Writing Advice from Mingus. Sort of.

Mingus‘ drummer, Danny Richmond, said that Mingus gave him his first drum lesson:

“. . .even though I knew where I was and the tempo was really, really, very, very fast, I was thinking in terms of trying to play all the things I could play in just a certain amount of bars. And, when we finally got a chance to talk, . . . Charles said, ‘Well, look man, I like what you’re doing, but you must remember that your playing is the same as a conversation. When you walk in a room, you just don’t. . .’” talk to everyone really loudly. “That’s the way I was playing then.”

The interviewer offers, “Trying to say it all at once?” and Richmond says,

“All at once.  And [Mingus] said, ‘First you say ‘hello,’ take a breath. ‘How are you?’ a la Charles Parker’ and ‘How is everything tonight?’ a la Fats Navarro. And you take another breath.’”

You can find the complete quote here, around five minutes and forty-five seconds into the clip. If you go to the clip, listen to what Mingus has to say a little before that. It’s along the lines of playing the notes around the lines, not on the line, to help define that line. Before I explain it, let’s move on (feel a little like I’m teaching) to a literary example. And I have to thank one of my old professors for giving this to me, and that’s Dr. Teresa Burns.

Ernest Hemingway has a VERY famous short story called “Hills Like White Elephants.” Click on the link, read the story (it’s very short), enjoy it. There is so much said in that story with nothing being said at all. What I mean is that there is so much implied and, I think, most readers would be able to discern immediately the taboo word in that situation. The beauty is that Hemingway never says explicitly what is being discussed. Look at the title of the story — and I’m paraphrasing Dr. Burn’s here — the hills are like elephants. The character doesn’t see elephantine trunk and ear shapes, only great white humps in the distance, suggesting elephants’ backs, suggesting elephants. This is very much like that rhythmic railroad line that Mingus says he and Richmond plays around, not on, the line: “We don’t play the line — we suggest this line.”

This is how short stories should be written.  Don’t explain everything, don’t describe everyone, don’t tell your reader about every object in the room, plot turn or twist.  Tell them some things, but suggest a lot!  Give them the elephant’s back and they’ll see the elephant.  Give them the the rocks, the struts between, the bridges around the railroad tracks and they’ll find those parallel lines rolling behind the city.  I guess all fiction writing, and of course poetry, can be written this way.