Dear Writer,

You never get a second chance to make a first impression. Unfortunately, neither does your title.

Before anyone reads your carefully crafted opening line, before they admire your metaphor or underline a sentence to save for later, their eyes land on the few bolded words near the top of the page. That’s the defining moment. The split-second in which they’ll decide to lean in or quietly move on.

No pressure…

A title is your unofficial handshake, the key that turns the lock, the signpost on your trail, the beacon guiding you towards something deeper. And while we’d love to tell you there’s a neat formula for getting it exactly right, there isn’t. (Wouldn’t that be nice?) The truth is, a title isn’t trying to do just one thing. It does several jobs at once. So, let’s pull the curtain back a little and look at the different ways a title can actually work.

A “successful” title doesn’t just sit at the top of the page all decorative and flashy. It does something beyond this. At its most straightforward, it offers insight into the themes or ideas of the piece, just enough to orient the reader without giving away too much. It’s like that handshake we mentioned—it invites you in. Says, “Here’s the kind of room you’re about to walk into.” It primes you; it helps guide interpretation so that the reader does not feel unmoored or adrift once they dive into some of your complex imagery. Look, sometimes we need a gentle hand to guide us.

Exposition isn’t the only path to success. Sometimes a title works because it immediately engages you. This feels especially true in poetry, where a borrowed line or striking phrase can carry its weight just enough to pique curiosity. These get an A+ for “first impressions,” as they are the smooth talkers, the ones that drop something spectacular at your feet and walk away before you’ve had time to process. They don’t explain themselves because they don’t have to. They also feel slightly unfinished, as if the poem is already in motion and you’re just now stumbling in.

And then there are the titles that misdirect on purpose. The ones that feel random AF, slightly off, almost like an inside joke you’re not privy to…yet. A love poem called “I Hate Your Guts,” for example. Confusing? Just a bit. Intriguing? Absolutely.

Sometimes a title’s job is simple: to say what the thing is like “Frankenstein” or “All About Love.” No smoke and mirrors, just a neon sign in a dark room pointing out the obvious. Other times, the title arrives with thesis in hand, giving you its argument before you even crack the spine open (think: “Guns, Germs, and Steel”).

And of course, you can’t forget a title that’s simply meant to be fun. The ones that bring levity and lightheartedness. There’s nothing wrong with “The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs;” in fact, hell yeah, we’d read that. They are immediate, breaking through the noise of all the other hundreds of titles surrounding it.

Our favorite titles though are the ones that creep up on you, quietly remapping your perspective as you read. Take for example, Hanif Abdurraqib’s “A Little Devil in America.” There’s a playfulness that instantly hooks you, but as the book unfolds, you realize that the title isn’t meant to be cute or witty; it’s pointed. It’s intentionally changing you. They start as an introduction and end as revelation.

And that, my friend, is really the whole point. A title can orient or destabilize, clarify or complicate, whisper or shout. It can hold your argument in plain sight or tuck it away like a secret you’re desperate to hear. Above all, your title should feel intentional because you don’t get second chances often.

Yours in writing,

MoS Editors