Fundraising Is Not a Science and an Art. It’s Process and Gut.
I was driving home from a speaking gig yesterday with four hours of windshield time, coffee I shouldn’t have been drinking so late in the day, a podcast on aliens I wasn’t really listening to, and my brain doing the thing it always does on long drives – thinking about what something someone said in the room that I was now obsessing about.
And I wonder why I don’t sleep. (It’s the caffeine…and brain on overdrive. LOL)
I love a good Q&A. And try to add it as a session wherever get invited to because the conversation and ideas that come from a small group of amazing humans being honest and open and vulnerable creates the BEST environment for super cool “ah ha!” moments.
A development director, maybe 3 years into the role, clearly smart, clearly trying her damndest, raised her hand and asked:
“Everyone says fundraising is a science and an art. I’m not a scientist and I’m not an artist. So where does that leave me?”
And the room got quiet. Except for a few folks doing that snapping thing in affirmation I once saw in a movie about jazz, but now pops up in lieu of loud clapping in situations like this.
My response?
“I don’t think fundraising is a science and an art. I think it’s process and gut. And those are two things you already have.”
I’ve been thinking about her the entire drive home. Because she’s not alone. She’s everyone.
So here’s the deal-e-o. I think there’s a problem with the phrase Science & Art.
I’m not saying the people who use this phrase are wrong.
But what “fundraising is a science and an art” actually communicates to the person in the room who’s wearing a million different hats and just trying to survive until December:
Science = you need data, analytics, algorithms, formulas, predictive modeling, wealth screenings, ROI calculations, and a spreadsheet so complex it requires its own IT support.
Translation for the solo-shop ED: “I need a degree I don’t have and a budget I can’t afford.”
Art = you need to be a master storyteller, a brand visionary, a compelling writer, an emotional architect who can make donors weep with perfectly crafted narratives that would make George R.R. Martin jealous if he ever decided to finish A Song of Fire and Ice.
Translation for the accidental fundraiser: “I need a talent I wasn’t born with.”
Science and art sounds elevated and impressive and like something you need an MFA and a statistics minor to pull off.
And that, to me, is a gigantic problem. Because it creates a barrier between the people teaching fundraising and the people DOING fundraising.
Oh, the ivory tower speaks in equations and brush strokes. The boots on the ground speak in phone calls and coffee meetings.
And the boots on the ground are the ones actually raising the money.
So, let’s rephrase all the things, shall we?
Fundraising is process and gut.
Let me explain.
Process: The Boring Stuff That Makes Everything Work
Process is not science. Science implies discovery, experimentation, hypothesis testing, lab coats, and a level of complexity that makes normal humans feel inadequate.
Process is simpler than that. Process is:
Doing the same things, in the same order, on the same schedule, every week.
Building a system and following it even when you don’t feel like it.
Making the thank you calls on Friday because Friday is call day to say “thank you” not because the data told you to.
Sending the note of gratitude within 48 hours of receiving a gift because that’s the process, not because an algorithm optimized the timing.
Sorting your donors into buckets because the buckets give you a framework, not because you ran a regression analysis.
Updating your database on Wednesday because Wednesdays are for documenting, not because your CRM sent you a dashboard alert.
Process is boring and repetitive.
Process is the crockpot set to low while everyone else is microwaving their fundraising and wondering why it tastes burnt.
Process doesn’t require a degree.
In fact, there is nothing offered in any all of higher learning that gets you a Bachelors of Art in Silent Auction Gathering.
Process just requires discipline. And discipline is totally free.
It’s also not very sexy.
Which is why nobody puts “develop a repeatable process” on a conference slide when they could put “the science of donor engagement” instead.
The organizations I’ve worked with that are thriving right now aren’t the ones with the best data. They’re the ones with the best process. The ones who show up every week and do the boring thing consistently.
That’s not science. That’s showing up. And showing up is the only variable that matters.
