✏️🛠️ How to Write a Headline That Makes Everyone Want to Read Your Story

At Narratively, we spend a LOT of time crafting our “heds and deks.” Our founder chose his four all-time favorites—and shared his secrets behind why they made the cut.

There was a time, back when our beards didn’t have a fleck of gray and you weren’t a “real” wordsmith if you deigned to use any software other than Microsoft Word, when my co-founder, Brendan, and I would co-edit every Narratively story that ran on our site. As our company grew, and I expanded my focus into TV, film, podcasts and beyond, that process, as fun and creatively fulfilling as it was, became impractical. Thousands of pieces later, however, I still sit down with an editor colleague each week to hammer out the “hed and dek” (a.k.a. the headline and sub-headline) for each piece we publish. In many cases, this always lively and often supremely challenging ritual is the main creative connection I have to a story between when I give the pitch a greenlight and the moment it gets released into the wild. So, I take my role very seriously, and I have the 10,000-ish hours to prove it! 

We’ve received over 50,000 pitches in the decade since we launched Narratively and we have our favorites, but it’s safe to say we’ve probably never published the exact proposed hed that a writer submitted. This is no indication of any shortcoming on their part — it’s just that we’re extremely picky because we know what works at the top of a story, thanks to the engagement of millions of readers. A Narratively hed and dek is, to paraphrase the late Yogi Berra, 90 percent art and wordplay, the other half science and substance. 

If our hed is Batman, the dek is our hero’s trusty literary sidekick, Robin. Under no circumstances should it steal the title’s thunder (unless you’ve been unable to land on any dek of substance without turning it into a limerick). In fact, the hed should absolutely be able to fly solo — but why would it, when it has a loyal aide willing to make it look fabulous, with a wink and a nod? Unless unavoidable or necessary for emphasis, the dek should not repeat any substantive words from the hed.

In the end, this dynamic duo is all about striking a harmony between eyebrowing a piece in an utterly compelling and surprising way while staying true to certain details, themes and perspectives in the story — all without over-promising or giving away so much that the reader doesn’t have to actually read the story. It’s a balance we went back and forth on in titling this very post (meta, I know), and one we strived for in each of the greatest hits I’ve assembled below. 

It’s rarely easy. But it matters. In the words of Brendan, my most prolific headline-writing partner: “Have I banged my head against the wall when Noah and I have spent an hour on one hed and he still wants to keep talking it over? Yes! Have I felt sheepish when I Slacked him an hour later to say, ‘I know we already spent 90 minutes on this but I can’t stop thinking about how we should change just this one word’? Yes! Too many times to count. And our stories are so much better because of it.” 

Amen, Brendan. Without further ado, here are my all-time favorite Narratively heds and deks. (If you’re up for a challenge, and a chance to win some show-stopping Narratively merch, be sure to read to the very bottom of this post for a fun headline-writing contest I’m hosting in the comments!)

4. My Childhood in an Apocalyptic Cult

A clandestine cult with twenty children to a room, no outside music, movies or books, and no contact beyond the compound. For the first fifteen years of my life, this was my normal.

By Flor Edwards

Illustration by Jesse Lucas

Why I Love It:

This headline grabs your attention in just six words, and the first-person perspective makes it immediately clear that you’ll hear from the subject directly. What’s more powerful than that, especially when it comes to a highly secretive subculture? Next, we’re signaling that our story doesn’t just take place in any old period in the subject’s life, but specifically during her childhood, that most formative time when everything is heightened and hormone-addled and the stakes couldn’t seem higher — even for those who come of age on a quiet cul-de-sac with nothin’ doin’. But this tale isn’t set in a dull suburb; it unfolds smack in the heart of the Children of God cult, which, by the way, was not just any cult but an “apocalyptic” one, as you learn from our doomsday adjective. 

Critics, including me, will nitpick that we’ve violated our own rule by repeating the word “cult” in our hed and dek; and I can imagine we must have debated long and hard over this one. Even now, a decade later, I’m tempted to update the story, changing the mention in the dek to “sect.” Doesn’t quite have the same heft or alliteration next to “clandestine,” though. (Brendan, if you’re reading this, what were we thinking?!) Lastly, think of the dek as a quick and alluring glimpse into a few of the key themes and details of the story: In this case, the lack of contact with the outside world, the shocking length of time that Flor, our author/protagonist, was sequestered in this community, and how this bizarre set of circumstances that you, the reader, just perused was completely normal for her. Let that sink in and then, BOOM, we’ve hopefully gotten you hooked… for life.