A couple months ago, I tuned into a school board meeting following an incident that involved really horrible racist language as part of a student presentation at a local school. I wanted to hear what the board said, but I also wanted to be there to support the people who were brave enough to stand and tell their stories. As I listened to parents talk about their own experiences with racism in our district and how seeing those words in a presentation impacted their children, I was struck with one thought over and over: 

"Why do we keep making people prove their trauma to us?"

Then a friend shared this article about using low-income student stories for donor engagement. How that impacts people being asked to tell their stories so what, a donor can pat themselves on the back? 

These experiences have me questioning the role of "mission moments" or "success stories" in grant applications and reports. Certainly, being able to demonstrate the impact of a gift is important. I am not doubting that. But when we think of the racial and gender disparities borne of systemic marginalization that underscores so much of the charitable work in the community, and the fact that most high-level donors and grant makers are white, something feels wrong.

I don't want to diminish the role of storytelling in grant writing. Storytelling techniques are a great way to connect your reader's heart to your mission. (I, personally, like using the Pixar rules).

But certainly we can do that without asking our clients to parade in front of donors. When positioning your organization and your donors as the hero of the story, it is easy to relegate those you serve to background characters and plot devices. And when you do that, you center your work on your organization, not those your mission is about. A very slippery slope into White Knight syndrome indeed. 

More and more, I am choosing to avoid stories unless a funder specifically requests one. Here are some of my alternatives:

• I talk about the issues faced by the people served by my clients by talking about systemic and other barriers they face.
• I use research to backs up the need I am talking about.
• I use person-first language whenever possible--with everything, not just disabilities. I especially avoid words like "disadvantaged", "at-risk," and "minority" when talking about people. Instead, I say "face disadvantages," or "are more likely", and refer to specific identities (capitalized when appropriate) and why it matters. 
• I make sure the way I am referring to clients is the way they refer to themselves, and I use their own language or words to describe the problem. 
• Whenever possible, I highlight how the people served are part of shaping the solution offered.
  

If I must, I use stories that position clients as their own heroes and protagonists in their own stories. In these stories, the client is not rescued or saved by an organization (or its donors). Instead, they solved their own problems by taking advantage of the resources provided to them. They are not a stand in for an organization's or its donors' preconceived notions or personifications of their mission; they are autonomous, individuals telling their stories, which organizations had a supporting role in. 

If we are going to follow the disability rights movement saying, "Nothing About Us Without Us", we must be prepared to do de-center ourselves in our stories and from the successes of those we serve. This takes some ego shifting (particularly hard for nonprofit organizations used to saving people). But certainly we believe the people we serve owe us nothing because we are helping them out of the goodness of our hearts and not to serve our own egos. Right? 

Update (7/22/22)

I posed this question to fellow grant professionals, and I wanted to pass on some links for further consideration! What I learned solidified and gave me some good framework for ethical storytelling moving forward.

More tips from fellow grant pros and others focused on ethical storytelling and community-centered fundraising: 

• Be mindful and intentional about the impact the story being told will have on the people being served
• Avoid "poverty" or "tragedy porn" - when we treat stories of suffering as entertainment 
• The way we tell the stories must not perpetuate stereotypes, include microaggressions, and further harmful narratives. 
• Involve the people whose story is being told in every process of gathering and telling their stories, and compensate them for the rights to tell their stories. 
• Be thoughtful about the images used and make sure they do not reinforce existing stereotypes.

I invite you to read this powerful piece about how storytelling, when done incorrectly, dehumanizes the very people it is supposed to lift up, as well as tips for avoiding falling into the same trap. Then, read this piece about the systemic issues with storytelling, as well as the issues of tokenism and saviorism and the problem with empathy in fundraising.

Finally, check out this organization, Community Centric Fundraising, and it's work to shift fundraising to equity and social justice, and to "prioritize the entire community over individual organizations, foster a sense of belonging and interdependence, present our work not as individual transactions but holistically, and encourage mutual support between nonprofits."  Their Ten Principles are ones I will be printing off and working towards from now on. 

