by Don George
Travel guidebook earnings
Many travel guidebook authors write full-time, either for one publisher or for a variety of companies, with only one- or two-day gaps in between assignments. The formula for paying guidebook writers depends on where you are researching (for example, whether it is a cheap or expensive destination), how well the publisher calculates the book is going to sell (the author of a guide to Thailand will be paid more than the author of a book on Vanuatu), and on your reputation to deliver a sparkling manuscript to length and on time. As with newspapers and magazines, some guidebook publishers pay better than others, and some take expenses into consideration while others don’t. Very roughly, a full-time guidebook writer can expect to earn between £10,000 and £25,000 per year in the UK, from $20,000 to $45,000 in the USA, and approximately AU$30,000 to AU$50,000 in Australia.
Guidebook publishers work on one of two payment models: the flat fee and the royalty. In the flat-fee model, which most major publishers have adopted, the writer receives one set fee for their work; this covers all the travel and research expenses incurred and the writer’s ‘salary’ for the weeks or months spent on the book. This fee is usually paid out in installments – for example, 40 per cent on signing the contract, 40 per cent on submission of the manuscript, and 20 per cent on publication of the book. These fees will vary tremendously based on the writer’s assigned focus and area (not just the geographical expanse but also the cost of living and traveling there). The most important thing to remember is that this fee is your total compensation for the book and so has to cover everything – your expenses on the road and your rent and meals at home – for the duration of your work on the book.
In the royalty model, the writer receives a percentage of the sales of every book. If you’re receiving a royalty of five per cent for your guide to Costa Rica, for example, and the cover price of the book is $20, you’ll receive $1 per sale. If the book sells 15,000 copies, you’ll receive $15,000. When this royalty model is used, the writer usually receives what’s called an advance. Like the flat fee, this advance is often paid in installments – for example, half on signing the contract and half on submission of the manuscript. Remember that the advance is just that – money advanced to you based on the publisher’s notion of how many copies the book will sell; it’s not an ‘extra’ payment. So, if you received an advance of $10,000 for your Costa Rica book and the book sells 15,000 copies, you’ll receive an additional $5,000 in royalties.
Does all this add up? It’s a complicated equation. You have to balance the amount of money you can make, the amount of money and time you’ll have to expend on the road and at home, and the experience and knowledge you’ll gain. Other factors complicate the equation even more: as you’re researching, can you write articles for newspapers, magazines or websites to supplement your guidebook fee? If your subject is a country where living expenses are low, can you base yourself there to save money and stretch out the cost-of-living coverage of your payment? Ultimately, the decision comes down to you and how this fits with your life and your sensibility. Even more so than other types of travel writing, being a guidebook writer is a singular kind of lifestyle – long, hectic periods of travel followed by high-pressure periods of writing. Think about whether you have the stamina, the will and the life circumstances to take it on.
What the experts say: Pico Iyer
Pico Iyer is the author of Video Night in Kathmandu, The Lady and the Monk, The Global Soul and most recently, The Open Road, The Man Within My Head and The Art of Stillness. His website is www.picoiyerjourneys.com and he tweets as @picoyer. Born and raised in England, Pico has been based in Japan since 1987.
In travel writing, the main thing you have to address is what you can say – how you can approach Kyoto or the Pyramids or Machu Picchu as no one has ever done before, and as few could do today. What do you bring to the dialogue you conduct with these immortal places?
Maybe you’re a jeweler, and so can read meanings into the lapis and coral of the inlay work at the Taj that few of the rest of us could discern; maybe you’re of Islamic descent and so can see how the gardens outside the Taj reproduce the outline of the Islamic paradise; maybe you’re an architect, and so can explain to the rest of us how science and craft can produce wonder.
I don’t think you can presuppose that the reader is interested either in you or in the subject matter; and I think you have to remember that your enthusiasm can only be conveyed through specifics. You have to take the reader by the hand and lead them into the place you’re describing, and then lead them into the wonder or terror or mixture of the two it evokes in you.
If you’re going to try to write about place, I think you have to surrender at the outset any idea of doing it for the money. I have to write 10 pieces a month (on subjects other than travel) just to pay the bills; and although I’ve published more than 10 books now, I can still only afford to live in a two-room flat in the countryside in Japan, paying rent and without bicycle or car or printer or almost anything.
For me, part of the beauty of travel and writing about travel is that it forces you to see all material things inwardly: you’re not going to get rich and comfortable doing it, but you are going to have experiences and memories and challenges that could put Bill Gates to shame.
All the rewards are inner. They have to do with coming to a better understanding of the world and of oneself, of being able to see life as a pilgrimage and journey in which no answer is ever final and one is really moving from question into deeper question, from one way station to the next.
