Paths Up the Mountain:

Moving into New Markets

(adapted from a speech given at the Magazine Writers One-on-One Conference in Chicago.)

When I was asked for a speech title, I gave the organizers a few choices. Paths up the Mountain, I should note, was not my favorite. It seemed a little precious. But one of the organizers said she thought it fit because breaking into a new market sometimes seems like climbing a mountain one slow, oxygen-deprived step at a time.

I guess it can seem like that. But it’s amazing how far you can go if you carefully plan your path and just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I hope this talk will start a conversation among us. I hope some of what I suggest will be new to you. Some, I’m sure, will be a reminder of the fundamentals we all know, but don’t always practice.

            I’m going to start by talking a little about creating a plan for your summit attempt – MBA types would call it a business model. Then I’m going to run through a series of techniques for climbing higher and higher. Some of these are my ideas. Some are courtesy of a handful of successful freelancers I bugged recently for tips. I asked them because I won’t stand here and pretend to have all the answers.  I’ve been lucky enough to break in at a few good places, but I’ve gotten – and still get – plenty of rejections.

            But let’s deal with the reality of rejection later. First, the true fantasy segment of this speech.

  I’m going to tell you a story about how a boy from a Pennsylvania coal region town of 912 people went to the big city and broke into the Sunday New York Times.

            When I query a new market, I always call to find the right editor to pitch. Sending a query to a name on the masthead to me seems akin to tossing it in the trashcan under my desk. The editor may have left. She may not be responsible for assigning features. And the Times doesn’t even have a masthead for its Sunday sections.

So one Tuesday afternoon shortly after I’d moved to Manhattan, I dialed the Times and asked for the Sunday Styles section, which used a lot of freelance material. When a man answered, I sputtered that I was a writer with a story idea and I wondered which editor to query.

“Me,” he said. “You can send the query to me.”

He gave me his name, then paused. 

Since you’re on the phone, he added, why don’t you tell me the idea. We’re looking for stories.

I ran through it nervously.

            Sounds good, he said. Who have you written for?

I listed my credits.

Sounds good.

Can you have a written query and some clips over here tomorrow?

Um,yesssss.

            I dropped a package at the Times 43^rd Street office the next morning. By that afternoon, I had an assignment to do a 1,300 word feature for the Styles section.

            Though it underscores the importance of doing your homework, that assignment was something of a fluke. Unfortunately, breaking into a new market is rarely so easy. Very rarely. 

So start with a plan. You don’t sit down to create a story without an outline. Why create a career without one?

 First question: What kind of writer are you? Are you a narrative/explanatory writer or a service writer? The two paths, I think, require different skills and different ways of approaching queries and stories.

Second question: Where do you want to go from here? And what stops – what base camps on the way to that summit – will you use along the way?

Claire Tristram, who writes about technology for magazines ranging from Wired to Technology Review to Upside, suggests that you pick a target and have everything you do, even for the lowliest trade magazines, be related to getting you closer to your goal.  

Pick a magazine on the path to your summit target and query that magazine. When you get an acceptance there, pick another magazine that seems just a little harder to get into and query it.

How long did it take Claire to get where she wanted to be? Six years. Now she more or less can write for any publication in her field. Editors call her. She commands a premium.

 I decided some years ago that I wanted to break into new markets and needed some Smithsonian-style clips to go knocking on the door. So I pitched those kinds of ideas to my editor at Southwest Spirit, where I was a regular. They were a little outside what he usually assigned, but he liked me and I thought I could convince him to take a chance.

        I told him upfront that I wanted to write them over the word count – 3,000 words instead of 2,000 words -- because I intended to use them to approach Smithsonian. If he didn’t think they were good reads at 3,000 words, I’d cut them without protest.

He agreed, the stories ran at 3,000 words without changes and I’m convinced they later helped break into other magazines, including Smithsonian.