I enjoy watching jugglers. As someone with a lifelong distrust of flying objects and a body that just doesn't seem to jive with hand-eye coordination, I am always impressed with the sheer number of things they can keep in the air. When it's just balls, that's impressive enough. But man, when they do a combination of balls and pins, when someone tosses them something new to incorporate, or when they set the whole darn thing on fire? Whew. 

I think I also identify with their skill at keeping multiple things aloft and making it look easy. As a grant consultant, business owner, social activist, and mom ... let's just say I sometimes feel like my whole life is a whirl of flaming priorities. 

Sometimes it is easy. Sometimes I don't have three major grants due in as many weeks, a big family vacation (for which I committed to not working even a little bit on), a sick husband and cat, professional development I can't skip, oh--and laundry piling up around me. 

Sometimes, though? Sometimes it is really hard. Sure, I have a lot of practice juggling my priorities, so what might be overwhelming to someone else is (or at least seems to be) routine to me. And yes, there is a lot of muscle memory so I can handle more.

But I promise, I can only do what I do because I have developed specific skills to my act manageable: 

• I know my routine. I usually know what is coming next because I have lists (lots of lists) and calendars that keep my chaotic brain organized. If it isn't written down, it doesn't exist. So I try to write everything down so nothing slips into my act by surprise. 
• I have a plan. My business plan includes the things that are most important to me--serving as a resource to my clients, a thriving and fulfilling business, and contributing to my family's well-being. I keep these things in focus when I decide to take on new projects or clients. When things get coo-coo-bananas, I reframe my chaos as serving these goals. That, or I let something go. 
• I trust myself. Sometimes I have to decide which of my current priorities will shatter if they fall and which will bounce. And I trust I will pick up the things that bounce on the rebound. I know what I'm doing, and I'll get there eventually. 
• I forgive myself. I am not perfect, I will make mistakes and I will bite off more than I can chew. When I am juggling what feels like flaming knives, spending energy on shame over not being perfect is counter productive. When I can finally catch my breath, being upset over that which I can't undo just keeps me from focusing on what I can do.
• I am flexible. The thing with clients and kids and life in general is you can't plan for everything. Sometimes you get tossed a ball that is a lot heavier than you thought it would be. Sometimes you are asked to keep doing what you are doing but with your eyes closed. Sometimes you need to incorporate a totally new movement into your routine. Panicking doesn't help me, so I try to just roll with it and treat it like a chance to learn something new. 

Look, I have taken enough professional personality assessments to know there are some things I am good at, and some skills I will be proficient in at best. When it comes down to it, it isn't some magical, innate strength at priority juggling that allows me to perform at my best. It is knowing what I am good at and leaning on that, finding ways to work around what I am not good at, and practicing until I get it right. Or at least right enough.

While studying (cramming) for my Grant Professional Certification exam a couple weeks ago, I was doing the thing where you try to make associations and mnemonics to make recall of information easier. You know, "Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally" for the order of operations, "My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine (Pizza Pies)" for the order of planets back when Pluto was a planet, stalaGmites on the ground and stalaCtites on the ceiling (or stalagMites look like mountains), etc. 

I do this a lot. For example, the principled principal had one principal principle. Or I compliment (with an "i") your shirt, which complements (with an "e") your eyes. Discrete (singular and distinct) has just a singular "e". Or the "Ls" in parallel are parallel. 

Hey, it works. 

So, I was still tickled when my notes revealed a handy mnemonic device for remembering what you need to include in a need statement (the part of the grant where you prove to the funder your project is, well, needed): 

Need - What is it your clients or community need? What are they lacking? What are the issues facing them? 
Evidence - How do you know the need exists? What are the sources to show this? 
Relevance - Why does it matter? What will happen if nothing is done? 
Duplication - Do you know what else has been done? Can you demonstrate you are enhancing the services, not duplicating efforts? 

NERD. 

Oh. Em. Gee. 

Now, I am a bit of a nerd, and especially a need statement nerd. I love them. I love researching an issue, looking at all the different sides, and learning about communities. I love how numbers can illustrate your point, or they can get you to think harder about your assumptions. I get an actual, physical thrill when I find that golden thread that connecting a peer reviewed or expert resource to an approach my client is taking. 

