The title in my working file was a phrase from the third paragraph. It sounded good when I typed it above the draft, partly because I had just read the sentence it came from. A few days later, I put the phrase in a list of possible stories and couldn’t remember what it referred to. I opened the draft again. The title needed more of the article than the article needed of it.
I often begin with a plain description and become embarrassed by it halfway through writing. The description seems too obvious beside a piece that has acquired a few complications. I replace it with something more oblique, usually a phrase I enjoy saying. Occasionally that is an improvement. More often, I have traded a useful entrance for a small private joke between myself and the paragraph I have just finished.
Reading the title on its own helps. I place it in another document, with enough space around it that the body of the article is out of view. I ask what sort of piece I would expect to find underneath. The expectation doesn’t have to be complete, but it should be connected to what follows. A title can leave me curious without making me solve a problem before I know whether I want to read.
Naming an object gives the reader something to picture. Naming an action suggests that a situation will change. I try a version of each when I’m stuck, then read the opening aloud beneath them. Sometimes the first sentence becomes unnecessary under one title. I would rather notice that before publishing than keep both merely because I like them separately.
I also check which part of the subject it emphasizes. A draft may contain a brief scene in a station, but naming the piece after the station makes a promise about where the reader will spend their time. If most of the article takes place at a kitchen table, that promise may be a distraction. The station can remain important without becoming the frame around everything else.
Naming an object gives the reader something to picture. Naming an action suggests that a situation will change. I try a version of each when I’m stuck, then read the opening aloud beneath them. Sometimes the first sentence becomes unnecessary under one title. I would rather notice that before publishing than keep both merely because I like them separately.
For the draft with the borrowed phrase, I returned to the original description and removed one word. It looked modest in the list, which was a relief after all the alternatives. I left the phrase in the third paragraph, where the surrounding sentences gave it something to do. A week later, I could find the piece again without opening every file in the folder.
