WD Glossary: Kicker
Write like a pro by learning the lingo. Next up, we talk about endings, specifically those that go out with a bang. Can YOU kick(er) it? Yes, you can!
Word Doc’s Glossary series reveals the meaning behind some tricks and terms of the trade, with examples of how best to execute them. While most professional writers will agree that writing rules are meant to be broken—that’s the whole point of developing your voice and style—a little guidance goes a long way. By the end of this post, you’ll be able to speak about your efforts as if you went to J-School. (That’d be Journalism School, friends. See? We haven’t even begun today’s lesson yet, and you’re learning already.) Let’s get word doc-umenting.
THE DEFINITION
In journalism circles, the term “kicker” is used to describe an article or essay’s ending sentence or phrase; something that ends with a real kick, as it were. Perhaps there’s a revelation, an “a-ha” moment, or it’s just a clever “kickback” to something referred to earlier in the story, paired with a snazzy play on words. Consider it the mic-drop of an article.
Back in J-School during the late ‘90s, my professors were never as concerned with kickers as ledes or nutgraphs. Perhaps they were keenly aware that not everyone makes it to the end of a story, even before our attention spans were ruined by technology and social media. Or, maybe they knew firsthand that editors always cut for the “news that’s fit to print.” To wit:
You can spend years in the newspaper business—the greatest training ground for journalists—and never hear a word about endings. Probably this is because of the old inverted pyramid structure, used so often in news stories, written with the least important material at the end, so that when the make-up editor chopped off the last couple of paragraphs to make the piece fit the hole that was left on the page, nothing much was lost. So traditional news stories went out with a whimper, but creative journalism demands that stories end with a bang—or at least a snap.1
Still, I always gave the end my all. To this day, I like to wrap up my writing with a proverbial bow.
One of my personal favorite kickers came from an essay I wrote for The Cut about my favorite day of the year in France: le Bal des Pompiers, or Fireman’s Ball, which happens the day before le 14 Juillet, or Bastille Day. Overall it was hard to resist all the fire puns and, in this case, I saved the best for last:
By the time we returned, it was packed and all the cigarette smoke had created an unpleasant fog-machine effect that even les pompiers couldn’t extinguish. When the band started performing French songs, we took that as our cue to order a juicy “burger du pompier” from the food truck and head for the exit. Outside, one of the trucks was racing off toward an emergency. It seemed unfair that some of the firefighters had to work that night, but there would still be a fire burning on the dance floor when they returned.
Some of my former newspaper editors often suggested ending on a quote. But to me, it felt lazy, if not outdated. As the writer, it’s your job to make an argument or statement using your clever way with words. Relying on the soundbites of someone else is a cheap trick. Of course, you do you and there’s always a time and a place, etc. etc., yadda, yadda. Plus, to be fair, it takes restraint to save your wittiest material for last as I did above. 💪
No matter what, endings are generally meant to be hopeful. Not every story should be Disney-fied or fed into the AI machine for clicks and clarity, but it’s not ideal to end on a depressing or open-ended note either. If you can’t make them chuckle, at least give the reader some sort of resolution, or an idea to continue pondering.
No matter how you choose to end your story, don’t whinge on for too long. As the late-great Bill Glavin, and my former professor at Syracuse, recalled, writing can be like painting:
One time, I was watching an artist paint a portrait. It was finished, but he was fussing around with a dab here, a brush stroke there. Finally, he threw down his brush in exasperation. ‘Every artist,’ he said, ‘should have a man stand behind him with a big wooden mallet, to hit him smartly on the head when the painting is finished.’”
I don’t know about a big wooden mallet—or it having to be a man—but I do agree that some sort of watchdog or, ahem, Word Doc, is beneficial.
(See what I did there? Quote —> Kicker —> Boom.)
Some Examples:
Since a kicker out of context doesn’t provide much impact, I’ve added some summaries below. I’d also still recommend reading the pieces in their entirety.
SUMMARY: Following the fires in LA, a writer reflects on experiencing a natural disaster firsthand and shares her fears and anxieties about what to pack and what to leave behind. Earlier in the piece, she refers to her home where she has “lived here for years” and yet their picture frames “remain on the floor, waiting to be hung.”
KICKER: The worst may be over, but the winds may pick up again soon, and there is no rain in the forecast. Every Angeleno measures the allure of the light against the cost of the fire; the calculation is changing in ways we cannot predict. We are never going to hang the frames on the wall. — Kerry Howley for New York Magazine’s Intellgencer
SUMMARY: Sometimes I feel like
is my writing soul sister. She tends to cover many of the same topics and write with a similar sense of wit, humor, and self-deprecation, and yet she’s still uniquely her, and I’m still uniquely me. In this piece, she extols the virtues of supporting her parent friends as an auntie in a society where the pressures and stressors to protect and perfect are far too great.KICKER: Perhaps the only advice I give these days (and it’s less advice than a word of encouragement shouted from my ’80s childhood to all the children stuck on this side of the Internet divide): Teaching your kids to have fun and enjoy life is maybe the most important skill you can give them. It’s more important than big vocabularies and reading levels. More important than test scores. I’ve only just entered the teen-years research phase, so consider this an early result, but contemplating the world that awaits them, a muscle memory for fun might be the only valuable thing we can be teaching anyone. Ourselves included. Goodness knows, I’ve only been made better, and stronger, and more resilient by every summer afternoon at the lake. Every bike ride for ice cream. Every hour I’ve spent explaining Star Wars and why Princess Leia is superior. These days, I try my best to pass it on.
Meanwhile, you’re doing great. I promise. — Glynnis MacNicol for Romper
SUMMARY: I related to this piece about dating and how taking the pressure off the search itself often makes room for discovering many more pleasures. I love how the last line refers to the anecdote that precedes it, but also has a double meaning.
KICKER: Silver’s point reminded me of something I’d heard from Drew Clement, a 37-year-old in Ohio who told me that his “entire approach to life changed” when he quit dating. He used to attend concerts often, but he was always distracted by the possibility of romance—he’d make eye contact with someone in the crowd, then spend the rest of the show thinking about smiling their way or trying to get their number. But he doesn’t worry about that anymore. For the first time, he’s just watching the stage and listening to the music. — Faith Hill for The Atlantic (gift link)
SUMMARY: Pico Iyer is one of my all-time favorite travel writers. His recent reflection for The New York Times is, essentially, about gatekeeping, and how hard it is for writers to balance the job of recommending amazing places with also wanting to keep them secret so as not to spoil their worthiness. Love his little wink at the end.
Or maybe I should just stick to fiction. When I set a scene in a novel inside that enchanting woody inn in California where there are no locks on the doors, and the sound of a rushing creek sweetens your night, some readers will smile with recognition — they know the place — while others will simply try to find a similarly atmospheric location of their own. Life offers few greater pleasures than that of passing on your enthusiasms and secret discoveries. But the greatest pleasure of all may be to uncover something that no one else has mentioned. — Pico Iyer for The New York Times (gift link)
EMAIL: helloworddoc@gmail.com
All italicized pull quotes in this piece come from “The Art of Writing Nonfiction,” written by André Fontaine and my former college professor, William A. Glavin Jr.
Always thoughtful. Always helpful!