To write successful scientific grant proposals, I had to learn to take risks

From ScienceMag:

The Slack message caught me by surprise. It came from my Ph.D. adviser as I was sitting in the lab trying to make progress on my latest experiment. He wanted to know whether I would be interested in applying for a fellowship from the U.S. National Institutes of Health (NIH). “Do you really believe I would be a competitive applicant?” I replied in disbelief. Two years earlier, I had written a mock proposal for the very same award—a requirement for passing my department’s Ph.D. qualifying exam. And I had failed miserably. The experience left me feeling I was not cut out for academia. I didn’t want to waste my time writing another mediocre research proposal. But I knew my adviser had my best interests at heart, so I decided to give it a shot and apply.

Before my qualifying exam, I had never written a full, detailed research proposal. I had been working for a year on projects my adviser had received funding for. But for my mock proposal, he wanted me to take the lead in conceptualizing a brand-new project. The process felt frustrating and confusing, like trying to figure out how the pieces of a complex puzzle should fit together. To make matters worse, I was haunted by cautionary tales from more senior graduate students, who recalled faculty members tearing apart their proposals.

I focused on creating a bulletproof plan, with experiments that were all but guaranteed to work. The result was a proposal that was feasible scientifically, but that didn’t take any great risks. That didn’t go over well with the faculty members who reviewed it. I vividly remember logging in to view my exam scores and seeing the devastating result: fail.

The next day I sat in my adviser’s office trying to remain stoic as we went over the stinging comments, which noted my proposal lacked innovation. I had always heard a Ph.D. was about learning how to generate important new knowledge. I was not making a promising start.

I revised my proposal to make the case that my project broke new ground—and on my second try, I squeaked by. I was relieved not to be tossed out of my program. But I felt defeated. I sheepishly thanked people when they congratulated me, still embarrassed that I had only passed by one measly point. The reviewers’ comments stung this time around, too: It was clear I still hadn’t convinced them my ideas were novel and interesting.

I wanted to write something more daring and create a project I would be proud to present.

• Allison Boboltz
• University of Maryland

In the years that followed, I focused on working through the experiments I had proposed. I mastered lab techniques and challenged myself to learn new skills. I problem solved when experiments went awry. I felt the intoxicating thrill of discovery. And I gained practice submitting applications for several small grants, one of which I received funding for. Bit by bit, my confidence grew.

So, when my adviser convinced me to apply for the NIH fellowship, I was determined not to play it safe this time. I didn’t want to write a proposal tailored to avoiding criticism. I wanted to write something more daring and create a project I would be proud to present on the day of my thesis defense.

When I began writing, the harsh criticisms I received during my qualifying exam echoed in my head, threatening to drag me into a whirlpool of self-doubt. But I did my best to disregard them. And eventually, I landed on a plan that built off the work I’d already done but used fresh ideas. Regardless of whether my hypothesis proved to be correct, I felt that my project would push the frontiers of my field.

Still, I expected the worst as I submitted my application. Five months later, I braced myself for heartbreak once again as I fumbled to log in to view my scores. But this time, the result was different: I had earned a fellowship.

I can’t claim to have mastered the art of writing an NIH proposal. But the award showed me how far I had progressed since my qualifying exam. It also underscored that I need to let go of worrying about creating a scientifically infallible proposal. Avoiding negative reviewer comments shouldn’t be the sole aim. Exciting projects, with big, bold ideas, are the ones that will both move our science forward and capture the curiosity of fellow scientists.

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