The Journey Beyond the Byline: Inside the Business of Travel Media
In January 2025, the Canadian Freelance Guild hosted an expert panel on The Business of Travel Writing. It’s not all fine dining and glamour. But if you like to write and you yearn to travel, why not turn travel media into your niche? Below is a summary of the conversation. If you would like to watch the webinar, you can access it here.
From hidden gems to unexpected career paths, three veteran travel writers share their adventures navigating the changing landscape of travel journalism
Picture it: You’re sipping a frothy cappuccino at a sun-dappled café in Rome, jotting elegant notes about the local architecture, all while getting paid for the privilege. It’s the dream that launches a thousand travel writing careers—but as three seasoned professionals revealed in a recent Canadian Freelance Guild panel, the reality involves equal parts glamour and grit, with a healthy splash of Newark airport tears thrown in for good measure.
Moderated by George Butters, the panel featuring Elle Andra-Warner, Vanessa Chiasson, and John Geary didn’t just pull back the curtain on travel journalism—they yanked it off the rod entirely, offering candid insights for anyone brave (or foolish) enough to pursue this enticing yet challenging career path.
Finding Your Entry Point (Or: How I Stumbled Into My Dream Job)
For most travel writers, the journey begins not with a grand master plan, but with what can only be called a happy accident.
“I was a sports editor at the time for a small-town daily newspaper in northern BC,” recalled John Geary, who found his calling during a slow news week. “I went on holiday, went to Belize actually, went kayaking and horseback riding and that kind of thing. And I came back…it was a slow week. So I did a couple of stories about my trip there. And I thought, you know, this is more fun than sitting in an arena freezing my butt off, writing about hockey, as much as I love hockey.”
Vanessa Chiasson’s path involved shedding some deeply ingrained misconceptions about writing careers. “I have always wanted to be a writer since I was five years old… But I assume the only way you could make it as a writer would be if you had the idea for like a blockbuster novel. Like you would have to be a John Grisham-type writer in order to have any kind of career.”
Instead, she started blogging about her frugal adventures as a creative outlet, eventually landing her first paid gig—at a rate that would make most writers wince.
“My first freelance piece I did for, it was 1500 words. It was $30, like big money, folks,” she laughed with the knowing tone of someone who’s come a long way since. “I thought, my God, like if all freelance work pays this crazy amount of cash, $30—like why wouldn’t I wanna be a part of this all the time? I’ve since learned that is the most abysmal rate that anyone’s ever heard of.”
Meanwhile, Elle Andra-Warner embraced an approach that would make any career coach proud—she set concrete goals and aimed straight for the stratosphere.
“Every January, set goals for myself. And one of them was I wanted to write for an international in-flight magazine,” she explained. After cutting her teeth on local papers, she shot for the stars. “So I picked Singapore Airlines, not knowing it was a huge one. And they’re Silver Chris. So I contacted him and says, hey, I got an article on Yellowknife or I can write an article on Yellowknife. And he says, great, we’ll get it.”
Though her first submission wasn’t published due to technical issues with her slides (ah, the pre-digital era!), the experience became a pivotal teaching moment. “It taught me a lesson. Do my own pictures,” she reflected. This early setback became the foundation for a career built on ambitious goal-setting and learning from stumbles—a pattern familiar to anyone who’s turned rejection into fuel for their next attempt.
Breaking Through: Cold Calls and Digital Footprints (Or: How to Get Editors to Actually Read Your Emails)
In the gladiatorial arena of pitching, getting an editor’s attention often feels like trying to flag down a speeding train with a pocket handkerchief. For many, the dreaded “cold call” is where dreams go to die.
“I cold email all the time,” Chiasson admitted with refreshing honesty. “I never pick up the phone to an editor because talking to a person, ah, too much. That’s where the email’s safe though, right?” Her confession drew knowing chuckles from writers all too familiar with the particular brand of anxiety that comes with direct contact.
