Or looking for angles in the itineraries.
How to get on a press trip
In Tip #60 I explained that the way to get on a press trip (or junket, if we’re being honest) is to secure a commission in advance from a publication that the PR company or tourist board wants coverage in.
Getting the commission
This is a lot easier said than done, especially if you’re seeking the commission from a publication you haven’t worked for before. Most editors don’t like handing out commissions to people they don’t know, especially if they haven’t even been to the destination yet.
Vague press trip invitations
The other problem is that press trip invitations can be incredibly vague. They will often invite you to “explore the history of Snotsville” or “get active in Snotsland’s wonderful Snotty mountains”. If this is the case, the first step should be to e-mail the PR person back and ask what exactly this entails. Respectfully state that you would be interested in the trip, and could potentially secure a commission, but you need more information to pitch to the editor with.
Itinerary or waffle?
One of two things happens here – the good PR people send back an approximated itinerary, with details on each aspect of it. The bad PR people direct you to a website or send you back a whole lot more waffle on the wonders of the area. In other words, they don’t even know themselves what will happen on the trip.
Ones to avoid
Avoid the latter – chances are it’ll end up being a trudge around new hotel developments, and a series of half-arsed tasters of what the region has to offer. If the former, take that information, and hunt for an angle.
Example
If, for example, a whale watching tour is part of the trip, take a look at the company website and try and dig out something unique about the company or the whales in the area. Is the ship’s captain a former whaler who switched to tourism? Are whale numbers in the region rapidly increasing due to protection measures? That is the sort of thing that could be pitched out.
Selection of angles
It may take a little more research than just looking at the itinerary presented, but a good trip should present a selection of possible angles to pitch to editors. Find the angles, pitch them out, hope the editor bites, and then go back to the PR people saying that Publication X has commissioned you to write a story as a result of the trip. As long as the publication in question is one they want coverage in, your place should be secured.
Saturday, 15 November 2008
Computer death
Unfortunately, my laptop has died on me whilst on the road - losing three weeks' worth of work and pictures. This means that the 1001 Travel Writer Tips will have to go on hold until I get back home in early December.
Apologies for this, but I've got a rather unpleasant rewriting and salvage mission to perform.
Apologies for this, but I've got a rather unpleasant rewriting and salvage mission to perform.
Friday, 14 November 2008
#62 – Pitch topical stories to editors who respond quickly
Or how to stop your story dating.
Topical hook
So you’ve got a good story, but one that will date quickly... It’s juicy, topical, has a good hook and should be an easy sell. But the editor you have pitched it to isn’t responding. Grrrr.
Slow response
This is an all too familiar tale. I’ve lost out on numerous good story ideas in the past, simply because by the time the editor has got round to responding, the story is out of date. It’s intensely annoying.
Avoiding the gamble
And this is why it is only on very rare occasions that I’ll pitch such stories out to publications that I don’t already have a relationship with. Sure, these publications may pay well, and the story may provide a springboard to getting more regular work with the publication in question – but I’d sooner place the story and get paid slightly less than gamble.
Quick response
It gets to a certain stage where you get to know the foibles of your regular clients. I know which editors will usually respond quickly – often on the same day, and certainly within a couple of days. I also know the ones that will sit on a pitch for ages. And thus when I have a topical story that is great if run soon and useless otherwise, it will be the editors in the former category that get the pitch first.
Convenience versus money
These editors may not be the ones at the best-paying publications, but they are the ones that allow me to mobilise quickly, get the job done and secure the commission with a minimum of hassles. And sometimes that convenience is worth more than the money – it leaves more time to concentrate my resources and time on another story for someone else.
Topical hook
So you’ve got a good story, but one that will date quickly... It’s juicy, topical, has a good hook and should be an easy sell. But the editor you have pitched it to isn’t responding. Grrrr.
Slow response
This is an all too familiar tale. I’ve lost out on numerous good story ideas in the past, simply because by the time the editor has got round to responding, the story is out of date. It’s intensely annoying.
Avoiding the gamble
And this is why it is only on very rare occasions that I’ll pitch such stories out to publications that I don’t already have a relationship with. Sure, these publications may pay well, and the story may provide a springboard to getting more regular work with the publication in question – but I’d sooner place the story and get paid slightly less than gamble.
