Here’s my embarrassing (and all too true) Fulbright application story . . .
When I was a grad student at Stony Brook University (many moons ago), I wanted to take a year to study in Paris with the cellist Roland Pidoux because I was mad for his chamber music recordings. Even as I’m writing this I’m remembering his opening of the Schubert E–flat piano trio slow movement (starts at 16:29). Yeah, exquisite.
So I worked on the Fulbright application. It has two required essays. You’re asked to cover a specific range of issues to present your project plan and your background in detail. I wrote my essays and thought I’d done a fairly good job of covering all the points.
In school, I’d always done well with writing papers and was actually a bit of a grammar snob. But because this application mattered, I wanted trusted feedback.
So I asked a friend to read my draft. He was a PhD candidate in musicology—a smart, experienced writer—and I valued his opinion. And because (TMI) we were an item at the time, I also assumed he’d be supportive and encouraging.
Boy, was I wrong!
My “friend” calmly told me that my proposal was lousy. Actually, what he said was, “This is shit.”
He said it was unconvincing, that my plan of study wasn’t specific enough, and that I hadn’t detailed my qualifications. He said the writing was unfocused and that no one would fund a project described this way.
Ouch. This was a really harsh wake up call.
Up until that point, I’d never really considered how important writing could be to a musician. I certainly didn’t think that communication skills could affect my career opportunities.
I thought everything rested on your performance skills: the audition, the recordings, and the letters of recommendation.
What I found out was, yes, how you play IS primary. But the other stuff matters, too.
I didn’t get the Fulbright that first time around and was really disappointed. I felt bruised and would never have applied again if it hadn’t been for friends goading me to try again.
So the next year I wrote new essays. I worked my ass off on them.
I detailed what is specific to the French school of string playing and how this would enhance my American training. I detailed the repertoire I planned to work on and listed possible performance venues in Paris where I could give recitals. I described my long-term career goals in concrete terms and how a year of study in Paris would contribute to these. I also included highlights of my credentials—festivals, awards, degrees, and key venues where I’d performed. I wrote draft after draft to hone my message.
And, maybe you guessed it, I got the Fulbright the second time around.
Had my playing drastically improved in the intervening year?
Probably not.
What HAD changed was how I presented myself on paper—through words. I found there’s a huge difference between academic writing and the kind of persuasive writing needed for grant proposals, cover letters, and other promo materials.
Persuasive writing isn’t about being clever or using fancy words. It’s about being clear, focused, and building a compelling call to action.
This is why I work with clients on developing their communication skills—because these can have a huge impact on musicians’ careers.
For me, developing these skills meant I ended up studying in Paris for two years and I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything in the world.
In the process, what I learned about writing set me on the path to doing the work I love most—helping musicians achieve their goals.
If you’re curious about getting help upgrading your grant proposals or other promo materials, find info on working with me—and my contact details—right HERE.
Let’s get your better future going now,
Dream Big, Plan Smart, Live Well!