Her secret weapon? The personalized introduction that screams “I’m a real human who’s done my homework!” “I often say now I’m a member of the Travel Media Association of Canada in case they have no idea who I am. It adds that little sense of like, I’m credible. And if there’s anything I can use to break the ice, I’ll say it.”
But what about when your carefully crafted emails disappear into the black hole of editorial inboxes? Chiasson suggests leveraging your network—tactfully. “If there’s a friend in the industry I can trust, I might say, could you like feel comfortable giving me an introduction to your editor?” She adds quickly, “I’m happy to do the same, but I know those contacts are quite precious.”
Geary, meanwhile, swears by the power of face-to-face connections in our increasingly digital world: “One of the reasons I just got so much work for Explorer was because I met the editor in a virtual webinar, something like this. And it just makes all the difference.”
For those wallowing in rejection—or worse, silence—Geary offered a sports metaphor that should be tattooed on every freelancer’s forearm: “If you’re got a 300 average, like 30%, if you’re getting 30% return on your pitches, that’s pretty good average.” In other words, even the stars strike out more often than they hit home runs.
Andra-Warner’s advice? Stack the deck in your favor before making those cold contacts. “If you belong to a professional association because you’ve written other things as well and you’ve qualified…and if you’ve got clips, community papers are great because at least it’s a clip and they pay you.” In the credibility game, even small wins count.
The Digital Portfolio Question (Or: Please Don’t Put All Your Clips on a Platform That Could Vanish Tomorrow)
In today’s digital-first environment, your portfolio isn’t just a collection of your best work—it’s your virtual handshake, your first impression, and potentially your foot in the door. When asked where to host clips, the panelists offered advice learned sometimes through painful experience.
“I have it on my own website,” said Chiasson, firmly planting her flag in the self-ownership camp. “I like it because it’s mine. I control it. It’s not living on another site that could go away, that could suddenly start charging me tons of money.”
She also shared a gem of advice that had many participants scrambling for notepads: “When you are sending in a pitch, in addition to linking to a couple of your most recent clips, also say like in bold letters, ‘And here’s my portfolio’ and link to it.” Simple? Yes. Overlooked by countless pitching writers? Also yes.
Andra-Warner, with a career spanning decades and thousands of published pieces, takes a more… shall we say, established approach. “I haven’t actually been asked to send clips for quite a while,” she noted with the quiet confidence of someone whose byline speaks for itself. “I can tell them I’m writing for so and so, Lake Superior magazine, I’m writing, I have a column for 20 years now.”
Geary, meanwhile, offered a cautionary tale about the dangers of free hosting platforms: “I used to keep all my published print clips on a place called issue.com,” he explained. “I went to post a clip there recently, and they say, ‘You can’t post anymore, because it’s not free anymore.'” Cue the collective groan from anyone who’s ever lost work to a platform change, an expired account, or the digital equivalent of a sinkhole.
The Money Question: Who Pays for What? (Or: How to Travel When You’re Broke and Publications Are Stingy)
Let’s face it—the elephant in every travel writer’s room is the awkward dance of finances. How exactly are you supposed to jet around the globe when most publications pay barely enough to cover a nice dinner, let alone airfare?
“From what I understand, travel publications are not typically covering the travel writer’s expenses,” one audience member diplomatically noted, while everyone silently translated this to “publications are notoriously cheap.”
Geary’s refreshingly practical response acknowledged the patchwork approach most successful writers adopt: “Yeah, it’s a mix for me. Like I’ve done lots of trips hosted. And the main reason I get a lot of hosted trips is because I belong to the Travel Media Association of Canada, which you have to re-qualify every two years with X number of pieces published.”
But he’s not above turning personal travel into professional opportunities either: “I do a lot of stuff self-financing too. I mean, I’ve turned a lot of family trips into really good travel pieces. Stuff where, now I do keep all my receipts when I’m traveling like that. My wife’s a CPA, so I just say, ‘Here, dear, look after these.'” The knowing laughter from the audience suggested many had similar arrangements with their accountant spouses.
