In the first of two articles, Adam Micolich sheds some light on why people do, and do not, share their grant applications, and some of the issues with libraries of successful applications.
One of the toughest skills to master as a young researcher is writing successful grant applications. These are the unicorn in the zoo of documents that one must write in research. Mired in myth, with great controversy about their true nature and appearance, they sometimes turn out to be little more than a donkey wearing a party hat, that was mistaken for a unicorn because it was being ridden by a silverback gorilla.
A big impediment for young researchers is that successful grant applications are rarely openly shared. This can make it hard to see enough of them to truly know what it is that makes the good ones good. Being on a grant agency panel is about the only way to see a very large number of proposals – sadly, that role only comes once you’ve had a lot of successful grant applications.
My institution tries to addresses this void by providing a library of successful applications. However, these are only made available internally by people volunteering to do so in the initial administration of their grant. This means that only a small number are available. The library is selective towards authors willing to share and therefore probably somewhat deceptive. I’ve sunk solid days into mining this resource, taking careful notes and looking for patterns. Truth is, there are few gold nuggets to be found.
Many of the proposals are not amazing; the grant has obviously been won on the weight of the lead researcher’s track record. If this is good enough, it seems that all the things that would be fatal in a junior researcher’s proposal are forgiven. You can literally hear the echoes of the selection panel, saying: “But how can we not fund Prof. X? Sure, it’s the same old unintelligible rubbish, but look at that stellar track record!”
That said, among them are some truly great proposals. In some instances, you can’t tell if that is what made the difference, as the track record is also top notch. In others, you can, but there are few emergent rules – what one proposal seems to do well, another proposal doesn’t, and yet both still got funded. It is also hard to gauge how successful it was – whether it was at the top of the pile or right on the line. One could also mine the funding awarded versus the funding requested, since highly ranked grants tend to receive more of their request. But even that is only slightly indicative.
Picking out the ‘hot tips’ so you can make up for not being able to smash the system with your massive h-index and catalog of honours and awards is tough. Often, despite best intentions, a young researcher walks away from such a library with nothing more than confirmation that some can write anything they want, including more or less the same project, round after round, and always get funded. Others have no hope no matter what they write. And there’s a middle ground with few tactics that commonly yield success in a statistically significant way. This perception, while easy to formulate, is not entirely true. After all, young researchers do break into the system. I was fortunate to be one of them.
This is a two-part post. In what follows, I’ll address the first question: What are the anxieties around sharing successful applications as a young researcher? In the next week’s post, I’ll discuss some of the things I’ve learned about writing good proposals.
Why we are reluctant to share
Competition: Life is tenuous and scary as a young researcher. Many are on short-term contracts; others on tenure-track, a promise that is easily thwarted by not being able to demonstrate an ability to bring in cold hard cash. That cash comes from a finite pool with way too many people looking for a slice of the action. The same goes for the papers that help you get that cash – ideas are easily stolen and pounced upon by more established players with larger groups and more resources who can easily scoop you.
Given this, it’s entirely reasonable that when you do manage to find a rare unicorn, you’re loathe to tell anyone else how you found it. After all, someone else’s unicorn means one fewer unicorns in your stable, and that can put you one step closer to the ‘death of your academic dream’. As they say in the airline safety announcements: Be sure to put on your own oxygen mask before helping others. Except here, putting on the oxygen mask is a permanent state of existence.
Impostor Syndrome: The worst part of any grant application is the track record section. It varies from country-to-country, and in Australia it is particularly awful. Obscene levels of hyperbole are sadly the norm; many proposals end up resembling thrice-fried foie gras, dripping with molten fat and grease. If you aren’t one of the insane egomaniacs that inhabit the system, you have to generate something that feels truly dirty to write and even worse to read back afterwards. I don’t endorse it, but I find I can only write these after throwing a few non-wee drams of whisky down the hatch whilst binge-watching Kanye West videos on YouTube. I avoid ever reading them again after submission, and cringe at the thought of how grandiose and ‘up myself’ I must sound to anyone who must bear reading them. “Surely I can’t be that good, right? Someone’s gonna sit back and laugh at this young tall poppy who is way too big for his boots.” This gets exacerbated once a reigning silverback pulls you aside at a conference to semi-menacingly ask you if “you think you’re the next <insert name of their most-hated, notoriously-egomaniacal silverback competitor>”, or you overhear them moaning about you in the corridor (I’ve had both). It’s easy to not want to show this stuff to younger colleagues, simply so they don’t think you’re trying to show off or intimidate.
