MOLI VIEW™

In the dark, pre-digital age, applying for a grant often meant racing to the post office before closing time on deadline day, hoping to score that precious postmark that let your project qualify.
I heard rumors that there was a special post office near the airport in my town that didn't close until midnight, but I think that's an urban myth, because the only people I know who claim they went looking for the office never found it. For me, at least, it never came to that.


Anyway, those days are gone. I can't remember the last time I submitted a grant application on paper. While they eliminate waste, to say nothing of a mad and last-minute dash through traffic, online applications introduce a whole new harrowing set of emotions.
Forget about persuading a security guard to slip the app under the door; when the online grants are closed, they're closed up tight. Those friendly text boxes that beckoned you for weeks, waiting for your project narrative or budget, freeze you out after deadline — or simply disappear, like they were never there at all.


Then there is the possibility that, just as you've miraculously gathered the last bit of required information, your server goes down. Such was the case for a recent competition held by the Soros Foundation's Open Society Institute, where eventually, after the virtual equivalent of battering the door, my application was accepted (alas, only to be considered and rejected).


Or maybe you thought you submitted it — you know you clicked "submit" — but when you check back, your info just isn't there. This is the fear I have for a grant I recently submitted (I know I did) to the Knight Foundation's 21st Century News Challenge. I received an email confirming my submission, but I still freaked out a bit when I logged into the application form again to remind myself what I'd written, and what came up was all blank! The info's just been moved along, right? (That's what I get for turning it in ahead of time.)

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