Writing of any kind is a way of making a clearing so as to make sense and shape out of the world, and to take all the rubble of one’s experiences and emotions and observations and piece them together into a kind of stained-glass whole. It is a way of removing oneself from the world, and sometimes from the self, so as to see both more clearly. But travel writing is different because it engages with the world in a very urgent and specific way, keeps (ideally) one’s eyes constantly fresh, confers on life the sense of an adventure and reminds you that every moment is provisional, every perception, local, ready to be thrown over by the next epiphany.
It keeps you on the move, teaches you (enforces) alertness and makes you more attentive than when you are at home, or blurred by the familiar. As Thoreau famously said, it doesn’t matter where or how far you go – the further commonly the worse – the important thing is how alive you are. Writing of every kind is a way to wake oneself up and keep as alive as when one has just fallen in love.
In-house versus freelancing
There are two main avenues for making travel writing your career: either working as a salaried staff member for a newspaper or magazine, or working as a freelancer.
Working as a staff writer
To be brutally honest, staff-writing jobs are as elusive as the creature Peter Matthiessen seeks and never quite finds in his classic work of travel literature, The Snow Leopard.
There are in total perhaps three dozen full-time travel writer jobs at newspapers in the USA, the UK and Australia, and these positions are usually occupied by established journalists – long-time staffers who have cut their teeth on the city desk and the business beat, for example, before being offered the plum role of travel. As newspapers tighten their belts in tough economic times, these jobs are becoming even rarer and more precarious. They require a good deal of decidedly unglamorous desk-bound work making telephone calls and internet expeditions to research car-rental rates and single-traveler supplements for the kinds of practical pieces the staff writer is frequently called on to produce.
The picture is the same for the very few staff-writing jobs on travel magazines: the staff writers for the most part fill in the holes in the magazine’s editorial jigsaw puzzle, writing news-oriented pieces, industry stories, book and product reviews and the like. Occasionally a staff writer may be allowed to take a long weekend to some nearby or far-flung locale, but those meaty middle-of-the-book stories are usually written by
freelance writers.
In terms of travel and writing, probably the best gig you can hope for is to become a contributing editor (despite the name, this means someone who writes regularly for one publication; it actually has nothing to do with editing) – but these coveted spots go to people who already have a reputation (and who actually enhance the magazine’s reputation by appearing on its masthead and in its pages). And while the contributing editors may be guaranteed some kind of annual stipend from a publication (usually in exchange for a specified number of articles or for enhanced rates of pay for what they do write), they do not enjoy the perks of full-time employment.
An added complication is that in-house travel writing jobs or travel desk jobs at newspapers and magazines are rarely advertised. Travel publishing is a very small world and most jobs go to internal candidates or are advertised by word of mouth to colleagues in the industry. The plain truth is that if you are just starting out as a travel writer it will be extremely difficult for you to score a staff writing job. Even if you have a few published articles under your belt, the same applies. However, if you start off as a freelance writer, become known, get a good reputation, and move in the right circles, then you may hear of a job on offer or be tapped on the shoulder.
Another way of breaking into salaried employment – and occasionally to getting your name in print – at a newspaper or magazine is to apply for unpaid work experience on the travel desk. In the USA, such work experience is called an internship and is usually offered in affiliation with an academic program. Working on a travel desk means that you are the office anchor, doing all the administration that goes along with the travel pages – answering the phone, dealing with reader queries, organizing travel arrangements, etc. It may also include some commissioning, editing and a little writing. Although a work experience intern on the travel desk is often at everyone’s beck and call, it’s a wonderful training ground for any would-be travel writer. If you show initiative and flair, you might be asked to do some research on a piece and to write it up – and suddenly, voilà!, your name in print. Doing unpaid work for a busy travel desk also gives you a foot in the door and means that you could be ‘in the right place at the right time’ when a suitable position comes along.
The benefits of a staff job, as opposed to freelance travel writing, are a steady income, health coverage (in the USA at least), the camaraderie of office life and regular publication of your work. Writing as a staffer means you avoid the frustration, uncertainty and general agony of freelance life – continually pitching to editors for work, never knowing where or if your articles will be published, never knowing when your money will come in, and hardly ever taking a holiday because it is unpaid.
So what could possibly be the downside of working in-house? There are the problems and pitfalls – the Machiavellian minutiae – of office politics. Like all other office workers, you have to go to work every day (when you’re not traveling for work), and you don’t have a lot of control over what you do. If you’re told to write 1000 words on the history and highlights of consumer taxes, you do it. Some people thrive on working in an office; some people detest it. And if you’re considering becoming a travel writer, it seems probable that the call of the open road and the promise of a life of freedom appear more compelling than the lure of the office cubicle.
However, as an in-house writer you’ll have access to some fantastic travel opportunities. And more importantly, working in-house, even if it is only for a short period of time, is an invaluable way of building up your contacts if you later want to go freelance. The bottom line is that as a novice travel writer you’d be crazy to turn down a staff job if you were offered one. Take it, learn everything you possibly can, network like mad and then decide if you want to remain on staff or go freelance.