Quick response
It gets to a certain stage where you get to know the foibles of your regular clients. I know which editors will usually respond quickly – often on the same day, and certainly within a couple of days. I also know the ones that will sit on a pitch for ages. And thus when I have a topical story that is great if run soon and useless otherwise, it will be the editors in the former category that get the pitch first.
Convenience versus money
These editors may not be the ones at the best-paying publications, but they are the ones that allow me to mobilise quickly, get the job done and secure the commission with a minimum of hassles. And sometimes that convenience is worth more than the money – it leaves more time to concentrate my resources and time on another story for someone else.
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
#61 – Avoid overuse of ‘I’ and ‘we’.
Or why there should be no ‘I’ in “travel story”
Amateurish writing
One thing that always grates with me when I read a travel piece is when the writer is constantly referring to themselves all the way through. This is an entirely personal peccadillo, but I always think that copy littered with “I” and “we” seems a little amateurish. It reads a little like one of those pieces you write at primary school after you get back from the summer holidays, recounting what you did over the last couple of months.
Putting the reader in your shoes
The main reason that I don’t like it is that it distances the reader from the experience. When you’re writing about your own experience, it is by default not theirs. One thing I always like to do in a travel piece is to take the reader there, and put him or her in my shoes. The moment I start talking about myself, this isn’t possible.
Example
I’ll give a couple of sentences as an example. Here’s the what-I-did-on-my-holidays version:
“Antonio tells me that there are jaguars behind the trees. We all tread a little gingerly after that, and I tremble as I hear a roar. ‘Don’t worry,’ Antonio tells us. ‘It’s only a howler monkey’.”
Now I think that passage would be better written as follows:
“There are jaguars behind the trees, says Antonio. Cue ginger steps – and impulsive trembling the moment a roar rings out. ‘Don’t worry,’ says Antonio. ‘It’s only a howler monkey’.”
Transported into the situation
You may agree or disagree, but I feel that the reader is transported into the situation more in the second passage. And it’s largely because those two words have been chopped out.
Integral part of the story?
Sometimes, of course, using “I” or “we” is unavoidable. Sometimes, you ARE an integral part of the story – such as if you’re on a personal mission, or are doing a piece about how you are revisiting somewhere that a relationship broke down in many years ago.
On other occasions, you simply have to leap through so many hoops to avoid the use of ‘I’, that it’s simply not worth the horrendously clunky that emerges as a result.
But most of the time, there’s no “I” in “travel story”.
Amateurish writing
One thing that always grates with me when I read a travel piece is when the writer is constantly referring to themselves all the way through. This is an entirely personal peccadillo, but I always think that copy littered with “I” and “we” seems a little amateurish. It reads a little like one of those pieces you write at primary school after you get back from the summer holidays, recounting what you did over the last couple of months.
Putting the reader in your shoes
The main reason that I don’t like it is that it distances the reader from the experience. When you’re writing about your own experience, it is by default not theirs. One thing I always like to do in a travel piece is to take the reader there, and put him or her in my shoes. The moment I start talking about myself, this isn’t possible.
Example
I’ll give a couple of sentences as an example. Here’s the what-I-did-on-my-holidays version:
“Antonio tells me that there are jaguars behind the trees. We all tread a little gingerly after that, and I tremble as I hear a roar. ‘Don’t worry,’ Antonio tells us. ‘It’s only a howler monkey’.”
Now I think that passage would be better written as follows:
“There are jaguars behind the trees, says Antonio. Cue ginger steps – and impulsive trembling the moment a roar rings out. ‘Don’t worry,’ says Antonio. ‘It’s only a howler monkey’.”
Transported into the situation
You may agree or disagree, but I feel that the reader is transported into the situation more in the second passage. And it’s largely because those two words have been chopped out.
Integral part of the story?
Sometimes, of course, using “I” or “we” is unavoidable. Sometimes, you ARE an integral part of the story – such as if you’re on a personal mission, or are doing a piece about how you are revisiting somewhere that a relationship broke down in many years ago.
On other occasions, you simply have to leap through so many hoops to avoid the use of ‘I’, that it’s simply not worth the horrendously clunky that emerges as a result.