Andra-Warner pulled back the curtain on the insider sorting system that tourism boards use—information that might explain why some writers seem to get all the plum assignments. “They have an A list and they have a B list. And if you’re on the A list, you get invitations. If you’re on the B list, you may get them, but not as many,” she explained, prompting mental calculations from everyone listening about which list they might be on.
She added a crucial tip that many writers overlook: “I’d encourage if you do get a travel trip, send the clip back to the tourism people to know that you have published from them.” It’s the professional equivalent of a thank-you note after a job interview—small effort, potentially big impact.
Chiasson cut straight to the heart of these arrangements: “It’s a value-based proposition. You are giving them something, and they are giving you something.” She painted a clear picture of how tourism boards think: “If you are someone who covers a lot of family stories, parenting, things like that, and a destination is really keen to emphasize how family friendly they are…you would represent a really good value to them.”
For those still building their portfolios, she recommended conferences like TBEX (Travel Bloggers Exchange) and the Women in Travel Summit—hunting grounds where even newer writers can connect with destinations eager for coverage.
The Reality Check: It’s Not All Glamour (Or: Sometimes You Cry in Airport Bathrooms)
While the Instagram version of travel writing involves infinity pools and sunset cocktails, the panel wasn’t shy about sharing the gritty underbelly of the profession—the parts that rarely make it into the glossy final product.
“I think all travel writers would preface this by saying, we know how incredibly fortunate we are to do a job like this,” Chiasson began, acknowledging the eye-rolling that often greets travel writer complaints. “What is a routine month for me might be someone else’s trip of a lifetime, that they’ve worked incredibly hard at important jobs that are rarely recognized to afford a week in France upon their retirement, and that might be the beginning of my September.”
With that disclaimer in place, she didn’t hold back on the less glamorous realities: “The back of the economy section of Canadian Airlines gets real old real quick. Jet lag is always a concern. To be blunt, your stomach does not always adjust nicely to the cuisine and the jet lag where you’re going.”
Yet the show must go on, regardless of your internal clock or digestive rebellion: “Come 8 a.m. the next morning…you’re in the lobby to meet your tour guide with a big smile on your face, ready to work.” It’s the moment many aspiring travel writers realize they’ve signed up for a job, not an extended vacation.
The schedules would make most 9-to-5ers faint: “There’s nothing really vacationing about it. You’re always on. And to make the most of your time in these destinations, it is not at all unusual for a press trip day to be 12, 14, I’ve had 20 hour days, where it’s go, go, go, go, go, go, go.”
Geary highlighted the special flavor of frustration that comes when carefully laid plans implode: “If you go on a press trip and they’ve promised certain activities, and that’s what you’re gonna base your stories on, and then you get there and they change them.” Picture a writer who’s pre-sold a piece on whale watching suddenly being informed they’ll be touring a jam factory instead—career panic ensues.
He also shared the cautionary tale that haunts many freelancers’ nightmares: “I had a story pre-sold to American magazine, and I did the trip…I had the story written, I saw the proofs, it looked beautiful, and this was 2008, and it was right about then that all the economy just went kaboom, and the magazine folded like a week before it was to go to print.” The collective wince from the audience was practically audible.
Andra-Warner, ever the pragmatist, reframed these challenges: “The travel trips, when I was doing the travel trips for a number of years, usually took two or three, and that was all I would take during the year…it’s wonderful opportunity to see places…but the travel trip is tools of your trade. You’re working hard.”
Her no-nonsense assessment cut through the romance: “You’re not getting paid at that time, but it’s tools of the trade.” And when things go sideways? “If you have something that you don’t like, it’s a restaurant that’s, I don’t know, dirty, whatever, you just don’t write about them. You don’t slam them, but you don’t write about them.” Sometimes silence speaks volumes.
Write Where You Are (Or: Why Your Boring Hometown Might Be Your Ticket to Success)
In perhaps the most liberating revelation of the session, the panel challenged the notion that travel writing requires exotic stamps in your passport. The untapped gold mine might be right in your own backyard—a perspective that levels the playing field for writers without trust funds or flexible remote jobs.