I also know a lot of folks get tripped up on need statements. They either think the section is for talking about what they need (more teachers instead of a more effective classroom for kids). They sometimes waste precious characters and the reader's time by talking about things that don't matter (the importance of sleep for high schoolers when the project is supposed to serve elementary kids). They talk about what they assume they know but don't actually use relevant sources to prove their theories. Or, they fail to demonstrate the gap they will fill in their communities. 

I think NERD is a great way to double check your work and make sure you are showing the funder you are writing to why your project matters and why it needs to be funded.

Plus, I firmly believe the world needs more nerds. 

I'd like to get back to measures for a bit. 

If you remember, we have talked a little bit about the reason you are doing your work (your vision and impact) and how you'll know what you are doing is working (your outcomes). I mentioned that counting clients is not a meaningful outcome, but I also said it is important. Let's talk about that. 

In a recent training, I used the example of McDonalds' "1 billion served". This is a very good example of a meaningful output, but not a very meaningful outcome. Just because they served a billion burgers, it doesn't mean the burgers met their brand promise of their customers being able to say "I'm lovin' it." 

Which isn't to say it doesn't say something. The number of patties and nuggets they serve is related to how much impact they have with their restaurants, even if it isn't a measure of the quality of their impact. If they were a nonprofit seeking funding, being able to say they served a billion burgers would speak directly to their capacity and the scale of their program.

Outputs--or the the number of people you serve, programs you deliver, and things you do--are important and you absolutely should be reporting on it. If nothing else, it gives funders an idea of what you actually did with their investment. It also helps you justify your budget and future investments. 

When you are working on your measurement section, your outputs should follow from your outcomes. If we remember our example of school lunches and the outcome that each lunch would be nutritious, kids could access nutritious meals, and kids would eat nutritious meals, your outputs could look like this: 
- 300 children who do not go hungry at lunch
- 13,500 opportunities for nutrition education school year
- five tons of fresh produce distributed through meals 
- 40 meals planned by students every school year
- 25 children every school year engaged in nutrition planning
- 50 student-driven lessons on nutrition

Think of your outputs like your activities. Be sure to use them to describe your work. Notice we didn't just say how many served or lessons delivered, we still kept our outputs focused on our overall goal of nutritious school lunches and kids not going hungry. We are also not measuring change, but rather scale. This is also where you input client demographics, which can indicate how well you are reaching your target audience. 

Your outputs will be how you determine what you need to carry out your program, or your inputs. Your inputs are essentially your budget - the staff, resources, connections, knowledge, and other things you need to deliver your outputs, which is how you achieve your outcomes, which is how you will measure your impact, which is how you reach your ultimate goal or vision.  

When you are writing your outcomes, think of it like this: 
"Our ultimate goal is [your vision]. This means [impacts]. We will know we are successful when [outcomes]. To achieve these outcomes we will [outputs]. To do this, we need [inputs]. "

If this sounds simple and logical, it's because it is. If you haven't realized already, this is how you write a logic model. And that is why I almost always insist on creating a logic model with my clients. I get you thinking about your program's direction and drivers, and it gives your applications a framework around which you can build your case for support. 

So, take some time today and think about what you are counting and why. Your grant writer will thank you. 

Citing stuff correctly is a big part of grant writing. BIG. Your needs statement needs data, and that data needs to be cited. But a lot of times you can't sacrifice valuable character limits to do a full APA (or whatever style) citation.

Here is my number one rule - you must cite your sources. You have to tell your reader a) you're not just making this up and b) you aren't passing off someone else's information as your own.  

My number two rule - never sacrifice readability for being technically correct with your citations. I know a lot of researchers out there just clutched their pearls. But most people reading grants are not researchers and can get so bogged down in parentheticals and titles and page numbers that they will literally stop reading. And that, my friends, is how you get relegated to the denial pile. 

