Proposal Land

Better RFP Responses & Management
 
Proposal Land

Term: Punch List

A list of things to check and correct in all proposal sections.

Derived (so I was told) from the tool of the same name used in construction quality control.

What kind of things? Well, the obvious:

  • Spelling (where choices exist)
  • Formats for dates, numbers, measurement units, money
  • Numbering in headings
  • Capitalization
  • Acronym usage
  • Order of reference (e.g. “preventive and corrective maintenance ” and never “corrective and preventive maintenance” – it isn’t that the order matters [usually] it’s just that it reads more professionally if it’s standardized)

The trickier ones are related to facts, not style choices. Check out the Consistency Checklist for things that can, do, and should not vary.

Why Pictures Rock

Are you a visual learner? Many people are. Almost all of us are to some extent, so it’s always worth thinking about how to play to that in a proposal. It’s always worth thinking about whether some information can be explained more clearly or presented more compellingly in a picture of some sort.

That’s it.

But to reinforce the message, take a look at these maps of the world’s watersheds and at the sample, below, for Europe’s river basins. And then think about the words that would be necessary to come close to communicating the same thing.

And besides, it just looks nicer on the page.

Bid Preparedness

I’ve written elsewhere in some anger about how a wealthy, educated country like Canada wasn’t ready for the oft-predicted global pandemic. Lacking preparedness, our governments floundered around, creating relief programs on the fly and putting economically (and humanly) disastrous measures in place to avoid overwhelming a healthcare system not designed or resourced to ramp-up to handle a surge. Good, eh?

This is not that rant.

I’ve written elsewhere more in sorrow than in anger about how  bidders are never ready to answer specific questions about their experience. We don’t have to predict the odds that we’ll be asked these questions: We know we will be. And yet almost every company I’ve seen flounders around until the last minute, trying to choose project examples, get accurate details, find good photos, collect kudos and stories about accomplishments, and create compelling graphics.

This is not that rant, either.

This rant is about how bidders are never ready to answer general questions about their experience: about how they are unprepared to recount their history clearly, consistently, and compellingly. We don’t have to predict the odds that we’ll want this content: We know we will. Even if the RFP doesn’t ask for it, our executives will want it for sure. And yet almost every company I’ve seen flounders around until the last minute when writers try to make pudding out of nothing and editors try to drive out inconsistencies that breed like cockroaches and that are about as appealing:

  • When were we incorporated?
  • Did we get that accreditation in 1992 or 1993? What does its acronymized title actually stand for? (Do *any* two people in the company understand it the same way?)
  • Did we receive that award in 2006 or 2007? What’s the proper name of the award and the association issuing it?
  • Are annual revenues $151 or $152 million?
  • How many line items do we manage in inventory?
  • How many square feet or metres of property do we manage? Could we get it all in one measurement system? Please?
  • How many suppliers do we have? How many are small- and medium-sized businesses?
  • How many employees do we have? What percentage are members of designated groups?
  • What’s the correct name of our training program? Our quality program? Our maintenance method? Our computer system?

And on and on and on.

Details not your thing? On a higher plane, how can we best show our experience in an easy-to-grasp and yet compelling way? In text? (Spoiler alert – Not likely.) A timeline? Another graphic? Well, graphics of any kind take time: Let’s get that done now. Or started, at least. And checked and re-checked and re-re-checked for accuracy by folks who know the experience/history, and for consistency by folks who *do* see the details.

Here’s a flash. The Spring of 2020 was a bad time to start thinking about pandemic preparedness, and the response period is a bad time to start thinking about proposal preparedness.

I note that no one in government has called me for my help lately. Or ever, really. If you’re in the same spot, maybe you’d like to focus some of your attention on how you can be better prepared for your next proposal.

 

It’s Not Complicated, It’s Just Hard

It turns out that, if you ask yourself “Can I keep going?”
rather than “Can I make it to the finish?”
you’re far more likely to answer in the affirmative.

As an endurance athlete, I found that this lengthy but excellent article about the Quarantine Backyard Ultra and its lessons for the pandemic really resonated for me.

Hahaha. No. As a long-time resident of Proposal Land, I found that it really resonated for me. Because the strategy you might follow to finish one proposal is not the same as the one you must follow to survive an endless series of them.

Novice runners monitor their distance;
experienced ones monitor their speed.

I’ve written before about managing team workload and about managing our own efforts. It bears repeating, because driving people into burnout, or driving yourself there, is counter-productive in a work-quality sense as well as unacceptable in a human sense. And because folks don’t seem to get it.

Maybe this approach will resonate for a different set of folks, and for workers and managers alike.

There is no finish line.
At the pace you’re setting
can you still keep going?
At the pace your team is setting
can they keep going?

 

Term: Proposal Speak

The style of language used in a proposal as distinct from that used in plans and other internal documents. Includes use of the future tense, as opposed to the present, to clearly indicate to evaluators the bidder’s intention to provide a product or service in a specified way.

May be used pejoratively to mean fluff as opposed to substance, or even to mean outright lies.