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A great lead is prett-ay, prett-ay, prett-ay… important

Written a crappy lead? Expect the reader to jump ship before the dock is out of sight.

Written a good lead? Expect them to joyfully stay with you for the entire voyage.

“Your lead was just too interesting, so I’m not going to continue reading,” said no one ever.

The first sentence, paragraph, or cohesive thought of a written story is called the “lead,” or in hard-core journalism circles, the “lede.” (I’ve always found that spelling to be a little snooty, so for this story, I’m sticking with “lead.”) To use a fishing analogy, the lead is your best opportunity to snag the reader like an enthusiastic bluegill on a treble hook and reel him back to the boat with no chance of shaking loose.

(It’s my story so I get to use fishing analogies if I want to.)

For hard-news writers, leads usually consist of the good ol’ 5 Ws — who, what, when, where, and why.

A Nashville man (who) was struck and injured by a runaway water buffalo (what) last night (when) near the Music City Zoo (where) after the animal managed to scale the 20-foot wall of its enclosure using “Mission Impossible”-style suction cups smuggled into the facility by a relative earlier in the day (why).

OK, that’s pretty interesting, but you see what I’m getting at. Structure-wise, it’s boring. The creativity of a typical beat writer is usually squashed by those Ws. She must (or should) convey the most important info in the lead and then flesh out the details in the body of the story.

Feature writers don’t have to do that. In fact, we are allowed to write with a clear bias toward our employer, industry, product, or whatever. (And yes, I realize there is also startling bias in today’s mainstream journalism, but that’s a topic for another newsletter and a different writer.) For years, I’ve written for farmer-owned agricultural cooperatives, and my stories hardly ever involve investigative journalism — they are about supporting my employer’s mission or telling the cooperative story in creative and positive ways.

That’s where the lead comes in.

Imagine a great feature-story lead to be like the classic Larry David comedy, “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” It’s nearly all improvisation, and the actors are encouraged to be inventive and, frankly, a little goofy and over the top. That could also describe an effective lead. The writer is not boxed in with normal rules of alternating quotes and paraphrases, attributions, and traditional sentence structure, but is allowed to make editorial statements, ask questions, incorporate a little slang, and even use sentence fragments.

What do cloven hooves, illegal and oddly powerful suction cups, and a very ticked off but resourceful 1,800-pound African bovine have in common? A Nashville man with a broken leg and the rest of us with a whole lot of unanswered questions.

The remainder of the story, however, is like any other traditional TV show — the actors follow a script, and the plot is carefully structured. As soon as the lead ends, we are bound by the natural laws of journalism to stick with a framework that readers clearly understand.

As an editor who often works with young writers (including my own kids), I regularly encounter otherwise decent stories with uninspired, mundane leads. This makes me nuts. I want to grab the writer and shake them, screaming, “This. Was. Your. Chance. To. Be. Creative! You. Blew. It!” (Each word gets its own shake.)

Of course, I don’t do that. But I want to.

But I’m totally serious when I say, “Don’t blow it.” A feature story lead is your best opportunity as a writer to have fun AND do your sworn duty of hooking the reader. Every  story you write took time and effort, and by writing it, there is a built-in assumption that it will somehow improve the life of the reader by reading it.

Might be by providing critical information. Might be by providing good ol’ mindless entertainment. (Arguably, just as valid.)

But by starting this important story with a lame lead, you are dooming it to a life of loneliness and indifference, never to be fully read.

That’s not cool!

Give your lead the time, consideration, creativity, and fun it deserves, and you will, in turn, lead your grateful reader down the path of enlightenment.

Keep your paragraphs from crashing into one another — write good transitions

Imagine that you’re driving along on Interstate 40, minding your own business, and you hit one of those terrible patches of pavement where the top layer has been scraped off in preparation for re-paving.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!

You know what I’m talking about. The sound of your tires on the grooved sublayer creates a sound akin to an approaching tornado. After a few seconds of torture, you see the newly paved section approaching, but the road crew has failed to create a nice little pavement slope from the sublayer to the new layer. What happens? The front tires bang into the new layer with a jolt that rattles your fillings, wakes the baby, and likely loosens every screw, bolt, and rivet in your once-pristine vehicle.

Ouch.

A similar thing happens when you fail to write a transition between paragraphs. Whether consciously or subconsciously, the reader’s mind bangs into the next paragraph with an unappealing jolt.

Good transitions are what make your story an easy read. They create a smooth, glossy, playground slide for the reader’s figurative backside, with the top of the slide being the story lead, and the bottom of the slide, the ending. Without good transitions, it’s a bumpy ride down for the reader, and they will likely jump off before the end.

Here’s an example of poor transition:

Harvey Manfrengensen grows 5,000 acres of soybeans, cotton, and corn on his farm in Pawnee, Indiana. In addition to his row crops, Manfrengensen also raises 11,000 turkeys and some 75 head of water buffalo.

“I really enjoy shooting skeet with my son-in-law, Jean-Ralphio,” Manfrengensen says. “Those clay targets don’t stand a chance.”

Quite a jolt, right? We needed a transition. How about…

Harvey Manfrengensen grows 5,000 acres of soybeans, cotton, and corn on his farm in Pawnee, Indiana. In addition to his row crops, Manfrengensen also raises 11,000 turkeys and some 75 head of water buffalo. With this extremely odd pairing of crops and livestock, the Indianan says shotgun sports have become his “outdoor therapy session” and one he enjoys sharing with family.

“I really love shooting skeet with my son-in-law, Jean-Ralphio,” Manfrengensen says. “Those clay targets don’t stand a chance.”

Sure, that’s an extreme example, but you get my drift. If your paragraphs are slipping seamlessly from one to another rather than colliding with jarring thuds, you’re doing it right.

~ Mark Johnson