Gut: The Human Radar That No Algorithm Can Replace
Gut is not art. Art implies talent, inspiration, creative genius, a divine spark that some people have and others don’t.
Gut is simpler than that. Gut is:
Sitting across from a donor and knowing and feeling and hearing whether they’re leaning in or pulling back.
Hearing the pause in someone’s voice when you mention a specific program and thinking “that’s the one. That’s what they care about.”
Reading the room at an event and sensing that the energy is right for the ask…or, harder yet? Reading that it’s not.
Knowing when to push and when to pull back, or when to ask, or when to wait or when to talk or, sometimes, when to shut up.
Trusting the voice in your chest that says “this person is ready” even though no data point on your screen confirms it.
That’s not art. That’s active listening and paying attention.
Or, another way to think about it? That’s just being a human in a room with another human and trusting what your body is telling you about the conversation.
Every good fundraiser I’ve ever met has a natural gut instinct. Not because they were born with some special gift on the spectrum. It’s because they’ve had thousands of conversations and their nervous system has learned to read the signals.
Hell. Watch the movie Rounders. That might be the best movie to explain all of this. The slight lean forward or the change in breathing or the eyes that light up when you mention the scholarship program versus the eyes that glaze over when you mention the capital campaign.
No algorithm sees that, and sure as hell no wealth screening report captures it.
No CRM dashboard measures it.
But it’s the most valuable fundraising instrument in the room. And every single person reading this has it.
You just might not be trusting it yet.
That’s not science. That’s field intelligence. And field intelligence beats ivory tower theory every single time. Because the field is where the money actually moves.
OK. I’m gonna quote myself from my own book to prove this point. Directly ripped from Chapter 6 of Fundraise Awesomer:
“One of the best parts about donor relationship building, is the adventure of confirming your gut instinct about a person. The most humbling part of that adventure is when you follow bad information without trusting that intuition in your gut and end up making the wrong ask.
I arrived in California with all the enthusiasm and excitement of a first time traveler, and with not one speck of grizzled fundraising vet shrouded over me.
Our board chair learned of a donor to our organization through another campaign vetting he was working on.
Potential high capacity? Check.
Swinging bachelor? Check.
Current donor? Check.
Closing in on the century mark in age? Double Check.
Perfect for a lead gift to a capital campaign. It was decided that we needed to see him, talk about our project and close a capital campaign gift.
The problem was, none of my interactions, conversations, correspondence or giving history indicated anything of the sort.
The information I had was just an old guy donating annuities in order to supplement his income with a moderate inheritance he split with a relative.
But when a board chair says jump, we development directors typically ask what gaping abyss they want us to plummet into, and do it.
The 4.5 hour drive from the airport to the donor’s home where I set up a coffee meeting was mostly a blur. Now, the less tedious travel would be to fly into the airport only 25 minutes away. But that flight cost $150 more. And because we were a “nonprofit,” that meant having to rent a car, pay for gas, and spend 9 hours of company time jamming out to early ‘90’s boy band jams on the free satellite radio. Of course this cost total cost of this became exponentially more expensive than just buying a plane ticket closer to the damn donor. You know how it is.
I was really excited to meet up with this donor, however. We had chatted over the years, and I always had delightful conversations that involved old-school stories about his hometown, fondness for flyover country and how he ended up on the West Coast. Also, making asks of this magnitude was always an adventure.
We met at his house, where I complimented him on his décor that hadn’t changed since he build the house in 1952. We talked about weather, the changing demographics of his community, about wine and, of course, our organization.
When it came time to muster my inner nonprofit version of Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross, I still had this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Nothing indicated that this awesome gentleman had any means other than the meager donations he had been dedicated to giving to us for the past 15 years, but the thought of flying out all this way to not make an ask was even more gut wrenching.
I pulled out a folder for our new building proposal, talked about impact and used all the fun buzzwords I had practiced on my epic journey in a car by myself, and blurted out an ask for $500,000.
