Opinion writers use their own experiences to offer insight, historical information, factual information and, or, a specific point of view.
Before you start out think about whether what you have say will resonate with other people. Who cares?
- Your lede should clearly state the point.
- The rest of the opinion piece should back up your claim.
- You need more than opinion. You need facts.
- Statistics and links to studies help.
- Write 500 to 700 words.
Here’s what The New York Times says about submitting an opinion piece.
The New York Times accepts opinion essays on any topic for both the daily print page and online section as well as the Sunday Review, the International edition (which is edited out of London and Hong Kong), and other themed series. Published pieces typically run from 400 to 1,200 words, but drafts of any length within the bounds of reason will be considered.
We ask that everyone include a one-sentence author ID at the top or bottom of the submission. Please do not assume we are going to know who you are. Also, be sure to include annotations for all assertions and attributions made in your essay.
All submissions must be original, exclusive to The Times and, as a matter of security, embedded in the text of an email, not as an attachment.
Submissions may be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Due to the large volume of messages we receive, we have to pass on much material of value and interest. If you do not hear from us within three business days, you should feel free to offer it elsewhere.
What, exactly, is an Op-Ed?
As Trish Hall, the former Op-Ed and Sunday Review editor has written, “Anything can be an Op-Ed.” Personal or explanatory essays, commentary on news events, reflections on cultural trends and more are all welcome. We’re interested in anything well-written with a fact-based viewpoint we believe readers will find worthwhile.
Examples of good opinion writing.
This Pan Sauce Set My Cooking Free
A tangy mix of lime juice, maple syrup and Dijon works well with ju
By Eric KimFeb. 9, 2022
In her sophomore year of college, Melissa d’Arabian studied abroad in France, living with a host couple in a town in the Loire Valley. Madame Gabillet cooked dinner every night, and a frequent dish was seared chicken with pan sauce. “She was not very extroverted,” d’Arabian recalls. “A little bit timid.” But as she watched her host cook with confidence in an everyday kind of way, d’Arabian, now 53 and a cookbook author, began to understand that the chicken was not so much a recipe as it was a strong technique. It was, she surmised, “real French cooking.”
Years later, in 2009, I was sitting on my parents’ couch in Atlanta the night d’Arabian cooked a dish on television inspired by Madame Gabillet’s chicken, which earned her the Season 5 crown on “The Next Food Network Star.” I was 18 and counting down the days until I might get to deglaze a pan on TV (and say the word “deglaze”) while competing for a shot at my own show. But what was my culinary point of view? Who was “Eric” on a plate? When I wasn’t baking box-mix cakes, I was practicing my presentation skills in front of the bathroom mirror.
It took several years for me to recognize the impact that those TV shows had on my life, on my palate and, most of all, on my cooking. “Food Network opened the doorway,” d’Arabian says, “and made it wider for people to come into the kitchen.” And I came swinging through, dusted in flour. I even worked there years ago, though it was in the editorial department of the website — my first food job out of college.
So many of the instincts I possess now as a cook can be credited to shows that ran in the late 1990s and early aughts. And there were other kids like me. We were Food Network Babies, a generation who came home from school to watch cooking programs before dinnertime. But if I found my after-school culinary tutors in Emeril Lagasse, Tyler Florence and Rachael Ray, then late-night episodes of “Unwrapped” and “$40 a Day” were my ritual before bed. By 13, I was lighting baked alaskas on fire because I had seen Gale Gand do it on “Sweet Dreams.” (I can still hear her closing tagline: “And remember, there’s always room for dessert.”)
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I Met a Taliban Leader and Lost Hope for My Country
By Farahnaz Forotan
Ms. Forotan is an Afghan journalist who fled her country after her life was threatened.
- April 21, 2021
As men continue to bicker over the future and control of Afghanistan, I have already lost my home and my country. I worked in Kabul as a television journalist for 12 years, and finally left in November after threats to my life.
I know how the Taliban plan to shape the future of my country, and their vision of my country has no space for me.
For what turned out to be one of my last assignments, I traveled from Kabul to Doha, Qatar, in October to report on the negotiations between the Afghan government and the Taliban. Like many Afghans, I was somewhat hopeful that the talks might help end the long, pitiless war in our country.
In Doha, I had the opportunity to interview members of the Taliban negotiating team at the conference hall where the talks were being held. The experience reinforced my sense that postwar Afghanistan, dominated by the Taliban, was bound to be a bleak place for Afghan women.
Fixing policing is a long, hard slog
By ERROL LOUISNEW YORK DAILY NEWS |APR 22, 2021 AT 5:00 AM
The conviction of Derek Chauvin for the cold, calculated murder of George Floyd was about as simple and straightforward as a court case of its kind could be. But of course the case was about more than just one killing.
We’ll know true change has arrived when it doesn’t take the protest of more than 15 million people to get justice in a case with a damning video showing credible witnesses begging a cop — in vain — not to wantonly kill a subdued, handcuffed and obviously incapacitated man.
Ramadan in the age of COVID: A personal snapshot
I set my alarm for 3:30 a.m. My alarm never misses a beat. My husband and I leap out of bed. Got to get a meal ready, eat, savor that steaming cup of latte, all before the call to prayer at 4:40 a.m.
We bump into one another in our narrow kitchen. He heats the tawwa (hot plate) over the stove flipping the frozen parathas.Ever had a paratha? It’s a flat bread, oily and flaky, and as yummy as it sounds. I microwave the chicken curry, chopping cilantro for garnish. If you haven’t had the experience of fresh chopped cilantro, you haven’t done justice to your nostrils. Tear off a piece of paratha, scoop up the curry, and take that aroma-filled bite.
After meals, I curl up with the Koran and my cup of coffee. Knowing that this will be my only cup for the next 24 hours makes me savor every freshly ground frothy sip. This Koran was a wedding gift from my grandfather. It is 12 x 16, hardcover and heavy. The script of black on pale gold invites me to caress the page. I recite the Koran in Arabic and hope to complete it in its entirety by the end of Ramadan. It is dark outside, with just a few checkered boxes of light in the buildings around. The streets below are quiet and empty. It is still. After coffee, I make myself drink water, lots of it. Can’t get dehydrated.