So how DO you balance character limits and readability with not being that jerk who makes the reader guess where you got that information? If you can, use foot or end notes. Little numbers (or parenthetical ones) tell your reader "hey, I have back up here, and here is the information if you want to do your own research." 

My absolute favorite way to cite in grants is with foot notes, end notes, and works cited. If you have the opportunity to submit "other attachments" to your grant, make one of those attachments a Works Cited or End Notes page. Set up your end notes while writing, then just make a PDF of that last page. BAM. 

Of course, a lot of places don't want extra documents. And, if you are applying online there is rarely a way to just add it on to your content. This is when you have to get out that red pen and cut some characters.

When space or format limits my citation methods, I have shown my research in a few different ways: 

1. Right after you first say it, a parenthetical with as much information the reader can get there on their own. Bare minimum the title and source of your information. If you can, add the year so you can show you're up to date. For example: Research indicates that, far from the gentle and passive ways they are often portrayed, dolphins are often sadistic jerks. (Vox, "7 adorable animals that are also murderous monsters", 2016). Later on you can just say "Penguins and polar bears aren't so cute either (Vox, 2016)." 
2. Make foot notes for your sections. This works really well if you just do not have space to add a parenthetical, and you can add a simple "Works cited: Vox, Deep Sea News, Slate." I don't use this one that often because, well, it's the least legitimate way to cite your source. Yes, you're telling the reader where it is, but you're not really helping them see how you drew your conclusions. 
3. I haven't used this, but you could do a hyperlink. I would avoid that because it makes the reader do an extra thing - never good - and you can't be assured your link will work in the final review (also links don't translate when printed). I do use this when I'm writing other stuff (i.e., not grants) that I know will be published. For example, I've done it above not just to demonstrate what I mean, but because I really want you to know this isn't just me ranting about dolphins. I have legitimate, well-backed beef with them. 

Even if you don't use the full citations in your application, make sure you also know how to access them later. Print them off, make a bookmark folder, create a shared document, whatever you need to do. Make sure you can easily find the original source (you're using original sources, right?) and how you used it. First, if someone asks, this makes it easy to show your work. Second, and I think more importantly, we all know how we reuse content for applications. Sometimes (usually) things get edited and restated and copied. And we all know what they say about copies of copies. (Allow me to tell you about the time when my team realized the data we had been using over and over and over was flat out wrong because it got restated incorrectly years ago.) 

You will probably find that, just like no two applications are identical, what works best for your citing needs varies from funder to funder. I tend to err on too much information over too little, no matter which application I am writing for. Whatever you decide, just remember to leave SOME trail of breadcrumbs for your reviewer to follow.  

(By the way, full disclosure--I have always struggled with the nitty gritty of exactly how to format my full citations. Even in college and grad school I could never remember where to put periods and which bits to italicize or quote. This is why they invented the internet. And this site in particular - Cite This For Me - which allows you to put in your source and it spits out the correct citation based on whatever style you want. I don't get paid for this in anything other than the satisfaction of knowing someone else out there will geek out over it like I did.) 

Picture this: You are writing a grant. You have written a killer client-centered, data-supported needs statement. You have fit your amazing project description into the 1,000 characters or fewer you are given. You have even been able to answer the question about what you'll do when/if you aren't funded. 

And then, you run into this wall: "How do you measure your success?" 

Oh, buddy. 

Here's the bad news - this section is non-negotiable and you have to do your due diligence to make it good. It will take thoughtfulness and creativity, and oftentimes a good bit of teeth-pulling to get your programs to comply. 

The good news? A good outcome section can be the difference that gets you funded. Plus, once you've done it once you can usually just copy and paste. 

So, how DO you measure your success? Pro tip, if you said "we track the number of clients we have," you are not measuring your success. Well, not the success funders want to hear about. All client numbers measure is how many people your organization serves. It doesn't measure how well you serve them, nor how much of a difference you're making in their lives. 

Which isn't to say tracking the numbers you serve isn't important--it's critical! It just isn't an outcome (it's an output). Think of it like a school lunch program - it's awesome if you serve 500 kids a day, but it doesn't count for much if you aren't feeding them nutritious meals and they aren't eating what you're serving them. 

