By Ivana Damnjanovic.
Learning to Build a Story
When I first started planning my Final Master’s Project —an ebook about bookstores, libraries, and literary places in Portugal- I knew I wanted to do more than just make a list of cool places to visit. I wanted to tell stories. I wanted to bring out the voices of people who live and breathe books, who protect stories in physical spaces, even in our fast-moving digital world.
I already knew that structure plays a huge role in effective storytelling, but the Travel Narrative class reminded me just how essential it is. We talked about the anatomy of a travel story—not just writing what happened, but understanding how to build something that holds a reader’s attention and feels like it goes somewhere.
We learned how to craft a lede that draws the reader in, how to write a strong nut graph that explains why the story matters, how to weave in scenes that show rather than tell, how to balance that with just enough exposition, and finally, how to end a story in a way that lingers.
Before this class, I thought travel writing could be a bit loose and intuitive—as long as it sounded nice, it worked. But now I see that without structure, even beautiful writing can fall flat. Structure is what makes a story stick.
A Story for Every City
My project will take me through Lisbon, Porto, Coimbra, and Óbidos, tracing Portugal’s literary life through its bookstores, libraries, literary events, and the people connected to them. I’ll be talking to booksellers, librarians, readers, maybe even authors, and visiting places that feel like small sanctuaries for stories.
But instead of approaching each chapter like a personal travel diary, I’m now thinking about how to shape each one into a complete story. Where does it begin? What moment pulls the reader in? What scene captures something unexpected or emotional? What background is important? And how can I end it in a way that leaves the reader thinking, not just turning the page?
Each city will have its own mood and rhythm. A busy bookshop in Porto might make for a lively, dialogue-driven chapter, while a chapter about quiet, historic library in Coimbra might be more reflective. I want each story to feel different—but still part of the same journey.
Seeing Myself Differently as a Journalist
This class made me shift how I think about my role as a journalist. I used to focus mostly on what I wanted to say—the facts, the themes, the places. Now I’m just as focused on how I say it. I think more about voice, about pacing, and about letting the reader feel like they’re walking beside me—not just reading my notes.
It also helped me to appreciate structure more. I used to worry it would make my writing feel stiff or formulaic. But actually, it’s the opposite. Once I know where a story is going, I can play more with how I tell it. I can bring in personal observations, emotional moments, or even a bit of humor, because the shape is already there to hold it together.
Final Thoughts
In the end, what I took from the Travel Narrative class is this: storytelling doesn’t just happen—it’s built, piece by piece. And the tools we learned—the lede, the nut graph, the scene, the ending—help turn a list of places into a journey that means something.
As I follow Portugal’s literary trail, I’m not just collecting content—I’m collecting stories. And now, I know how to shape them in a way that resonates.
This article is part of the practical work carried out by the students of the Master’s in Travel Journalism.
