“Mozart never wrote a novel. Shakespeare never composed a symphony. Yet the greatest writers and musicians have more in common than you might think.”
Gary Provost’s famous passage about sentence variation reveals a fundamental truth about great writing: it should sing. This musical approach to prose isn’t just stylistic advice — it’s a pattern found in the works of literary masters.
Consider Maya Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” Watch how she orchestrates her sentences:
“The caged bird sings with a fearful trill,
Of things unknown but longed for still,
And his tune is heard on the distant hill,
For the caged bird sings of freedom.”
Notice the rhythmic build-up, followed by the powerful short declaration. Like Provost suggests, Angelou creates music through careful sentence construction.
Ernest Hemingway, though known for brevity, also understood this symphony of sentences. From “The Old Man and the Sea”:
“He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream.” (Short) “The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck.” (Medium) “In the first forty days a boy had been with him, but after forty days without a fish, the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky.” (Long)
Each master writer intuitively follows Provost’s guidance: vary the rhythm, create the music, hold the reader’s attention. Short sentences punch. Medium sentences inform. Long sentences sweep readers into the story’s current.
This awareness of prose rhythm transforms writing from mere communication into art. It’s why certain passages stay with us, haunting our memories like a melody we can’t forget.
What makes Provost’s observation particularly brilliant is its simplicity: good writing isn’t just about what you say, but how you make it sound in the reader’s mind. It’s about creating a symphony with words.
Four Tactical Approaches to Writing Musical Prose:
1. The Sentence Symphony Method
– Start paragraphs with 2–3 short, punchy sentences (5–8 words)
– Follow with 2 medium-length sentences (12–20 words)
– Conclude with one long, flowing sentence that builds momentum
Example: “Night fell. Stars emerged. The wind whispered through trees. The autumn leaves danced gracefully in the moonlight. As darkness enveloped the forest, the ancient oaks stretched their branches toward the velvet sky, their shadows casting mysterious patterns across the frost-covered ground below.”
2. The Emotional Escalator
– Match sentence length to emotional intensity
– Short sentences for tension/impact
– Longer sentences for reflection/description
Example: “He stopped. Blood froze. Time stood still. The creature’s massive form emerged slowly from the shadows, its scales gleaming like polished obsidian in the dim light. And then, with terrifying suddenness, it struck.”
3. The Rhythm Reset
– After every long, complex sentence, reset w- Alternate between brief exchanges and descriptive passages
– Short sentences for dialogueith a short one
– Creates natural pauses for emphasis
– Helps readers process information
Example: “The ancient marketplace bustled with merchants hawking their wares, children weaving through the crowd, and artisans displaying intricate tapestries that told stories of forgotten kingdoms. Life pulsed. Nothing stopped.”
4. The Dialogue Dance
– Longer sentences for reactions/context
Example:
“Where were you?” (3 words)
“Out.” (1 word)
“Don’t lie.” (2 words)
The tension between them stretched like a taut wire, humming with unspoken accusations and years of accumulated distrust. (19 words)
Each technique serves as a tool to fulfill Provost’s vision of writing that sings rather than simply speaks.
Writing about writing is an art. A delicate one. Words matter here. Their flow shapes thought. And when we study masters like Provost, Angelou, and Hemingway, we learn a profound truth about the craft that extends far beyond mere technical advice or stylistic suggestions.
Their wisdom teaches us to listen — truly listen — to the rhythm of our words, the cadence of our sentences, and the music that emerges when we dare to vary our voice.
And sometimes, when the moment is right, and we’ve earned our reader’s trust through carefully crafted passages that ebb and flow like ocean waves, we can unleash a sentence that builds and swells and carries them along, sweeping through their consciousness with the force of a symphony, until they feel — not just understand, but feel — the power of words arranged with purpose and precision and passionate intent.
Write with courage.
Write with rhythm.
Write like you’re composing music for the soul.
