Discovering Gratitude Through Grant Writing
On perseverance, perspective, and the unexpected gift that came right before Thanksgiving.
A major challenge that comes with being an independent theater producer is figuring out how to fund projects. Before a single ticket can be sold, the show has to exist—and creating that show costs money long before opening night.
To make it happen, funding must be secured to pay artistic collaborators, rent rehearsal space, put down a performance venue deposit, and cover production costs such as scenery, props, and costumes. One common way artists like myself secure this upfront capital is through grants, which generally come from government agencies—federal, state, or local—or private foundations with specific missions and funding priorities. Identifying and understanding these sources is one thing; navigating the application process itself—where the real work and stress begin—is another.
I’ve written more grant applications than I care to count, but without grant funding, I wouldn’t have achieved anything. Over the holiday weekend, I took time to reflect on what I’ve learned from both successes and failures—and to reaffirm that the pursuit is worthwhile.
The Art of Staying in the Fight
Writing grant applications is not fun. There’s a lot of stress involved. While I’m writing, I’m aware that if the panel reviewing my application doesn’t fund the project, the production is in jeopardy: if there’s no funding, there’s no show. It’s that simple.
Grants for arts projects are competitive. Many artists apply, but only a limited number are funded, which means some projects will inevitably be left in the cold.
One of the first grants I wrote was turned down in 2020. That funding would have made the difference between a full production and a bare-bones version. I asked the funder for feedback to learn why my project hadn’t been funded and how I could strengthen my next application. A program manager explained that the panel scored all applications on a scale of 1 to 10, funding any project with a 6 or above. When I asked what my score was, he told me: 5.5.
I was beside myself—missing funding by half a point felt brutal. In that moment, I wondered if I was foolish to think I could secure a grant at all. But the program manager assured me my proposal was strong for a first-time applicant. He encouraged me to produce the show with the limited resources I had, get excellent production photos and video documentation, and apply again. I did just that.
Two years later, I received the grant for another project.
The Work Behind the Work
Grant writing is maddeningly time-consuming: it demands compelling storytelling, detailed budgeting, and vivid documentation—all within a single application containing several sections.
The first is typically a Narrative, in which you explain the who, what, where, when, why, and how of your project. You have to articulate your mission, why the work matters, and how it stands out from the many other proposals competing for the same pot of money.
Suffice it to say, writing this narrative is meticulous work—so meticulous that most large arts institutions hire full-time grant writers. Once, I visited an institution to pick up supplies for a school workshop and chatted with their in-house grant writer. When I mentioned I write all my own grants, she looked shocked:
“None of the artists who perform here write their own,” she said. “I interview them and transcribe what they say into the application.”
When you’re an independent artist, there’s no money to hire someone like her—you write the grants yourself, or the project doesn’t happen.
After the narrative comes the Budget, which outlines how much funding you’ve already secured, projected box office revenue, anticipated donations, and what the project will cost in total.
Because budgets are primarily numbers, most applications also require Budget Notes that explain the rationale behind each figure—why you believe you’ll sell that many tickets, how you arrived at your production costs, and explanations for any changes in amounts in different fiscal years. The goal with these notes is to ensure that no panelist rejects the application because they think something is awry. You have to put yourself in the shoes of an imagined panelist and think: “Have I explained everything so clearly that nobody will have questions? Because I won’t be there to explain.”
Then comes the Work Samples—for me, production photos and documentary video. Because the number of samples is limited, you have to be strategic in what you show. And yes, you must also write a Work Sample Narrative explaining how these materials relate to the new project and what aspects you want the panel to notice.
Funders also want to see that you are growing artistically, so you must articulate how this new work moves you forward. If you’ve seen Sunday in the Park with George, you’ll remember the Act II installation “Chromolume #7.” As the title suggests, George is repeating himself—a trap many artists fear. While I agree artists should evolve, it’s difficult to articulate that evolution when so much growth happens through the work itself, which I won’t be doing without the funding I’m requesting.