Before you panic, do this - remember your vision? Describe it. Paint the picture. Say more. What does it mean for the people you serve? How will their lives be different? What about the community you're in - will it be better because your clients are better served? 

Using the school lunch example: Students have access to nutritious meals every day. No child goes hungry at school for lack of access to food. Kids look forward to eating healthy foods. 

Got it? Congratulations! You have just described what success looks like, also known as your impact. 

Now, how do you know you have achieved those successes? What changes will you see in your clients and community? How can you tell? How can you count the change? 

See? Simple. 

Simple ... but not easy. That's because you need to take this seriously. You need to think about what you can and can't track. Because if you tell a funder you can measure it, they will expect you to measure it. And sometimes programs are not used to thinking in outcomes, which makes it hard to get them to tell you how they know they are making a difference and feel like you saying "but how do you know" is an insult to their work and frankly not worth their time.

Or worse, they oversell their impact and you are stuck with measures that are unrealistic (I don't care how amazing you are, 100% is never an attainable goal. If you are at 100%, you need to try harder.) 

Here are some outcomes, again using the school lunch example: 

• Each school lunch contains at least one item from each of the five basic food groups and contain no more than 10% processed sugar products. (Students have access to nutritious meals) 
• Students receive meals regardless of their account balance and families who need financial assistance are able to access anonymous lunch scholarships. (No child goes hungry at school)
• 25% of meals are from a student-informed menu, prepared meals are plated and served in an appealing manner. (Kids look forward to eating healthy foods)

 
Note that all these outcomes are not just measurable, but they are specific and strategic. 

I know that the outcomes question is hard and daunting. But if you start thinking about it now, you won't be coming up with measures at the last minute. 

If you need help with this step, call me. I like outcomes. 

One of the most important parts of your grant program is your vision. Your vision is the foundation on which every proposal, every project, every donor relationship is built. Grants without vision are like single stuff Oreos - still technically okay, but just meh compared to double stuff. 

So what exactly is vision and how do you get it? 

First of all, your vision is not your mission. Your mission is your reason for existing. Your vision is what the world looks like if you achieve your mission. When you close your eyes, your vision is your perfect world. 

Some examples: 

• "One day, all children in this nation will have the opportunity to attain an excellent education." (Teach for America)
• "A computer on every desk and in every home." (Microsoft)
• "Equality for everyone." (Human Rights Campaign)

Did you get goosebumps at some of those? More importantly, can you see clearly what they are working towards with everything they do? 

If you haven't done so already, spend some time thinking about the world you want to see. Think about what would happen if you had all the money, all the resources, and probably a magic wand and you achieve your mission. Would every child lead a healthy, fulfilled life? Would no one experience domestic violence? Would no animal ever be left out in the cold? 

If these seem like impossibly big dreams, that's good. They should be. Frankly, your vision doesn't have to be realistic. We all know that none of this is entirely possible. But putting yourself--and your potential funders--in an aspirational mindset opens up a world of actual possibilities that can be accomplished. You can get to the realistic details later (and you will). 

Grant applications almost always ask for your mission, but they only sometimes ask for your vision. I think that's a mistake, honestly. If I were a funder, I would want to know what kind of world a potential grantee wants to see! If a funder doesn't explicitly ask for your vision, you should put it in there anyway. Talk about the world you envision and inspire them to want to join you in building it. 

As a consultant, my favorite part of working with clients is getting them talking about their vision. I love getting excited about the world that could be with my clients, and I love the passion they have when they talk about their vision. I love writing about vision, and the vision is the thread I weave throughout the applications I write. 

Here is a little exercise for you: take some time today to think about the world you want to live in. Now, and do something today to get you a little closer to your vision. I hope it inspires you to keep doing the amazing work you are doing. 

I get this question a lot. 

When I tell people what I do, they ask what a grant is. I tell them it's basically a formal way of asking for money, and that I specialize in working with nonprofit organizations asking for support of their mission. I write answers to questions about an organization or project, and then I submit the proposal. Sometimes my proposals get my organizations money. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

They often respond with something along the lines of, "You LIKE doing that?" Lulz. 

