How to Write a Great Thesis Sentence

You won’t have a good argument unless you’re clear about your own thesis.

Having made my living mostly as a writer and editor, I can tell you that in the real world, nobody talks about thesis sentences. But we still write them. In newspapers and magazines, we call the thesis sentence a “nut graf,” as in, the paragraph that contains the nut, the seed, the pith of a piece of writing. So let me show you how professionals put together a thesis sentence or nut graf, and how you can use these techniques to help you ace a course or test—or, for that matter, sell your own writing.

Here I’ll specifically talk about a persuasive essay, an argument—a piece of writing where you try to convince someone of your opinion.

Now, in most published stories or essays, the thesis almost never comes first. It follows what writers call the “lede” (we love to spell things funny, don’t ask me why). The lede sucks the reader in with something provocative, or with some kind of action. In formal essays and in academia, the thesis usually comes first. Which is fine. Just, frankly, less interesting.

But here’s the thing: whether you’re writing for school or for publication, the thesis, the nut graf, should be the first thing you actually think about. And it usually should be the first thing you write.

So, wait. What is a thesis?

If you’re taking AP English Language and Composition, you’re learning terms like Purpose and Reasoning. Think of these things as the What and the Why. 

One way to create a good thesis is to create an enthymeme: You should believe this (that’s the Purpose or Claim), because of this (that’s the “proof” or Why). 

But enough theory. Let’s get to an example. I wrote the essay below for a magazine that carried an excerpt from a book by a man dying of cancer. Unlike most of the pieces I’ve written, this one throws the thesis right up front.

It’s true you can’t take it with you, and for those of us gazing ahead at our golden years, it’s more important to think about what we’ll eventually leave behind.

At age 38, Lt. Col. Mark Weber has to ask that question right now.

I first got to know Mark when he emailed out of the blue to get advice on writing a book. He said he was in “kind of a hurry.” Why? “I have stage IV intestinal cancer.” With indefatigable energy, he wrote and published the book within months. Tell My Sons… is a letter of loving advice to his three boys, Mathew, Joshua, and Noah.

In their focus and commitment, patriots like Mark, a highly decorated soldier, are known to be unflagging. What else would you call a man who lines up Robin Williams, Mitch Albom, John Elway, and nearly every current and former Army chief of staff to throw their support behind the book? I swear I saw a blurb from George Washington. Tell My Sons… took on Mark’s energy, becoming one of the fastest-selling self-published works on Amazon, and subsequently getting snatched up by a major publisher for a big advance. “That’s such a great thing to leave your family,” he said.

Nah, he replied. He doesn’t want the money. The book’s success is “another shining illustration of ‘can do’ that I get to pass on to my boys.” In fact, Mark and his wife, Kristin, plan to give away the book’s proceeds. “I can’t wait to hand off the first check to charity and see where this all goes,” he told me.

I think he’s passing on more than “can do,” much more than money, and not just to his boys and worthy causes. When you read Tell My Sons…, you’ll see that it’s a love letter to us all.

We love you too, Mark.

What’s the thesis? You should think of what you’re going to leave behind in your life, because you really can’t take it with you. 

Now, in a formal, academic essay, the topic might be a bit more direct—say: Life gets its true meaning from what remains when you are no longer living. That is why we all should think of what good we will do the world while we are still alive.

You can see why I didn’t write it that way in a popular magazine. But the formal version helps illustrate what we mean by a thesis. (It also shows that a thesis sentence doesn’t have to be just one sentence.) Life gets its meaning from what remains is a claim. We should think of what good we will do is the purpose. The rest of the story backs up the claim with just one piece of evidence—Mark Weber’s life—which would not get me a great score on the AP Lang exam. 

Here’s a different essay I wrote for the same magazine. Try to spot the thesis. (Hint: it’s nowhere near the beginning.)

The coolest sport you’ll never do doesn’t cost much. It makes you go like a rocket, shapes up every muscle in your body, and burns a cheeseburger’s worth of calories in about the time it takes to eat one. It’s more fun than anything I can describe in public.

I’m talking about cross-country skiing, but not the kind you probably picture. This variation, called skate skiing, employs short skis a couple inches wide. You push off with them like skates while throwing your weight on extra-long poles, accelerating like a dragster. When American athletes invented it a few decades ago, they won so many races that the Europeans tried to ban it.

So why will you never do it? Because, as you may have guessed from all those burned calories, skate skiing requires massive aerobic effort. And because if you don’t do it right, you look like me—an arthritic goose with its wings clipped—which is especially embarrassing when you’re with an accomplished skier like my son, George.

But if you’re into any technique-intensive sport, such as golf or fly-fishing, you know why you put up with all that foolish agony. You do it for the rare moment when the planets align, you find fleeting grace and…and you’re good. Really good. The triumph is sweeter for the effort that went into it.

Sport is not just about teamwork and discipline and a winning attitude. It’s also about the struggle. It’s about the deep satisfaction of doing something well after a long purgatory of doing it badly.

And, boy, if you’re looking for a worthy struggle, I hope you’ll prove me wrong: Take lessons at a cross-country ski resort and make skate skiing the coolest sport you’ve ever done. 

Did you find the thesis? Here’s how I would put it; maybe you can do better: You should try the difficult sport of skate skiing, because sport is about the struggle. The claim: Sport is about the struggle. The purpose: You should try skate skiing.

As you can see, in popular publications and online sites, the thesis isn’t always wrapped up in a neat bow. Sometimes it appears up front, or right after the lede. Sometimes it serves as a kind of moral to the story—like the end of one of Aesop’s fables. But in each case, the thesis is there. And you won’t have a good argument unless you’re clear about your own thesis.

How do you construct one?

1. Write down your purpose, your core argument. Think about what you leave behind. Try skate skiing. 

2. State the claim that backs up your purpose. It should be something your audience already believes.

That’s it! That’s your thesis. Now, gather the evidence that backs you up.

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