The founding editor of Intrepid Times reflects on the universal writer’s experience of the rejection note, and how writers can use these (or the lack of them) to better their odds of publication.
When I first started trying to publish my travel writing many years ago, I created a ‘Rejection’ folder in my Gmail inbox. My goal was to reframe the idea of rejection from something scary to be avoided into something positive; evidence of trying. The folder would burst full of rejection notes which would signpost my journey and also contain valuable nuggets of advice I could use to improve my craft.
Over the years, I got my articles and books published by many publications I aspired to, and yet despite countless failures along the way, that ‘Rejections’ folder remained strangely empty. Not because I haven’t received my fair share of rejections, but because I learned that most publications seldom actually bother sending useful rejection notes to writers. You either get a form letter containing a couple of generic but polite sentences or, worse… Silence.
The lack of response from publications can leave you feeling like you’re sending pieces out into a black hole. Did someone even bother reading that story you labored on for so many hours, within which your artistic and maybe even professional aspirations are entangled?
When Intrepid Times was founded in 2014, we set out to be different. We would send out thoughtful rejection notes to all writers we were unable to publish. No earnest, sincere writers, no matter how unformed or unwise in the ways of professional writing, would be left hanging in that agony of unfulfilled anticipation.
This worked well enough for a few years, but recently things started to take off. We were given consecutive nods at awards like the Inspire Global Media Awards, the Travel Media Awards, and the British Journalism Awards. We increased our payments for travel writers (the first big move, though we still have a long way to go). Our writing competitions gained traction and notoriety. And our submissions increased… and increased…
Now, in order to send thoughtful feedback for every story we have to turn down would take a full-time editor’s exclusive focus, something that an independent publication like us can scarcely afford to do, and largely publications are unlikely to dedicate resources towards. But we still don’t want to leave writers in the lurch.
This post serves as an explanation bordering on an apology for why your piece may not have received a thoughtful response. Most likely it’s not you, it’s us. But if you are new (or new-ish) to travel writing on the professional, publication level, then there may be a few things you can do to improve your odds next time around.
Your Story May Not Really Be a Story
While beautiful descriptions of the sights, sounds, and flavors you encountered on your journey are interesting in context, what captures the hearts and minds of your readers is a story. Too often, writers who are supposedly pitching travel stories forget all about the basic elements that a “story” ought to contain: the beginning, the middle, and the end.
The beginning is when you lay out your purpose and your mission. Who is the character in this story, and what are they trying to accomplish? Travel stories make this easy — you are probably trying to get somewhere. The middle is where you encounter the challenges on your journey, and the end is when you achieve your goal and/or reach your destination. It’s not rocket science, but about 85% of entries Intrepid Times receives do not contain these basic elements of storytelling.
No, you do not need to follow this rigid formula (and much of the best writing doesn’t), but somewhere in your article, these elements should be there.
Did You Pass the “I” Test?
Most narrative travel writing takes place in the first person. You’re telling a story about your experience, something that happened to you, or something you observed. Therefore, it’s impossible to write a real travel story without throwing in the first-person pronoun “I” occasionally.
The problem arises when this word is overused. Leaning too heavily on this puts the reader off. It’s the literary equivalent of shouting “me, me, me!” in conversation instead of listening or telling a story. It distracts from the core of your story, and it can be symptomatic of deeper problems. Before you send in your draft, it pays to do a word search or take out a pencil and underline every time the word “I” appears. If it’s appearing more than once or twice per paragraph, take it as a signal that something may be off.
That’s not to say good writing cannot be “I” heavy. “I” is appropriate when used deliberately. But remember, every time you use this word, you insert yourself into the story. If you are going to do so, do this consciously, deliberately, and sparingly. After all, you’re writing about travel — about places, people, and experiences — not just about yourself.
These are just two points, but they’re big ones. If your story is really a story, and if you keep the focus on something bigger and greater than yourself, then you’re ahead of most other submissions out there. There’s a lot more to learn, of course. If you’re serious about breaking through as a travel writer, you may want to join the next cohort of our Craft of Travel Writing Certificate course. Meanwhile, we’ll keep an eye out for your submissions. And yes, if you haven’t heard from us in a month or so, you’re welcome to send a polite follow-up; we really don’t mind.