But most of the time, there’s no “I” in “travel story”.
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
#60 – How to get on a press trip
Or all aboard the travel writer junket express.
Guilty secret
The press trip is the guilty secret of the travel writing world, shamefully acknowledged by a small plug at the bottom of many articles. Many travel stories are a result of the most unauthentic experiences imaginable – a group of journalists being shepherded around on a tight schedule, wined and dined and generally hermetically sealed away from anything the tourist board or resort PR people might not want them to see.
No freebie policy
It is for this reason that quite a few publications will not take any stories based on sponsored or subsidised travel. This is often a manifestly unfair policy, for reasons I will go into another time, but a large proportion of writers rely on press trips to reduce their costs and allow them to see places that they ordinarily wouldn’t get to.
Be all and end all
For a small proportion of travel writers (and again, these are the ones that make me wary of calling myself a travel writer), getting on the press trip is the be all and end all. To them, the nice jollies are the entire point of the profession.
Downsides of the group press trip
Personally, I tend to go on group press trips very rarely. I find that they invariably involve countless visits to mundane hotels, no real opportunity to experience any one product or attraction properly, and they don’t tend to be very productive in terms of producing a series of articles. I enjoy meeting up with other writers, I enjoy the nice meals and wine and I enjoy having to shell out very little money for the whole thing. But professionally, they don’t usually give me what I want.
How to get on a press trip?
But for the travel writer just starting out, one of the great mysteries can be how to get on a press trip in the first place. Quite simple really – get a commission from a publication that the PR people want to get coverage in.
Infuriating PR people
One of the most infuriating things that PR people can do is to send out an e-mail to a wide range of writers, inviting them on a press trip. When you e-mail back to express an interest, it turns out that they were just fishing. It wasn’t an invitation after all – they’re just sending a vague conditional bait out to anyone who might be able to get them coverage in one of three or four publications they are targeting.
Guaranteed publication and the blacklist
And frankly, if you can’t guarantee coverage in one of the publications they’re after, you’re not going on the trip. Personally, I blacklist any PR person that does this – if they want a particular publication, they can send out an e-mail to the staff of that publication.
Obtaining commissions
Others are more up front and don’t disguise the press release as an invitation. This is fine by me; they’re merely saying that there is a press trip on the horizon, and that those who can obtain commissions will be considered for it. And if you can get that commission, then that could be you. It really is that simple – although getting that commission often isn’t.
Guilty secret
The press trip is the guilty secret of the travel writing world, shamefully acknowledged by a small plug at the bottom of many articles. Many travel stories are a result of the most unauthentic experiences imaginable – a group of journalists being shepherded around on a tight schedule, wined and dined and generally hermetically sealed away from anything the tourist board or resort PR people might not want them to see.
No freebie policy
It is for this reason that quite a few publications will not take any stories based on sponsored or subsidised travel. This is often a manifestly unfair policy, for reasons I will go into another time, but a large proportion of writers rely on press trips to reduce their costs and allow them to see places that they ordinarily wouldn’t get to.
Be all and end all
For a small proportion of travel writers (and again, these are the ones that make me wary of calling myself a travel writer), getting on the press trip is the be all and end all. To them, the nice jollies are the entire point of the profession.
Downsides of the group press trip
Personally, I tend to go on group press trips very rarely. I find that they invariably involve countless visits to mundane hotels, no real opportunity to experience any one product or attraction properly, and they don’t tend to be very productive in terms of producing a series of articles. I enjoy meeting up with other writers, I enjoy the nice meals and wine and I enjoy having to shell out very little money for the whole thing. But professionally, they don’t usually give me what I want.
How to get on a press trip?
But for the travel writer just starting out, one of the great mysteries can be how to get on a press trip in the first place. Quite simple really – get a commission from a publication that the PR people want to get coverage in.
Infuriating PR people
One of the most infuriating things that PR people can do is to send out an e-mail to a wide range of writers, inviting them on a press trip. When you e-mail back to express an interest, it turns out that they were just fishing. It wasn’t an invitation after all – they’re just sending a vague conditional bait out to anyone who might be able to get them coverage in one of three or four publications they are targeting.
