But, Really, You Should Start Next Year’s Application Today. Right Now. And This Is Why.
I submitted my Arts Council Arts Grant application yesterday.
I am writing this, completely sleep deprived, because writing that submission took it out of me, and though I got a full eight hours’ sleep last night, it wasn’t near enough to recover. So sit up. I am here to tell you something important.
If today is the deadline and you have not started yet, I am so sorry. Genuinely. Light a candle, pour something strong, and bookmark this post for next year. Or, maybe read it, and start preparing. Because with Arts Grant applications, as I have learnt, the earlier you start, the better.
If you are reading this on any other day, in any other month, in any other year, then you have time. And you need to use it.
Because I just spent the best part of two weeks doing something that should, theoretically, have taken three days. And I have thoughts.
This post is about the Arts Council Grant in Ireland, so it will be different if you’re applying to another grant. But do follow along, even if it’s just to have a bit of a laugh, from my painful lessons learnt!
**The Arts Council application does not care that you are a writer. Or have a day job. It cares that you are organised, financially literate, and have read the guidelines. And like drop-down boxes.**
What the Arts Council Arts Grant Actually Is
The Arts Council of Ireland offers several funding streams for artists. The Arts Grant is one of them, aimed at individual artists who want to develop their practice over one or two years.
It is generous. It is competitive. In some categories, last year, there was a 70% success rate. And so, yes, it is absolutely worth applying for.
It is also, and I say this with the deepest respect, a significant undertaking. And oh, how I wish I’d known. So, here I am, telling you.
We are not talking about ‘filling in a form’. Yeah, that’s what I thought. And we are also not talking about a form and some writing samples. No, you also need – and honestly, a huge number of us creatives have THE FEAR when it comes to this: a knowledge of spreadsheets. Budgets. Financials. The wherewithall to fill out said spreadsheets, row by row and cell by cell, in a way that it makes sense.
And also, we are talking about:
A detailed application form with multiple sections, word limits, and dropdowns. Dropdowns. Yes, they’re planning like it’s 1992. And have you ever tried to squeeze a full project description into, wait for it: 50 words? Yeah, me neither. But squeeze we must.
It also has – if you’re going for the 2-year option, like I did. I’m crazy that way, didn’t realise this would instantly DOUBLE the workload:
A two year activity plan with up to 20 activities per year. And here’s where it gets mental:
An individual budget for every single activity
An Arts Activity Report template. And it is not, as its abbreviation would suggest, AART.
A public engagement plan
An audience plan
A dissemination plan (the what now?)
Biographies of every key person in your proposal
Evidence of support from every partner you mention
Writing samples
And a file naming convention that will make you question your entire relationship with computers
All of this before 5.30pm on the deadline date. Which is today,
**I’m doing a Masters in Creative Writing. I have worked at Microsoft, AT&T and AOL. I – reluctantly – did budgeting in some fancy roles I had. I felt I needed all of this.**
Starting Early Is Not a Suggestion. It Is Like Your Mammy Standing Over You With A Wooden Spoon. Do It. Now.
So, the first thing you need to know is that you need something called an ARN. And fortunately, I had read that part of the guidelines. Though I cannot retain what it stands for, but I will go back on my notes for you. But you should know, in this day and age of AI and phenomenally fast computer things… it’s not like it’s instant. No, no, no. It’s not like: Oh, here I go and register, and five seconds later Ping, there’s an email in your inbox and you’re off on a hack. Don’t. Be. Daft.
Your ARN takes up to five working days to arrive. It doesn’t take one. Mine took three.
Your ARN is your Artist Registration Number. You cannot apply without it. You cannot even access the application form without it. If you are not already registered with the Arts Council Online Services portal, and you leave it until the week of the deadline, you will watch the deadline pass from the outside, ARN-less and bereft.
Register today. Right now. Before you finish reading this.
DO IT. NOW!
In fact, it would have been a lot quicker had I handwritten my details, and stuck them in a Christmas card. And gone down to the post office, bought a stamp, licked the stamp, sealed the envelope and stuck it in the post. Like, snail mail. Yup, An Post is quicker than the Arts Council computer system. Who would have thunk.
Before I started the application, I thought, well, I’m the writer, it’s just little old me, trundling along. Well, dear citizens. That is an emphatic No. Because…
Your key people need to be confirmed. Not just a figment of your imagination.
Key people? Erm, what now? Are we in politics? I thought it was just me, and my typewriter. I mean, laptop.
Well, schnuckles, it’s like this: The application will ask you to list partners, collaborators and supporters. It asks whether each one is confirmed or proposed. No, we’re not talking wedding bells here. Confirmed means they have actually said yes. Ideally, in writing. Which means you need to have contacted them. Which means you need to know who they are. Which means you need their details. And craft a message that will be convincing enough. Which means you need time. Oh, and did I tell you that you need to screenshot that shit, too? Yurp. As I said, it’s like a full time job. For DAYS!
If you start three days before the deadline, your historian, your illustrator, your librarian and your community partner are all going to get a slightly unhinged message asking them to confirm their involvement in something you cannot fully explain yet because you are also simultaneously trying to understand what an AAR number is. AAAARRDVARK!
Do not do this to yourself. Or to them. The stress levels. The whiskey consumption. It really isn’t pretty.
The individual activity budgets will take longer than you think.
So, there I was, thinking Ah sure, I have so many ideas. I will write them ALL down. ALL of them. Fill ALL of the 20 slots I have, to document my ‘activities’.
Did I realise I had shot myself in the foot? Not at that point. So off I went, merrily filling out the very, VERY extensive, very convoluted application form.