An aside: How do you stay busy, make a living, create clips to impress editors and, oh yes, pay a few bills?

A few years ago, a friend and I decided to separate our markets into what I'll call 76 Truck Stop markets and Holy Grail markets. The truck stop markets are easy to pull into, let us do stories we like for little hassle, pay well and don't grab all rights so we can resell. The Holy Grail markets (The Atlantic Monthly, Smithsonian, New York Times Magazine) are long shots that require a lot of effort to reach. Rather than pitch many of them, we decided it was wiser to concentrate on one or two at a time in an attempt to establish a dialogue with editors.

THE FIVE P’s

Ok, so now you have the plan. You’ve targeted a couple of magazines for intense query barrages.

You are going to get to Magazine Mount Everest by going through Magazine Molehill.  Or maybe you’re established and you’re just going to take a shot right at Everest.

Let’s talk about techniques to turn your plan into reality. I’m stretching it a bit, but I’m going to break those techniques into five Ps – persistence, pedigree, people, the personal touch and perception.

PERSISTENCE

   A couple of years ago, I was having a drink at a party with a good friend of mine, a writer with a decade-long track record at places like GQ, Rolling Stone and other major magazines. Someone sidled up, introduced herself and -- as people always do in New York -- asked us what we did. We told her we were magazine writers. Well, she wondered, what was the most important talent for someone in the business?

            Neither of us hesitated.  Almost in unison, we answered: "Accepting rejection and moving on." The line must have seemed scripted. It wasn't.

            To me, the most important skill a magazine freelancer can hone is the ability to take being rejected -- or being ignored -- by an editor and move on, whether it's to offer that editor a new idea or that idea to another editor. There are those wonderful exceptions.  But I think freelancers underestimate the work necessary to break into a good market and give up too easily. Remember, John McPhee suffered fifteen years of rejections before his byline appeared in The New Yorker.

            I've long been a contributor to American Way, American Airlines’ inflight magazine. The good folks there and at its sister magazine, Southwest Spirit, have flown me all over the world on well more than 100 stories over the years. An American Way editor assigned my first magazine story when I moved from newspapering to freelancing. He then rejected my next 11 ideas. I still write probably a dozen stories a year for those magazines, earning a nice chunk of change with little hassle.

            But I've often wondered what I'd be doing now if I hadn't sent that twelfth idea.

             At Smithsonian, I received a call back just a few days after first querying. The editor on the other end said she loved my clips and the idea was perfect. Just as soon as she ran it by the Editor in chief, an assignment likely would be on the way. I hung up the phone and danced around my office.

            And then a week later came another call. I’m sorry, she said, but the EIC says we have too many sports stories in the bank. But try another idea. I did. It was rejected. Ten ideas and 18 months later, I finally had an assignment.

            I made a crack to my editor about how long it took and she mentioned that one regular writer for the magazine had knocked on the door for nine years until he got his first assignment…I kept pitching only because she assured me that my clips were good enough and my ideas were close.

What happened to that first idea, the one she loved? Later, editors forgot I’d sent that query and, when the sports bank was low, assigned it to another writer who made the same pitch sometime later. As it happened, his story ran the same month my first story ran. No harm. It was an innocent mistake.

            But that’s another part of breaking in: good timing.

When I worked at newspapers we used to joke that management hired based upon the first in after last out principle. If you were the first reasonably qualified writer who applied after someone had left, you were hired. To some extent, I think freelancing is similar. You have to stay in there swinging or you’ll never get a hit. If you get an encouraging rejection, get back in the batter’s box and take another swing within a few days.

About two weeks after sending a query, I call to make sure the editor has seen it. Chances are he hasn’t.

Remember, editors often are overworked, stretched thin. Calling also serves to open a dialogue. No longer are you just another desperate writer with another lame idea.

            But be prepared. Have your query up and on the screen as you dial. Have a one-sentence synopsis ready to hook the editor. But first ask if he or she is on deadline.