Working as a freelancer
For most writers who choose the freelance life, the freedom of setting their own schedule far outweighs the benefits and perks of a salaried position. As a freelancer you can work when you want, on what you want; you usually have the freedom to write for several publications (as long as they are non-competing), as opposed to only one; you can write all night and sleep all day if you wish. You are your own boss, and in control – and this is a rarity in the working world.
On the other hand, unless you have some sort of independent income, you’re always wondering where your next payment is coming from. That is the hardest truth of the freelancer’s life: the lack of certainty, stability and regularity. Even the most famous freelancers cannot assume a steady income. When Paul Theroux, perhaps the best-known travel writer in the USA, was researching his book on Africa, Dark Star Safari, he proposed Africa-related articles to virtually all the major magazines in the USA – and did not get one commission.
One thing you’ll definitely need to develop as a full-time freelancer is fiscal discipline. You may receive one big sum in January and not get another until July, so you need to develop a system to make your money stretch through the lean periods. If you’re writing a travel literature book, there’s the problem of making an advance last until your royalties kick in – which they will only do if your book sells well. Similarly, if you’re working on a guidebook, payments normally come in three installments, months apart: there’s an up-front fee for signing the contract, a payment upon acceptance of your work and the final check upon publication.
If you’re writing for newspapers and magazines (and the few websites that pay), smaller amounts of money will be coming in on a very ad hoc basis and you’ll never know from one day to the next whether you’ll be rich or poor that week. Some newspapers pay at the end of the month after the month of publication – so if your story appears in the first week of July, you won’t see the check until September. The bottom line is that as a freelancer you need to set up an efficient article- and payment-tracking system to ensure you don’t fall into a financial crevasse.
Part-time travel writing
Using travel writing as an additional occupation to supplement your earnings and career is much more common than depending on full-time travel writing work. Some part-timers teach (those long school holidays can be spent on the road) or work as tour guides or cruise-ship lecturers; others expand their specialty by writing restaurant or book reviews, personality profiles or feature stories on the arts and culture. Some write corporate copy – year-end reports, catalogue texts, corporate brochures or press releases, for example. Some of them work as editors, copy-editors or fact-checkers; some as flight attendants or booksellers.
In many ways, it makes a lot of sense to try to make travel writing a complement to the job that you depend on for your livelihood. You can research travel articles during holiday periods and on weekends. This takes the pressure off your travel writing and allows you to ease into it. It also gives you more flexibility to pursue and write the stories you really want to do, knowing that you’re not relying on their sale to put bread on the table and a roof over your head.
Whether your travel writing is a full-time profession or a part-time passion, publishing is the professional pathway you’ll want to follow. How do you begin to get your travel writing published? We’ll explore this territory straight ahead.
Getting more out of your words
Repurposing is one of the greatest tools – and challenges – of the travel writer’s job. The aim is to make as many different publishable articles as possible from one trip. The key here is having a good sense of the different markets you want to write for, and the different kinds of stories, or angles, that appeal to those markets. Think this way, and even in the planning process, you can divide your trip into likely story subjects. Your aim should be to get three or four articles from each trip.
Let’s plan a one-week stay in Kyoto, Japan. With the proper planning and execution, here are four stories that could be written from that one trip.
The cultural angle
Let’s say you arrange to spend two nights on a homestay with a Japanese family. Your first piece, ba
sed on this stay, describes the riches and revelations of overnighting with a family and seeing Kyoto through their eyes, living it through their lives. You sell this piece to a general-interest travel magazine that appreciates the different perspective on an oft-described destination.
The quest story
Before you went to Kyoto, a friend told you about a particular store that sells old ukiyo-e woodblock prints. He vaguely remembered that it was in the covered shopping area near the river, and said once you got there anyone could tell you the way. So you spent a day in search of the store – and as it turned out, your search led to all kinds of revealing detours and delights before, at the end of the day, a kindly kimono shopkeeper went a half-hour out of her way to walk you to the tiny woodblock-print wonderland. Your second piece describing this odyssey would capture Kyoto’s venerable neighborhoods, spirit and artistic – and personal – treasures. You sell this to a high-culture magazine that specializes in coverage of the arts.
The travel how-to
On the third and fourth nights of your visit, you stayed at a traditional Japanese inn, or ryokan. There are many riches to this experience, but one of the most memorable is taking a bath the traditional Japanese way, first soaping yourself outside the tub, then sinking slowly into the steaming water and letting the cares of the day ease away. Your third piece would be a straightforward ‘service’ guide to taking a Japanese bath – what to do and what not to do, with recommendations on places to enjoy this unique experience, and some contextual reflections on the deep value of a good Japanese soak. You sell this to the in-flight magazine of an airline that has just recently inaugurated service to Japan.
