Sunday, 14 March 2010

The Annual Rite of Writing Observing Proposals

So I've been pretty quiet the past few days, and not because I've lost interest! Instead, I've just been horrendously busy with work, trying to write observing proposals for an impending deadline, since alas, I can't just ask my boss if I can point our space telescope at my favourite objects!

The way it works is like this; there's a finite amount of time available per year for observing, once you've taken into account the time allocated to the people who built the instruments, to calibration and things like that. For Chandra, the one with the impending March 18th deadline, the ratio of available time to people who want to use that time is about 1 to 10, so obviously, there has to be some sort of system to allocate the time. Enter the calls for proposals and the time allocation committees.

Every year, major observatories put out a call for proposals; basically an announcement saying that if you want a chance to use the observatory in the next observing year, you need to get your scientific cases in by such and such a date. So you have to decide what you want to observe, why you want to observe it, why its scientifically interesting, is it doable with the observatory and most importantly, why should the time allocation committee give your proposal time over someone else's? All in 4 pages.

Deadline arrives, proposals are submitted (by category) and collated, and time allocation committees are appointed and convened. These committees are other astronomers in the field, with expertise in the category you're proposing. There's an over-arching time allocation committee that has the final cut, but the proposals themselves are discussed in panels, arranged by category, broadly matching the categories that proposals were submitted to. The members of each panel read all the proposals in their panel, review them, and decide within their specific panel which ones they want to give time to. At the end of those deliberations, the panel chairmen go to the time allocation committee and argue it out as to who gets what time. 90% of the proposals are rejected.

This is the cut-throat peer-review basically -- time, and in the case of a lot of US observatories, grant money is at stake. Sure, you're not allowed to be in the room when a proposal you wrote, or your mates wrote is discussed, but there's still a lot riding on being able to write a decent scientific justification in 4 pages (including your pretty pictures), of being able to persuade a panel that you know your stuff, and of them knowing your reputation in the field.

And its to make sure I make that final cut, and get the time and money, that I've been working like a blue-arsed fly the past few days. Admittedly, actually having energy for a change helps a lot, but it has been days of non-stop writing.... I'm a scientist, not a liberal arts major, Jim! ;)

1 comment:

  1. That does not sound like fun! The mound of job application I'm working through is bad enough, but at least I won't (hopefully) have to do that every year.

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