Expectation panic: For me this is the worst of the lot. The unicorn for a young researcher always features a project that’s ambitious and visionary. And while it’s not to the point of being obviously impossible, it’s essentially still unobtainium. Reading back over old successful grants is a moment of horror: “Oh my God, did I really promise to do that?!”. This is particularly the case in the Australian system, where proposals are full of statements of ‘outcomes’ and ‘milestones’. These imply a promise to successfully complete all you propose within the grant lifetime rather than just making some tangible steps towards a far more visionary goal. Reaching the end of a project and realising you’re only slightly closer to your vision, despite doing some great science, can be both demoralising and embarrassing in this light. The last thing you want would be for people to see what you promised in the moments of grant writing madness and subject you to ridicule for your temerity, or worse, tell everyone you’re just a used car salesperson.
For me, it’s a mix of the last two that make me reluctant to share my successful proposals openly. For others it might be another combination. I still share mine, both within our internal grant library and with junior colleagues who ask me directly, because I think it’s a good thing to do so. But I find it hard to stomach and I can see why others don’t. I wish this would change, and hope that it does. One possibility would be an online archive administered by early- and mid-career researchers for early- and mid-career researchers with restricted access accordingly. A restricted library like this could enable those growing out of the early- and mid-career researcher career stage, like me, to ‘pass lessons’ down to the next generation, in a way that makes the ideas and innovations safe from marauding silverbacks looking to ‘eat the young’. It wouldn’t be perfect, but superior to what we have now.
In my post next week, I return to discuss some of the tricks I’ve learned that help young researchers when starting their stable of unicorns.
Adam Micolich is an Associate Professor in the School of Physics at the University of New South Wales.
He has a long-standing interest in issues affecting early and mid-career researchers, some of which he has written about on his blog “Fear and Loathing in Academia“. He can be found on Twitter at @ad_mico. His ORCID is 0000-0003-2855-3582.
Great article! thanks for sharing-particularly that experience of having to market yourself way outside of your ego’s comfort zone…..:) Look forward to the next installment
Thanks for the article. I am a Research Manager and try to guide applicants much like yourself. We have an internal repository, and I just hope it doesn’t confuse more than clarify… Also, a solid tip. If your Track Record section doesn’t make your skin crawl reading it back you haven’t done it properly. There is no room for modesty!
This is a really important topic to discuss. Thank you! I used to be very generous about sharing mine but then got burned by multiple instances of egregious plagiarism. One time I shared a successful past postdoc application with an ECR and who took whole chunks of my application (eg from the environment and benefits sections) and just changed a couple of words. I only found out because it was sent to me to review! Another time a Professor from a different faculty asked me to send a Word version of my successful Future Fellow application to his junior colleague. When I offered instead for the colleague to come meet with me and talk through a printed copy, he shouted at me that I was obliged to share it. No I’m not and so I never shared it. I am now very careful and reserve the right to read drafts of their application if I do share mine. It’s intellectual property. I would be more generous if I trusted people to be inspired by my application instead of ripping off my wording.
PS i should clarify that I am definitely in favour of sharing because everyone needs as much insight as they can glean from successful applications. But I am personally cautious and I support Research Office protocols to have hard not soft copies available for people to look through in an office. When I give grant writing seminars I also strongly advise applicants to be respectful of intellectual property if they ask to read another colleague’s application. And when I ask to read an application from another colleague, I read it, try to notice what they’ve done well, then put it aside and write my own. So sharing and inspiration should be the collegial norm to aim for. We just have to ensure, in this competitive and at times frantic environment, that people don’t take shortcuts (by using others’ text), which makes everyone less willing to share.
[…] my previous post, “The anxieties of sharing grant applications“, I talked about issues related to accessing successful grant applications that can impede […]
I realize that this is an old thread, but I wonder if you have any advice for me. I was awarded two postdoc fellowships and in the last month have received many requests to share my application materials. At least a few of the requests are from people I’ve never met and other are from colleagues, but not friends necessarily. I also want to be collegial and help people and possibly share my proposal (probably not the other materials), but like post suggests I’m very anxious about it. For me, I think most of my anxiety stem from the fact that I haven’t even begun to start the project (primarily COVID-related delays). I am thinking about requesting that the people asking for the proposal provide me with where they plan to apply and with whom as well as an abstract/summary of their main questions/research ideas. I’m also considering making the proposals as a read-only document in google docs so it cannot be easily shared or downloaded. Does this seem reasonable? Do you suggest another approach? Am I being paranoid?
Congratulations on your Fellowship offers. I think that your application is yours to share. You should be able to share it however you want, with whomever you want. If you aren’t ready to share it yet, then don’t. When you do share it, you might want it to be part of a longer conversation, to build up a connection with the person you are sharing with. As you have suggested, that might start with a bit of information about what they are working on and their intentions.
Whatever you decide, be aware that once you have shared it, you are giving up some of your control over it. It is a trust relationship – the people that you are sharing it with may respect your wishes (but they may not). Share it when you are ready to share.