And without skipping a beat, this kindly old man who had been such a great supporter of our organization, leaned back in his chair, gave a warm chuckle and said, “Son, you must have me confused with someone else. But since you came all this way, here’s a little something to get that project going.”
….and handed me a check for $2,000.
Enough to pay for my trip out and back … including an extra stop at a bar for a drink that he clearly knew I needed after that debacle.
Turns out, the person in his family who DID have the capacity for a half a million dollar gift was his brother – with a similar name, in the same town, down the street.
I know this, because he gave that gift to another project, at another organization, across the state a few months later.
As boring as it might be, and as time consuming as it is, proper and full documentation about your supporters is critical to avoid the pitfalls of mistaken identities, missed meaningful opportunities, and fun facts that could help steer a conversation to a massive gift.
Document. And trust the information (along with your gut!) that makes you a killer fundraiser. You’ll save yourself a bit of humble pie because of it.”
You know what would have saved my headache and heartache? Human intelligence. And following my gut that said this was probably not a “go.”
Alas….no money. But a great story to tell others on how to avoid tasting humble pie.
HA!
You can’t control when donors give. You can’t control how much they give. You can’t control the economy, the political landscape, or the mood of the country.
You know what you CAN control?
Whether you picked up the phone today.
Whether you sent the thank-you note this week.
Whether you had the coffee meeting this month.
Whether you listened…like, REALLY listened to what the donor said and didn’t say.
Whether you showed up. Again. Consistently. Regardless of results.
That’s process. And the gut tells you what to do with it.
The phone call is process. The conversation during the phone call is gut.
The thank-you note is process. What you write in the note - based on what you know about THEM - is gut.
The coffee meeting is process. Reading the moment when the donor leans forward and says “tell me more about that” and knowing THAT is when you frame the invitation - that’s gut.
Process creates the opportunity.
Gut seizes it.
Put that on an Instagram photo of a sunset or a parent holding a child, or some click-baitable thing dammit.
You don’t need a PhD in donor analytics to do that. You don’t need to be Tolkien. You need a system, a phone, and the willingness to pay attention to humans.
Aaaaaand, scene.
Permission to Stop Feeling Inadequate
Now, really quickly, I want to talk directly to the development director who asked that question in the room today.
And to every accidental fundraiser, every solo-shop ED, every first-time development director who has ever sat in a conference session and heard “fundraising is a science and an art” and quietly thought: “I’m neither of those things. Am I even qualified to be here?”
Yes. You are.
You’re qualified because you show up. You’re qualified because you care about the mission more than anyone else. You’re qualified because you’ve had more donor conversations in the last month than your predecessors. You’re qualified because your gut has been trained by thousands of interactions, even if you didn’t realize it was being trained.
Process and gut. That’s all it’s ever been. The ivory tower folks just made it sound harder than it is because “show up and pay attention” doesn’t fill a 300-page textbook.
But it raises a hell of a lot of money.
OK! Your turn!
Tell me:
When’s the last time your gut told you something about a donor that no data could have? What did you feel, and what did you do about it?
I want the stories where you KNEW - in your bones, not on your spreadsheet - that a donor was ready, or that something was off, or that a conversation needed to go a different direction. And you trusted it. And it worked.
Because those stories are the proof that the ivory tower can’t manufacture.
Send me your answer: patrick@dogoodbetterconsulting.com
And if you want help building the process AND sharpening the gut - the weekly frameworks, the stewardship systems, the Donor Rule questions, and a community of fundraisers who are learning to trust what they already know - that’s Do Good YOUniversity. No ivory tower. Just boots on the ground. www.DoGoodYOUniversity.com
Together, we’ve freaking got this.
-Patrick
P.S. To the development director who asked that question today: I hope you’re reading this. You are not inadequate. You are not underqualified. You are a badass fundraiser. Not because you have a degree in it, but because you show up, you care, and you pay attention. That makes you more qualified than half the people writing textbooks about what you do every day.
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