Reading the Call Properly

A request for proposals — the funder's published call — is the most under-read document in this field. Applicants skim it for the deadline and the amount, then write the proposal they were always going to write. Reviewers can tell instantly, because the proposal answers questions nobody asked and omits ones that carry points.

The call is not context for your proposal. It is the specification for it.

A request for proposals is the funder's published call, and it's the most under-read document in this field. People skim it for the deadline and the amount, then write the proposal they were always going to write. Reviewers spot that immediately, because it answers questions nobody asked and skips ones that carry points.

The call isn't background for your proposal. It's the instructions for it.

When someone offers grant money, they usually publish a document saying exactly what they want and how they'll choose.

Almost nobody reads it properly. People check when it's due and how much it's for, then write whatever they were going to write anyway.

The people reading can always tell.

Read it three times, looking for something different each time. This takes an hour and saves the entire application.

Pass one: can we, and should we? Eligibility, deadline, amount, restrictions, required attachments. You are looking for a reason to stop. If you find one, stop — that is the pass working.

Pass two: what must exist? Every required section, every attachment, every format rule — page limits, fonts, file types, submission portal. Turn this into a literal checklist. Formatting rules are not bureaucratic noise; a proposal over the page limit is sometimes rejected unread, and it is the least dignified way to lose.

Pass three: how is it scored? Many calls publish the criteria and their weights. This is the funder telling you where the points are, in writing, and it is astonishing how often applicants ignore it. If narrative carries less weight than evaluation, then evaluation deserves more of your effort than narrative — regardless of which you enjoy writing.

Read it three times, looking for something different each time.

First time: are we even allowed, and is this worth it? You're looking for a reason to stop.

Second time: what do we have to include? Make an actual list. How long can it be, what do we have to attach, where does it go?

Third time: how will they decide? Often they say exactly how they'll score it. That's them telling you where to put your effort.

Once you have the three passes, the outline writes itself: a heading for every required section, in the order the call lists them, using the call's own labels.

Match their vocabulary too. If the call says "target population," write "target population" rather than "the people we serve." This is not a stylistic surrender — a reviewer working through a scoring sheet is looking for specific things, and making them hunt for what you renamed costs you points you actually earned.

Answering out of order is the same problem in a different form. A reviewer scoring section by section should never have to search your document for the answer to the question in front of them.

After three passes the outline writes itself: one heading for every required section, in the order the call lists them, using the call's own words.

Match their vocabulary. If they say "target population," write "target population" rather than "the people we serve." That's not giving up on your voice — a reviewer working down a scoring sheet is hunting for specific things, and making them search for what you renamed costs you points you actually earned.

Answering out of order does the same damage.

Now the outline is easy: one heading for each thing they asked for, in the order they asked for it, using their words.

If they call something a particular name, call it that too. The person reading is going down a list looking for each thing. Don't make them hunt.

Worth picturing, because it changes how you write. A reviewer often has a stack of proposals, a scoring rubric, and limited time. They are frequently volunteers or staff doing this on top of another job. They read the same required sections in every submission, in order, and score each against the same criteria.

Three things follow. Make the answer findable — headings that match the call, and the point in the first sentence rather than the third paragraph. Make it specific, because after twenty proposals every general claim about commitment and passion has blurred into one. And never make them infer something you could have stated: an unanswered criterion scores zero even if the answer was obvious from context.

Picture their day, because it changes how you write. A reviewer has a stack of proposals, a scoring sheet, and not much time. Often they're volunteers doing this on top of a job. They read the same sections in every submission, in order, and score each one against the same list.

So: make answers easy to find, make them specific, and never make someone work out something you could have said. A criterion you didn't answer scores zero even when the answer seems obvious.

Imagine the person reading. They have a big pile to get through and a list to check off. They read the same parts in the same order in every single one.

So make everything easy to find, say the important bit first, and never make them guess. If you don't answer something, they can't give you the points for it — even if the answer seems obvious.