Oh and hark, I could do a whole other post on the application form itself (note: this was just one of 15 documents! And the application form took roughly a full 72 hours, I actually am not joking this time). There are grey fields you must not write outside of. There are word limits, but really, they are not accurate, because there are also character limits.
But writers, if you’ve written short stories, you’re sort of in training for this, because every word matters. If you’ve written flash, all the better. Short, succinct, pointed. But if you’re a haiku expert, you’re at the races altogether. Because 5-7-5 seems to be the magic formula that a 50-word field just about accepts.
Oh, and I did mention, that field is where you give an overview of your ENTIRE project? In 17 words (not pages, I didn’t say pages!). OK, it’s sort of 50. But you try writing about your dreams, aspirations, and why you really want this funding, in 50 words, or less, if you use long words.
Do You Remember How Your Parent(s)/Guardians/Helpful Bosses Told You to Be Ambitious? Yeah, Don’t Be That.
I had decided that 39 activities across two years was a good idea. Now, by activities, I mean documenting a key task for your proposal. Then, in 100 words, you describe what this particular activity is all about. And believe me, 100 words is nuttin. Nada, once this little writer gets going. But 100 words is all you get. Usually less, because, as I said, characters. Characters matter in this little thing more than you think, by the way.
So, anyway. There was a maximum of 20 activities in each, so 40 in total. Each activity gets one line in a table. So far so häh.
I was showing my restraint, rather cleverly, I thought, opting for one less. 39 in stead of 40 for year 2. That girl, she knows what she’s doing, they would think. She has an exact plan.
Oh, but ha. My 39 little activity lines seemed like a great idea. Until I realised (two days before the deadline): That meant 39 individual budget templates. This, my dear writer friends who, if you are like me, are not accountants: This almost broke me.
First I thought Holy Fuck. 39 individual spreadsheets. And that was AFTER doing the AAR, which I will come to, shortly. Yes, it’s an abbreviation you will dream about. Because that one is THE spreadsheet, LE budget, in which you list EVERYTHING you are planning to do, and how much it will cost. Fun.
So yes, that’s a different ball game. When I had done the AAR, I poured myself a cup of tea, lit a cigarette, because I am a French existentialist that way, and congratulated myself on the laurels that must surely ensue.
And then I scrolled down. And realised. Each of the fucking 39 activities required their own fucking spreadsheet. Now, I decided, 39 spreadsheets is too much, even for this writer who has worked in the corporate world (and ALWAYS HATED SPREADSHEETS). So I decided: 1 file, 39 worksheets. Which still meant a very convoluted sort of ugly mess. Each activity required its own tab, its own individual worksheet, with the heading EXACTLY as it was on the application form. It needed its own line items, its own totals, cross-referenced against a separate spreadsheet (the AAAARGHH) that also needed to balance.
I almost cried. In fact, I ugly sobbed. I shouted ‘No’ at Harry, my computer. It was not his fault. I smoked another cigarette. But the application form was unyielding. It still demanded the spreadsheets.
What To Do Right Now, Today, Even If the Deadline Has Passed
1. Register on the Arts Council Online Services portal Go to artscouncil.ie, find Online Services, register. Do it today. Your ARN will arrive within five working days. Bank it. Somewhere safe. And not the ‘safe’ where you put your passwords, and money, and you never find them again. You will need it next year.
2. Download the guidelines for the fund you want to apply for Read them. All of them. Even the bits that look like terms and conditions. Especially those bits. Aaan, the file naming conventions. Break yourself in gently. As you will need this, a lot.
3. Start your activity list What do you want to do with the money? Write it down. Not in application language. Just in your own words. You have time to polish it later. You do not have time to invent it from scratch at 11pm the night before.
4. Identify your people Who is a key person for this project? Yes, you are the first on. And yes, you are allowed to allow a salary for yourself. Your illustrator? A creative collaborator? Your community partner? A media person? Highly recommend to have that. Your venue? Start those conversations now. A warm confirmation in six months is worth infinitely more than a panicked WhatsApp at 4pm on deadline day.
5. Build your audience Oh, yes, while I’m at it – I should work for Substack at this point, affiliate links, anyone? Yes, this is crucial, and you have time, for next year. Use this platform – and I tried all the others. I went six weeks, all in, on Instagram, TikTok (yes, TikTok), Facebook and YouTube. None, and I mean none of them did for me what Substack did. It’s your audience, you will find your people. It’s like this big cosy salon in Paris where writers and artists hang out and have strong coffee and stronger opinions and I love it here. And, write what you write, do what you do, convert your followers (invisible) to subscribers (visible) – and use this year to build an audience. Because when next year rolls around, and you are facing down the barrel of an ARN, you can say: At least I have an audience.
6.Open a folder on your desktop and call it Arts Grant 2028 Put everything in it. Every note, every draft, every email confirmation. You will thank yourself later.
***Coming Up in This Series
I write about this, and other things, including the novel series I’m building, over on my Substack:
https://wordmattersglobal.substack.com/
Head on over and hit subscribe if you’d like to follow along. My posts are free, and there’s a paid tier for ‘Inside the Hut’, the novel I’m writing.
Over the next two weeks I am going to walk you through everything I learned, the hard way, so that you do not have to.
Coming up:
20 things I wish someone had told me before I started the application
A day by day diary of the process, including the spreadsheet that nearly broke me
A plain English guide to the different Arts Council grants and how to choose the right one
Did you know facts that will make you grateful you are reading this now rather than discovering them at midnight
Why the people in your application matter more than you think
This is not official Arts Council guidance. I am a writer who just survived the process and felt it was my civic duty to report back. Always read the actual guidelines. But also, read this series first.
Have you applied for Arts Council funding before? Are you thinking about it? Tell me in the comments. And if you know a writer who needs to see this, please share it. You might just save their deadline.
