with a playful twist; it feels like finishing a joke with a nudge. When I write, I imagine the viewer grinning at their phone — here are a few I reach for when a BBC-style quote needs a caption: ‘Plot twist: I only came for the biscuits’; ‘Tea first, existential crisis second’; ‘That line? Stole my thunder and my remote’; ‘Not dramatic, just historically accurate’. I sprinkle in puns and mild self-deprecation because British humour rewards restraint. If I’m matching mood to moment, I vary tone fast. For a triumphant quote from 'Doctor Who' I’ll use: ‘Timey-wimey and totally me’; for a dry 'The Office' moment: ‘Promotion pending, dignity expired’; for a wistful 'The Crown' line: ‘Crown on, filters off’. I also keep short caption templates in my notes: one-liners for sarcasm, a couple of emoji combos for cheek, and an absurdly formal line for a hilarious contrast. That little contrast — posh phrasing slapped on a silly quote — always gets a reaction. When I post, I try to balance homage and originality: nod to the original line, then twist it so readers feel they’re sharing an in-joke with me. It’s a tiny bit performative, genuinely fun, and it makes the quote feel alive again — like a teleplay re-run with a new punchline.

I've always liked how Freya's choices in 'The Originals' feel honest and earned, and leaving New Orleans was no exception. The show gives a few overlapping reasons for her departure that add up: the city had become a nonstop battlefield, and Freya, as the Mikaelson family's resident powerhouse witch, kept getting pulled into life-or-death crises. Between the Hollow's chaos, the endless family dramas, and the constant supernatural politics, her time in New Orleans was defined by fixing urgent, traumatic problems. At some point she needed to step away not because she didn’t love her family, but because she had to protect them in a different way — by taking on responsibilities that required distance, focus, and a life that wasn’t just reactive to the next catastrophe. On a more personal level, Freya’s leaving also reads as emotional self-preservation and growth. She’d spent centuries being defined by the Mikaelson name and by other people’s fights; once things settled down enough, she wanted to choose what mattered to her rather than being defined by crisis. That meant tending to witches beyond New Orleans, rebuilding networks that had been shattered, and sometimes finding quieter, healthier rhythms for herself. The show hints that her powers and obligations pull her in other directions — there are communities and threats across the globe who need someone with Freya’s skill set. Leaving was framed less like abandonment and more like taking a different kind of guardianship: protecting the future by choosing when and how to engage, rather than being consumed by constant firefighting. Narratively, it also makes sense: the Mikaelson saga centers heavily on Klaus, Elijah, and the immediate family crises, but Freya’s arc is about reclaiming agency. By stepping away from New Orleans, she gets room to be more than “the witch who saves the family” and to explore what power and family responsibility mean when you’re not always on the frontline. That gives her space to heal, to teach, to travel, or to support other witches and allies in ways the show teases but doesn’t always fully dramatize on screen. For fans, it feels satisfying — Freya leaves with purpose rather than out of defeat, showing growth without erasing all the ties that city and family created. I love that she gets to choose a life that fits her strength and heart; it’s one of those departures that feels realistic for a character who’s been through so much, and it sits right with me.

My take is practical and a little geeky: a map that covers the high latitudes separates 'true north' and 'magnetic north' by showing the map's meridians (lines of longitude) and a declination diagram or compass rose. The meridians point to geographic north — the axis of the Earth — and that’s what navigational bearings on the map are usually referenced to. The magnetic north, which a handheld compass points toward, is not in the same place and moves over time. On the map you’ll usually find a small diagram labeled with something like ‘declination’ or ‘variation’. It shows an angle between a line marked ‘True North’ (often a vertical line) and another marked ‘Magnetic North’. The value is given in degrees and often includes an annual rate of change so you can update it. For polar maps there’s often also a ‘Grid North’ shown — that’s the north of the map’s projection grid and can differ from true north. I always check that declination note before heading out; it’s surprising how much difference a few degrees can make on a long trek, and it’s nice to feel prepared.

On the page of 'Mother Warmth' chapter 3, grief is threaded into tiny domestic symbols until the ordinary feels unbearable. The chapter opens with a single, unwashed teacup left on the table — not dramatic, just stubbornly present. That teacup becomes a marker for absence: someone who belonged to the rhythm of dishes is gone, and the object keeps repeating the loss. The house itself is a character; the way curtains hang limp, the draft through the hallway, and a window rimmed with condensation all act like visual sighs. There are also tactile items that carry memory: a moth-eaten shawl folded at the foot of the bed, a child’s small shoe shoved behind a chair, a mother’s locket with a faded picture. Sounds are used sparingly — a stopped clock, the distant drip of a faucet — and that silence around routine noise turns ordinary moments into evidence of what’s missing. Food rituals matter, too: a pot of soup left to cool, a kettle set to boil but never poured. Each symbol reframes everyday life as testimony, and I walked away feeling this grief as an ache lodged in mundane things, which is what made it linger with me.