A surprising number of editors answer their phones. When I called Rich Blow at George some years ago, he just chuckled and said he had a three-foot stack of unread queries on his floor. He asked about the idea, then had me fax the full query and clips. I soon had the first of several assignments.

Please understand that I love researching and writing queries.

            I hate cold-calling editors. Then I envision myself at a cocktail party – or worse, at dinner with my in-laws – and someone asks what I’m working on right now. I have to stammer and say, that gee, I have some ideas out there, but well, really, the truth is right now I’m waiting to hear back from a few editors.

For years now, that image has prodded me to pick up the phone and dial.

             So you’re persistent. You know the market. And you have a good idea. Guess what? That’s not enough. I think it matters who you’ve written for. Not always. But often. So build a pedigree. 

            PEDIGREE

It’s a fact of the writing life. Having a half-page Sunday clip from The New York Times or an eight-page story from Smithsonian makes editors take your query seriously. And the clips need not be from those markets, but whatever markets appeal to your target magazines. Work to get them.

             That brings me to what is a dicier idea to introduce yourself to new editors. It’s what I call the Hi, Hello, I’m here and you should love to love me baby letter.

            In case you’re wondering, you say that as if Donna Summer was channeling Frank Sinatra. 

The letter is just what the title suggests. It is simply an introduction with clips and your background.  No ideas.

            One friend is appalled at this practice. She thinks it’s arrogant. But it is very difficult to hit the mark with your first idea and this may be a plausible shortcut, especially if you have a track record in a specialty area.

It certainly wouldn’t be appropriate with a magazine like The Atlantic Monthly. But Claire says it has worked for her with technology magazines. And it has worked a couple of times for me.

PEOPLE

When I was in New York, I always heard outlanders claim success in this business was all about whom you know. I don’t dispute that. Getting an introduction from another writer or getting the lay of the land at a magazine is invaluable.

So add people to persistence and pedigree. Network with writers. There are dozens of places online to do this as well as any number of organizations. I belong to the American Society of Journalists and Authors (www.asja.org) and have found the contacts as well as the professional advice from other members to be invaluable. 

I’m also pretty free with information about my markets to writers I’ve come to know and trust. I know some writers are close-mouthed because they feel giving away inside information will create more competition. I feel the opposite. I get back at least as many good referrals as I give.

Don’t forget your old editors. Stay in touch. You never know where they may land. Russell Wild, who writes for Men’s Journal, Details and others, says he hasn’t had to cold query in two years because his old editors keep moving around and taking him with them.

The PERSONAL TOUCH

This P was suggested by Tim Harper, who attended One on One last year.

Good magazines, he notes, often look for that personal touch to a story from a writer who's involved, who has a stake in the issue. He and Mike Curtis at The Atlantic Monthly had gone back and forth over several ideas over the years. They were close, but never clicked.

At last year’s conference, they were playing basketball upstairs at the Chicago Athletic Club, giving literal meaning to the one-on-one conference. (Tim didn’t say who won the battle on the hard court).

            Anyway, they talked over several ideas, nothing really promising. Then Tim, who is an enthusiastic pickup basketball player, suggested finding a basketball idea.

            Soon, he had an assignment to profile the best pickup basketball player in America. It ran a couple of months ago. He’s earned another assignment and the magazine is eager for more ideas.

            A friend of his had tried to break into Delta’s Sky for several years. She had good ideas, ideas that probably would have been assigned to a regular. But, remember, writers trying to break in need more compelling ideas than regulars.

            Eventually, she offered a first-person story about her family's long-running competition with another family for annual top prize in the dahlia competition at the Iowa State Fair. Sort of the Hatfields and McCoys of the flowers wars. It got her in the door.

Here was a story literally in her backyard, someplace I think a lot of us fail to examine closely for stories. Take advantage of the fact you live where stories are happening. About two years ago, I moved from Manhattan, where I had thousands of competitors for local stories, to southeastern Virginia, where I believe I am the only national magazine freelancer in a population of about 1.7 million.  Make geography an ally.

