Last Updated: May 20, 1999
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Good writing
Many reporters have trouble writing second halves of stories. Some turn
in pieces that start well, develop for a few paragraphs, then trickle off
into unrelated paragraphs, then unrelated sentences, and sometimes sheer
gibberish, with no ending. Others write fine short pieces, but cannot produce
a long one or a complex one, often the same thing. Many reporters write
news easily, but struggle with features. The problem: second halves.
Upside-down explaining
The villain generally turns out to be the "inverted pyramid," the worst
form ever invented by the human race for explaining anything in words.
Many journalism schools still teach this form as "the form" of stories.
Reporters who know only this form must write in it, and editors who know
only one form must edit in it. They have no choice.
Inverted pyramid stories begin with a lead, followed by several paragraphs
"backing up the lead," proving it’s right. After that point, the form has
no structure whatever, except order by declining importance. No development,
no sectioning, no logic, and no ending. Readers cannot understand unstructured
information.
So the inverted-pyramid thinker will do generally fine for about five
paragraphs, and then bog down. Some writers try to make it to the end (or
the non-ending) by sectioning the remaining information into, for example,
a background block, or a bulleted list of other actions.
Designing both halves
We solve these problems by restructuring the whole story, not just the
second half.
Coaching editors avoid these difficulties by teaching their reporters
other forms, especially the "stack of blocks" or the classic beginning,
middle, and end: a lead that tells the reader what the story’s about, a
middle sectioned by subject, and an ending so the reader can remember what
the piece said.
The middle sections do not proceed in declining order of importance
as in the inverted pyramid, but in the order that readers need to understand
the information. If the reader needs to know what a bill says to follow
legislative debate, then the section describing the bill must precede the
debate section.
Editors can teach their reporters how to clump their information into
sections by magic questions like these:
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What important things do I have in this notebook?
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What large things do I know that the reader needs to know?
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What major points do I want to make?
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What would be the headline and subheads on this piece?
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If this story were a play, what would the four or five acts be?
A longer city-council story might have three sections: cutting the sewer
budget, why this measure lost, and what will happen next, especially to
real people. The same story might have four sections: defeat of the sewer
budget, the mayor’s campaign for it, the city engineer’s campaign against
it, and repercussions for the next election. In any case, the lead would
predict the middle, and the ending would close the middle.
Some reporters will gladly embrace this block form and start using it
immediately. Others may need coaching to help them see how sections work
until they get the hang of it. Either way, the editor saves time by not
having to make sense of chaotic second halves.
Saving half your time
Editors need to know multiple forms too. Otherwise, they have to think
and edit in the inverted pyramid. The coaching editor will accomplish nothing
by teaching new forms if the copy desk edits the resultant stories back
into the inverted pyramid. When the whole newsroom has the same repertoire
of structures and techniques, conversation and coordination gets easier
and faster. And the readers will understand.
Fry, an affiliate of the Poynter Institute for Media Studies, works
as an independent writing coach in Charlottesville, Va. Call him at 804/296-6830,
or e-mail him at 74072.3235@compuserve.com.