Guaranteed publication and the blacklist
And frankly, if you can’t guarantee coverage in one of the publications they’re after, you’re not going on the trip. Personally, I blacklist any PR person that does this – if they want a particular publication, they can send out an e-mail to the staff of that publication.
Obtaining commissions
Others are more up front and don’t disguise the press release as an invitation. This is fine by me; they’re merely saying that there is a press trip on the horizon, and that those who can obtain commissions will be considered for it. And if you can get that commission, then that could be you. It really is that simple – although getting that commission often isn’t.
Sunday, 9 November 2008
#59 – Following up on an initial pitch
Or what is pestering?
Time to move on?
So you’ve sent your pitch and you’ve heard nothing back. Is it time to move on? Well, I’m sure if you ask most editors, they will say: “If you haven’t heard anything, we’re not interested.” Usually, of course, this is true.
Standard fob-off
But sometimes it isn’t. It can be used as a standard fob off. Sometimes, if the editor is being honest, they will have to admit that they haven’t read your e-mail. And this is why it is always worth following up.
Second e-mail
Sending a second e-mail that politely enquires whether the initial pitch was received and whether it would be of interest can sometimes pay dividends. The editor may not have seen the original e-mail, or forgotten to reply to it, or glossed over it without reading it. A second e-mail is more likely to illicit a response, irrespective of what happened to the first one. In fact, I have one editor who almost inevitably only responds to the follow-up e-mail.
Fine line
But there is a fine line between following up and pestering, and it is difficult to know where that line lies. There’s no real correct answer when it comes to the best time to follow up – different writers will give you different responses.
Relationship and frequency of publication
I’d argue that the length of time before a follow-up e-mail depends on your relationship with the editor and the frequency of a publication. Monthly magazines obviously have longer decision making processes, so I would probably leave it at least a month before following up with an editor at such a magazine. And that’s if I have worked with them in the past. It’s probably six to eight weeks for a blind pitch sent to someone I’ve had no previous dealings with.
Weekly travel section
For a weekly travel section or website, I’d argue that it can be followed up more quickly. Probably two to three weeks for an editor I do know and maybe four for one I don’t.
Arbitrary timeframes
These timeframes are fairly arbitrary, of course, and are largely based on what I feel constitutes pestering. Other writers will have different opinions, and if they’d like to share them by adding a comment, that would be wonderful.
Time to move on?
So you’ve sent your pitch and you’ve heard nothing back. Is it time to move on? Well, I’m sure if you ask most editors, they will say: “If you haven’t heard anything, we’re not interested.” Usually, of course, this is true.
Standard fob-off
But sometimes it isn’t. It can be used as a standard fob off. Sometimes, if the editor is being honest, they will have to admit that they haven’t read your e-mail. And this is why it is always worth following up.
Second e-mail
Sending a second e-mail that politely enquires whether the initial pitch was received and whether it would be of interest can sometimes pay dividends. The editor may not have seen the original e-mail, or forgotten to reply to it, or glossed over it without reading it. A second e-mail is more likely to illicit a response, irrespective of what happened to the first one. In fact, I have one editor who almost inevitably only responds to the follow-up e-mail.
Fine line
But there is a fine line between following up and pestering, and it is difficult to know where that line lies. There’s no real correct answer when it comes to the best time to follow up – different writers will give you different responses.
Relationship and frequency of publication
I’d argue that the length of time before a follow-up e-mail depends on your relationship with the editor and the frequency of a publication. Monthly magazines obviously have longer decision making processes, so I would probably leave it at least a month before following up with an editor at such a magazine. And that’s if I have worked with them in the past. It’s probably six to eight weeks for a blind pitch sent to someone I’ve had no previous dealings with.
Weekly travel section
For a weekly travel section or website, I’d argue that it can be followed up more quickly. Probably two to three weeks for an editor I do know and maybe four for one I don’t.
Arbitrary timeframes
These timeframes are fairly arbitrary, of course, and are largely based on what I feel constitutes pestering. Other writers will have different opinions, and if they’d like to share them by adding a comment, that would be wonderful.
Saturday, 8 November 2008
#58 – Don’t be afraid to submit mediocre copy
Or knowing how good your average is.
