Your paper isn't “unclear.” It's undirected.

Why reviewers say “unclear contribution” when they really mean “I don’t know where to look.”

If you’ve ever received the feedback that your submission to a top business journal lacked clear contributions, you’re not alone. This is hands-down the most popular reason for rejection that I see as an editor to business professors exclusively. It’s so common, in fact, that when I first get a manuscript under R&R, I’ll usually explicitly ask if the authors received this comment—because it rarely means what authors think it means, and therefore remains unresolved.

What most authors do, and why it doesn’t work

Scholars at all levels will usually do the same thing when told their work isn’t clear: go back and try to clarify what they’ve already said.

Makes sense, right? The reviewer has asked for clarification, so you try to give them that clarification. More insights, more description, more explicit signposting. Maybe you’ve even inserted a sentence like “The main contribution of this paper is…” (the academic equivalent of stabbing your finger at the page and bellowing “LOOK HERE!”).

And yet, when the next decision letter arrives, the same concern is still there. Only now it’s framed as a “fundamental weakness” with the work because it’s been raised twice. Ugh. 

This is one of the most frustrating experiences in academic publishing because it feels like a communication problem on your end: they asked, you answered, and they’re still not understanding you. But in reality, it’s usually a communication problem on the reviewer’s end: they asked for “clarity” when what they actually want is direction.

The hidden meaning of “unclear contribution”

When reviewers say your contribution is unclear, they are rarely saying:

• “I don’t understand your sentences.”

• “You need to define your terms more carefully.”

• “I can’t see any value in this work; please restate what you’re already saying in a variety of different ways.”

What they’re actually saying is:

“I don’t know where to focus my attention as a reader, and I’m too tired to figure it out.” 

In other words, the environment you’ve created for your reader is like a forest of compelling information and ideas. It’s a nice enough place to hang out—lovely scenery, familiar sounds—but it doesn’t actually go anywhere, so getting lost is inevitable. What we need (and what an experienced editor will help you do) is to create a clear and easy path through that forest of information. We need to go somewhere. And we need to make it as effortless as possible for readers to walk that path with us. 

How to fix “unclear”

Successfully resolving reviewer feedback about “unclear” contributions means going back to your introduction and working forward from there to build readers an obvious path from curiosity to contribution. Specifically, you’re going to rewrite your introduction to answer the following questions: 

• What problem do you most want readers to care about here? What does it look like? How bad is it? And if no one ever addresses it, what will the consequence be? Start your paper with a clear picture of the problem that sets up this research as necessary (i.e., because it solves the problem).

• How do you solve the above problem in this paper? What frameworks and tools (theory and methods) do you use to solve it? Highlight any that you’re using uniquely/for the first time, and briefly explain the benefits of doing it that way.

• Given the above, what would still be missing or wrong if this paper didn’t exist—and where (specifically, i.e., a field, literature, corporate setting, etc.) would it be missing from? Answering this question will help draw out a summary of your paper’s most important contributions to theory and practice. (Note that a paper can make multiple key contributions, but there should always be one main/dominant issue—and quantity can actually distract and detract from quality.) 

  
  

This problem-anchored structure gives your whole paper a clear and valuable purpose, and thus gives reviewers a clear reason to accept it. 

Once you’ve established this gravitational center in your introduction, the rest of your revisions will seem easy: just ensure that every paragraph that follows supports the core problem. If it’s not immediately obvious how a paragraph explains, demonstrates, or addresses that core problem, make it clear—or cut it. Third-party readers (like a professional editor) are incredibly helpful here, as it’s much easier for us to see and flag those spots where non-experts will probably lose sight of the path.

In this way, contribution becomes something your entire manuscript enacts. There’s no need to declare or “clarify” your work’s value and importance because they’re built-in features driving the research and resonating with readers.

What “undirected” looks like in practice

If you’ve received the dreaded “unclear contribution” feedback, check your manuscript for the following issues; they exemplify some of the patterns I see in manuscripts lacking direction:

• Multiple competing storylines: The paper is simultaneously trying to be a theory extension, a novel methods paper, a policy-relevant paper, etc. All of these might be legitimate angles but because none is clearly dominant, the reader doesn’t know which lens to use. The reviewer ends up confused about the paper’s core identity and purpose, which often gets reported as “unclear contribution.”

• A narrative that keeps changing its mind: Early in the introduction, the paper frames itself around one problem. Then once we hit the Theory section, a new problem is detailed for several paragraphs. Further on, in the Methods section, yet another problem comes up. The result is like cognitive whiplash. The reviewer probably won’t say, “There are too many problems mentioned and I can’t always see how they’re related—just pick the biggest one and revise around that.” Instead? You guessed it: unclear contribution.

• A theory section that explains everything and argues nothing: The theory section is thorough and well-cited, presenting multiple perspectives and tensions. But… why? There’s no commitment to a particular angle or perspective (e.g., “Here’s the solution to the core problem that our paper raises, and here’s the support for that solution.”), so the section reads like a pointless list of unrelated findings and opinions. Rather than try to find the thread that ties everything together or straight-up ask what you’re arguing, reviewers will usually give up and label this “unclear.”

In summary

A directed paper does three things (not continuously, but consistently) from beginning to end:

1. It keeps pointing the reader back to the same core problem.

2. It keeps presenting the same coherent solution to that problem.

3. It keeps signaling why each sentence, paragraph, and section exists in service of solving the problem.

When those signals are missing or inconsistent, no amount of contribution-claiming language will help. Rather, the fix is a ruthless act of narrative commitment. Choose the one problem this paper will solve, detail why the problem must be solved, and then detail the solution itself, rebuilding the manuscript so that every paragraph feels like a piece of this same puzzle.

And if it’s too painful, confusing, or time-consuming for you to make these changes yourself? Feel free to contact us today. My team and I have edited hundreds of successful submissions and resubmissions, and we’d be thrilled to edit yours.