“Often people say to me, like as a travel writer, they’re like, they’re always saying, are you going any place good this year?” Chiasson shared, mimicking the slightly condescending tone such questions often carry. “And so what is good in the eyes of the world? They mean a super swanky posh resort, someplace really warm and fancy when it’s cold in Canada, or they mean London, Paris, Rome.”
She acknowledged the allure of these destinations before dropping her bombshell: “Those are indeed very good places. The thing is, everyone’s written about them.” The secret, she suggested, lies in finding the extraordinary in the supposedly ordinary—and selling it with confidence.
“If you can tell an editor why, like hell yeah, the fashion scene here, rivals anything I’ve seen in Italy, that is gonna catch people’s attention. Or if you talk about say, like the way they’re making homemade cheese in this county is on par with anything I’ve seen in Europe, suddenly that gets people’s attention.”
This approach is not just creatively refreshing—it’s strategically smart in a saturated market. “Your expertise doesn’t matter so much as it does, hey, we really need an Australian story to balance out the coming issue and you have a quirky angle, no one’s covered, like you’re in.”
Geary nodded vigorously: “That reminds me of the old cliche, be a tourist in your own town. That applies to being a travel writer in your own town as well, your own area, because you know it, you live there, you have easy access to stuff.”
He added a perspective international publications are increasingly valuing: “A lot of US editors and other, like from outside Canada, they’re looking for Canadians who maybe live in an area, who are an expert in an area…they want someone who actually lives there, to write travel about it.” Your local expertise, it turns out, can be your superpower in a market flooded with generic takes on popular destinations.
Parting Wisdom (Or: Free Advice That’s Actually Worth Something)
As the session wound down, each panelist distilled decades of combined experience into bite-sized wisdom that should be etched into the notebooks of aspiring travel writers everywhere.
Andra-Warner cut straight to the essence of what distinguishes memorable travel writing: “One thing that was pivotal to getting my voice, and I think most important for travel writers or any writer…is to find your voice.” In a field where destinations are covered thousands of times, your unique perspective becomes your calling card. “That carries you, and that’s how other, the travel media, the tourism boards, that’s how they can see your articles and your voice that you have.”
She also casually dropped a rate that had many participants doing double-takes: “The most I’ve gotten to write was $2 a word for National Geographic. So there are opportunities out there.” A collective “cha-ching” echoed silently across the virtual room.
Chiasson recommended Eric Maisel’s “A Writer’s Paris” with the enthusiasm of someone sharing a cherished secret: “Even if you’re not interested in going to Paris, it’s a really beautiful book about developing your relationship with the destination and those quiet moments you have to write on a park bench.”
She also mounted a spirited defense of travel writing’s value in our current media landscape: “Travel writing is often dismissed as being kind of fluffy or kind of frivolous…But how often have you heard people say like, ‘Oh, media is so negative.’ Or, ‘Why can’t they have more positive stories?’ That’s us, that’s what we do. We’re telling these beautiful stories about incredible cultures and destinations and opportunities in our backyards and around the world. So I think it matters more now than ever.”
Geary, ever the practical voice, recommended Jerry Dennis’s “From a Wooden Canoe” for its storytelling craft, and offered perhaps the most essential advice of all: “Be persistent. Don’t be aggressively persistent, but be persistent.”
He illustrated this with a tale of editorial persistence that eventually paid off: “The reason I got published finally in ABA Birding Magazine, I contacted the editor, the guy I was supposed to contact, and we were doing this dance back and forth for months…and finally he said, ‘Well, you know, I should put you in touch with our travel editor.'” The moral? Sometimes the “no” is just the beginning of the conversation.
For those peering into the world of travel writing with equal parts longing and trepidation, the panel’s message rang clear: Behind every dreamy destination photo is a writer who’s likely sleep-deprived, battling digestive issues, and frantically taking notes while smiling through a 14-hour day—and yet, when the words finally flow and the story comes together, there are few more satisfying ways to make a living than by helping others see the world through fresh eyes, whether that world is halfway across the globe or just down the street.