If my main passion was writing, generating these documents would be heaven. But I don’t consider myself a capital “W” writer, so I push through long, lonesome nights trying to craft language compelling enough to convince panelists that my project deserves support. It’s worrisome work, because if my writing isn’t clear and persuasive, the project won’t advance to an award.
Still, as Wayne Gretzky said, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” So I keep applying, knowing that once I click “submit,” the decision is out of my hands. All I can do is hope for the best and move on to the next opportunity.
Since 2020, I’ve had good results: all three adaptations I’ve directed and produced have received some grant funding; there’s every reason to be hopeful about the future.
The Unexpected Gift
I recently told someone unfamiliar with grant writing that I was applying for a grant I’ve been turned down for four times. He didn’t understand why I was bothering again. While I understand why he’d question my Sisyphean persistence, I explained that each year’s grant panel is made up of new people. A staff member from the organization once told me that some projects are funded one year and not funded the next, depending on who’s reviewing. So yes, it’s entirely reasonable to believe this could be my year.
I also explained that even if I don’t get the grant, the process of writing the application gave me an unexpected gift: gratitude.
This particular grant wasn’t for a specific project, but for KEVIN RAY | WORKS as an entity. Because of that, I had to write about my project as an emerging arts institution—one coming into focus as I build it, production by production.
When I wrote my first grant in 2020, I had no production photos or videos to show. In the past five years, I’ve self-produced and directed three adaptations of under-acknowledged literature—and now my computer is overflowing with Work Samples.
As I wrote the application, I noticed other areas of growth. My first show ran for four performances; my most recent ran for eleven. The first wasn’t reviewed; the next two received critical accolades. In 2021, during the run of UNEARTHLY VISITANTS, I scheduled a post-performance talk-back—no one stayed. In 2024, following a matinee of WE, the entire cast sat onstage for a vibrant talk-back intended for a youth group, and other patrons stayed too.
But most importantly, writing these grants gave me the opportunity to reflect on the joy and fulfillment these shows have brought into my life. Working with generous, committed, talented actors and designers to create original theater that didn’t exist before we stepped into a rehearsal room together has been among the best moments of my life.
And I believe the work has meant something to my collaborators as well. On opening night of WE, I received a letter from an ensemble member that read:
“Acting this year has been a life saver for me. I don’t know what I’d do without this outlet. Being a part of WE has allowed me to explore the medium in ways I didn’t know existed, specifically the power of ensemble building…. Thanks for always making me laugh. I admire the contagious joy you bring. A consistent reminder of why we’re doing what we do. It comes from a place of love.”
Very few people acquire monetary wealth making art, but receiving a letter like this made me feel rich in purpose.
Which brings me to some good news—right before the Thanksgiving holiday, I learned that I received a grant for another adaptation of an under-acknowledged novel. This grant was from the same funder I mentioned earlier. Although I received funding from them in 2023, I wondered if that successful application was a fluke. After all, I did miss the cut-off by .5 points in 2020. But just in time for the holidays, I was notified that my hard work has literally paid off, giving me a solid foundation to begin putting together a fuller budget to fund my next piece.
I’m not ready to announce much about the project yet, as I’m just beginning to contact collaborators and “get the band back together.” But I will say that after working in gothic literature, science fiction, and dystopia, I’m excited to step into a new genre—something magical and mischievous on the surface, with a quiet thread of menace running underneath.
I’ll keep you posted as the project takes shape.
Independent theater provides opportunities for artists like myself to bring unique and groundbreaking work to life, offering a stage for voices that might otherwise remain unheard. By championing independent theater, you can nurture a vibrant ecosystem where creativity thrives and varied perspectives enrich the performing arts.
Woo Hoooo! CONGRATS Kevin!! I'm not surprised at all... Your hard work, perseverance, and beautiful past productions were bound to bring in a new grant-funded adventure. I'm super duper happy and excited for you!
Congratulations. Have tremendous fun with the new project direction.