PERCEPTION.

            I’ve saved this for last. It’s the most obvious thing among what are no doubt many obvious things I’ve said. But it’s also the most important.

            A great story idea for the right market at the right time accompanied by good clips will sell every time.

But you need to know, really know, the market. I can't emphasize this enough: reading a magazine as a writer intending to market ideas or clips is different from reading it for pleasure. Look hard at the kinds of stories a magazine runs, its philosophy and perspective. Be honest about whether your idea and your style fit.

I know I’m guilty of wanting to query a market so badly that I convince myself an unworthy idea is worthy. Don’t do that. Wait until you come across the right idea and then take the time to shape it correctly for the magazine. Remember, the bar is higher for new writers.

Jack El-Hai, a contributor to American Heritage and The Atlantic Monthly, offers a good suggestion:

Before sending an article proposal, ask yourself, "Is there any chance that the editor has heard anything like this recently?"  If the answer is yes, rethink the proposal.

            Finally, I’m going to quote Steve Kemper, whose work has appeared in National Geographic, Outside, Smithsonian and National Geographic Adventure.

            “All decent freelancers have lots of ideas,” Steve says, “but the best freelancers know which ones will appeal to which magazines, which ones are unfamiliar but would have wider appeal, and which ones are familiar, but can be made surprising again by a different approach. “

            Steve notes that the problem with what he just said is that it's all so ordinary and easy to say, but so hard to do with finesse and success.

            In other words, perception and execution are the keys. “Frankly,” he adds, “that's always been the difference between writers who make the big leagues and writers who don't.”

Take Malcolm Gladwell, the wonderful staff writer for The New Yorker. The rest of us saw the resurgent popularity of hush puppies a few years ago simply as HIPSTERS BUYING UGLY BROWN SHOES.

Gladwell saw a way to write about how trends get started and spread.

            Here’s another example. Several years ago I was in a meeting to discuss narrative book ideas with an editor at Time Warner books. It went nowhere, mostly because I had a lot of good magazine ideas that weren’t book ideas. As I was leaving, he told me he’d just read a fantastic new book that was destined to become a bestseller. It was about six fishermen who perished in a storm.

How did they die? I asked.

            No one knows, he said.

Well, how do you write a book about what you don’t know happened?

That’s it, he said. That’s what this guy has done. He tells you what he knows happened and what might have happened. And it means the storm becomes the book’s main character.

 I left thinking the editor was nuts.

            Or this other painful personal example: Several years ago my American Way editor called to say the magazine was going to start running short, 400-word pieces. Fun stuff, service stuff. He knew I didn’t like to write that short, but wondered if I could help them out. I searched my slush pile, found a Wall Street Journal clip about a weird, former medical examiner in Lawrence, Kansas who had stolen a portion of Albert Einstein’s brain – and still had it – and suggested I make a quick call, interview the guy and write a witty piece. That, I figured, was all it was worth – 400 words, $500.

            Flash forward about three years and I open my Harper’s to find about a 12,000-word story titled “Driving Mr. Albert” by a brilliant writer named Michael Paterniti. Now, I wasn’t the first guy to write about Einstein’s brain. There were at least half a dozen before me.

            But it took Paterniti to see the insanity of it and go pick up the medical examiner and take him on a wild cross-country ride. The story won a National Magazine Award, a six-figure book advance and a seven-figure movie deal.

            Now I don’t claim to have the writing talent Paterniti possesses. But I also didn’t have the conceptual ability.

            So I’ve spent some of your valuable time and, I suspect, come back around to the basics. The bottom line doesn’t change.

            Find a good idea, frame it perfectly for the magazine and write a breathtaking query.

            Be more persistent, have better clips, know more insider information and be more perceptive than your competitors.

             It’s as easy as that. And as hard.                   

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