Lately I get a little poetic whenever I try to pin down 'yearn' in Tamil, and I love how many shades it has. Here are a few everyday sentences I use when I want to convey that deep, aching want. 1) "I yearn for my hometown." — "என் ஊருக்காக நான் மிகவும் ஆசைப்படுகிறேன்." (En oorukkaaN naan mikavum aasai padugiren.) 2) "She yearns to be free." — "அவள் சுதந்திரமாக இருக்க ஆசைப்படுகிறாள்." (Aval sudhandhiramaaga irukka aasai padukiraal.) 3) "He yearned for the old days." — "அவர் பழைய நாட்களுக்கு ஆழமாக ஆசைப்படினார்." (Avar pazhaiya naatkalukku aazhamaga aasai padinaar.) In Tamil, 'yearn' often becomes 'ஆசைப்படு' (aasai padu) or 'ஆழமான ஆசை' (aazhamana aasai) when you want to stress intensity. I usually pick the verb form for actions ('நான் ஆசைப்படுகிறேன்') and the noun form if I want to paint something more poetic ('ஆழமான ஆசை'). They feel different in tone — the verb is immediate, the noun is lingering — which I use depending on whether I'm writing a fanfic scene or texting a friend about missing home.

Gusto kong magbigay ng malinaw at maingat na gabay sa Tagalog para sa unang beses na pag-inom ng birth control pills—maraming straightforward na hakbang basta alam mo ang tamang proseso at mga dapat bantayan. Una, magpa-konsulta ka muna sa isang healthcare provider o pharmacist para mapili ninyo ang pinakaangkop na uri: combined oral contraceptive (may estrogen at progestin) o progestin-only pill (madalas tinatawag na 'mini-pill'). Sabihin mo ang history ng kalusugan mo—tulad ng paninigarilyo, migraine na may aura, o kasaysayan ng clotting—dahil may mga kondisyon na hindi bagay sa ilang klase ng pills. Kapag nakuha mo na ang reseta, basahin ang leaflet na kasama: doon nakasulat ang eksaktong regimen, oras na dapat inumin, at protocol kapag nalimutan ang pill. Huwag kalimutan magtanong tungkol sa mga gamot na kasalukuyan mong iniinom dahil may mga interactions (halimbawa, may ilang antibiotics at ibang gamot na pwedeng makaapekto sa bisa ng contraceptive). Pag-uusapan naman natin ang practical na pag-inom: may tatlong karaniwang paraan ng pagsisimula—'day 1 start' na ibig sabihin unang tableta ay uunahin sa unang araw ng iyong period (ito ang nagbibigay agad na proteksyon), 'Sunday start' na unang Sunday pagkatapos magsimula ng period (kadalasan kailangan ng backup condom sa loob ng 7 araw), at 'quick start' na sinasabi ng doktor na simulan agad kahit hindi araw ng regla (kadalasan rin kailangan ng backup condoms hanggang masigurong protektado ka). Para sa combined pills, madalas one pill araw-araw sa parehong oras; kung may regimen na 21/7 o 24/4 o 28/0, sundin ang leaflet. Para sa mini-pill naman, mas strikto ang timing—kadalasan kailangan sa parehong oras araw-araw (kung mahuhuli ka ng ilang oras, maaaring mawalan ng proteksyon; kaya mas mabuti ang alarm o app reminder). Kung nakalimutan ka ng pill, kumilos agad: basahin ang leaflet—may mga simpleng steps tulad ng pag-inom ng naligtaang pill kapag naalala at paggamit ng backup condoms para sa susunod na 7 araw. Kung sumuka ka sa loob ng ilang oras matapos inumin ang pill, kumuha ng replacement tablet kung inirerekomenda ng leaflet. Para sa araw-araw na routine: mag-set ng alarma, maglagay ng spare pack sa bag, at i-sync ang schedule sa period tracker app para madaling makita kung kailan mahahalata ang irregular spotting o side effects. Karaniwan mayroon initial side effects gaya ng pagduduwal, spotting sa pagitan ng regla, breast tenderness, o mood changes—madalas nawawala sa loob ng 2–3 buwan. Kung makaranas ng seryosong sintomas tulad ng matinding sakit sa dibdib, hirap sa paghinga, malubhang pananakit ng ulo na bigla at malala, pagbabago sa paningin, o matinding pamamaga ng binti—magpatingin agad. Sa pangkalahatan, kapag sinunod mo ang tamang simula at schedule, mabisa ang contraceptive at malaki ang maitutulong nitong kontrolin ang cycle at bawasan ang unwanted pregnancy—para sa akin, ang pagkakaroon ng malinaw na routine at bukas na komunikasyon sa provider ang pinakamalaking susi sa kumpiyansa. Personal note: mas komportable ako kapag may malinaw na plano at reminder system—isang maliit na alarm bawat gabi na parang kasintahan na nagpapaalala, pero practical at life-saving sa tunay na buhay.