I think too many people get flashbacks to research papers from high school and college. To be fair, that is a lot what grant writing is like. Perhaps that's why I like it so much. But for me, grants are so much more than just answering questions and filling in the blanks. 
​

1. A grant is a conversation. One of the things I love the most about grant writing is the chance to tell potential funders about amazing work being done by my clients and why it matters. To do this effectively, I have to understand the issues not just as my clients see them, but also as the funder sees them. Then I use a combination of the head (data) and the heart (stories) to lay a path toward common ground and a shared understanding on both sides of the grant application. 
   
   
2. A grant is a promise. At its most basic, a grant is a gift. The gift is usually money, and it is given without expectations of paying it back. But that doesn't mean it's free. When you apply for a grant, you are making a promise to the funder that you will use any gift they give you to do the work you both agree is worthwhile. You promise to use their money to make a difference in the world.
   
   When I write, I am a stickler for solid outcome language and clear financial documents. This is because I know that funders need to trust my clients can fulfill their promises, and I know they are wary of plans that aren't thought through. 
   
   
3. A grant is a relationship. Grants are how people with money effect change. They can't do it themselves, so they are partnering with you to do it. The least you can do is to keep them in the loop. Well, no, actually. The least you can do is send one thank you note, do nothing for a year, and then show up next year asking for more. Don't do that. 
   
   Funders see your work as an extension of their mission, and they want to be part of it. They want to feel good about giving you money, and you want them to feel good about it too. The application is just the first step to forming a relationship that, if nurtured, can grow into a beautiful one for both people. 
   
   

A while ago, I took one of those Strengths Finder assessments. To the surprise of almost no one I worked with, my top two Strengths were Input (I accumulate information) and WOO (Winning Others Over). I couldn't see it then, but I think that's what makes me such a good grant writer. I love being the connection between people and using all the information out there to do it. 

And, while I know this isn't everyone's jam, it's mine. And I am so lucky I get to use my strengths and passions to make a difference in my way so my clients can get back to making a difference in their way.  

Like a lot of other grant writers, I kind of fell into grants.

I graduated college with a degree in Anthropology and the knowledge that I didn't want to be an anthropologist. I worked in a nonprofit childcare center for a bit before deciding to get my master's degree in public administration. Ah, the good old days where you could earn a living while figuring out what you wanted to do, right?

As part of my MPA curriculum, I took a class in grant writing and fundraising. Much to my surprise, I learned that my background in social science was a perfect fit for a career in grant writing. Not only was I used to writing that incorporated research and data, I was good at connecting the dots between what was being asked and what I had to say. 

I soon found a job writing grants for a family services organization. There, I managed family foundations and corporate grants as part of a dynamic and committed development team, and I was doing good. I found my spot in the world. 

But, I wasn't quite satisfied.

About a year after I started at this organization, my boss asked me to take over the agency marketing because I had a little experience writing newsletters. After that, I got a chance to write fundraising appeals and annual reports and case statements. I directed a major rebranding of the organization. I had caught the marketing bug.

I pursued marketing as a career for awhile, first at the family services organization, and then at my local public radio station and a short-lived stint in business resources. But, as I got farther down the marketing path, I was missing grant writing. I missed being able to tell stories and get my hands dirty in data. I missed connecting with people by sharing my organization's mission. I was designing, but I wasn't communicating. 

So I made an intentional move back to grant writing. I stepped off my marketing ladder and started over in grants. It's one of the best decisions I've ever made. 

Five years later, and I know now where I am supposed to be. I love grants. I love seeing the excitement of a program that just got funded, and I love seeing the excitement of a funder who is passionate about what they support. I love being a catalyst for change. 

As a grants consultant, I have a chance to be part of so many organizations' missions. And I love learning about my clients' challenges and successes across the country.

When I was starting out in the grown up world, I got the advice to do what you love and the rest will follow. I have been incredibly privileged to be able to follow that advice. I hope my work can make the world a better place so more people can live to work, not work to live.