High standards
One common mistake that writers make is thinking that every piece of work they turn out has to be of an exceptionally high standard. In an ideal world, of course, this would be the case. But in an ideal world, we’d all be superhuman writing cyborgs with unparalleled knowledge and a witty quip for every occasion.
Quantity as well as quality
The truth of the matter is that if you’re going to become a successful freelancer, you are going to have to deal in quantity as well as quality. There’s no point spending two weeks at a time crafting a masterpiece if you only get paid enough to live on for one week as a result.
Mediocre work
Unfortunately, there will be some occasions where you know that what you’ve written isn’t particularly good. By your own standards, it’s pretty mediocre stuff. And sometimes you’ll know what you’ve tapped out into your laptop is just plain crap. Admittedly, though, this is often when the editor has asked for something that can only be crap, and no amount of turd-polishing on your part can redeem it.
Pragmatic approach
Some writing gurus will advise that if you’re not happy with your work, you should revise it until you know that it is up to your usual standard. I’m more of a pragmatist (which is probably why I can’t affix the ‘guru’ qualification to my business card). I figure that sometimes average or mediocre will do the job.
Send the piece away
Sometimes it is better to send away the slightly uninspired piece and get on with the next one, rather than wasting time and money trying to improve it. But a lot depends on how good your own particular ‘average’ is.
One of the best
This will sound horribly arrogant, but I know damn well that I’m one of the best writers at many of the publications I work for. If I wasn’t, the editors wouldn’t keep giving me work. I also know that some of the other writers that somehow get published in these publications are bloody awful; they consistently churn out hackneyed, turgid dross.
Getting run
Therefore, I know that if I end up sending off a piece that I don’t think is anywhere near my best, it’ll still get run. I might not be overly proud of it, but it’ll still be a damn sight better than some of the content in that issue. In other words, I know my average is still better than a good proportion of the competition’s best work. And as long as I don’t fall back to mediocre too often, it’ll do. Proof-read it, change anything that’s really bad, send it, move on.
How good is your average?
The key thing is to have a critical awareness of where you are in that pecking order. How good is your average? Is it good enough to allow you do dip from peak form every now and again?
High standards
One common mistake that writers make is thinking that every piece of work they turn out has to be of an exceptionally high standard. In an ideal world, of course, this would be the case. But in an ideal world, we’d all be superhuman writing cyborgs with unparalleled knowledge and a witty quip for every occasion.
Quantity as well as quality
The truth of the matter is that if you’re going to become a successful freelancer, you are going to have to deal in quantity as well as quality. There’s no point spending two weeks at a time crafting a masterpiece if you only get paid enough to live on for one week as a result.
Mediocre work
Unfortunately, there will be some occasions where you know that what you’ve written isn’t particularly good. By your own standards, it’s pretty mediocre stuff. And sometimes you’ll know what you’ve tapped out into your laptop is just plain crap. Admittedly, though, this is often when the editor has asked for something that can only be crap, and no amount of turd-polishing on your part can redeem it.
Pragmatic approach
Some writing gurus will advise that if you’re not happy with your work, you should revise it until you know that it is up to your usual standard. I’m more of a pragmatist (which is probably why I can’t affix the ‘guru’ qualification to my business card). I figure that sometimes average or mediocre will do the job.
Send the piece away
Sometimes it is better to send away the slightly uninspired piece and get on with the next one, rather than wasting time and money trying to improve it. But a lot depends on how good your own particular ‘average’ is.
One of the best
This will sound horribly arrogant, but I know damn well that I’m one of the best writers at many of the publications I work for. If I wasn’t, the editors wouldn’t keep giving me work. I also know that some of the other writers that somehow get published in these publications are bloody awful; they consistently churn out hackneyed, turgid dross.
Getting run
Therefore, I know that if I end up sending off a piece that I don’t think is anywhere near my best, it’ll still get run. I might not be overly proud of it, but it’ll still be a damn sight better than some of the content in that issue. In other words, I know my average is still better than a good proportion of the competition’s best work. And as long as I don’t fall back to mediocre too often, it’ll do. Proof-read it, change anything that’s really bad, send it, move on.
How good is your average?
The key thing is to have a critical awareness of where you are in that pecking order. How good is your average? Is it good enough to allow you do dip from peak form every now and again?
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