The Case for Support: Drafting a Campaign Statement Without Losing Your Voice
A case for support is the one document a campaign cannot fake its way through. Every brochure, every leadership brief, every conversation over coffee with a lead prospect draws from it, so a weak case does not stay in one place, it spreads. AI can genuinely help you write a strong one, but only if you use it in a particular way. Used casually, it produces a document that sounds exactly like every other document written that month, and donors have started to notice.

Ask ten development professionals what a case for support is and you will get answers that overlap but do not match. A glossy brochure. An internal document nobody outside the office reads. The thing a consultant delivers halfway through a campaign, which everyone praises before returning to the old talking points. The case for support is the least standardized document in fundraising, and that ambiguity is why so many organizations produce one that does nothing.
The useful definition is narrow. A case for support is the full argument for why someone should give money to this organization, for this purpose, in this amount, right now. It is an argument, not a description, which means it can be evaluated the way arguments are. Does each claim follow from the one before it. Is the evidence real. Would a skeptical reader be moved, or would they nod politely and change the subject.
AI has changed the economics. Drafting a case has traditionally meant hiring a consultant, which many organizations cannot afford, or assigning it to a development director who produces it in stolen hours over three months. A model collapses the mechanical part: it can read your strategic plan, three years of appeals, your program data, and a stack of interview transcripts and return a structured draft in an afternoon. It has also created a failure mode that did not exist five years ago. Fundraising copy is now produced at scale by models trained on the same corpus, prompted in similar ways, and lightly edited by busy people, and the result reads as interchangeable. The moment a reader recognizes the pattern, your document stops being yours and becomes a sample of a genre.
This article is about the document, not campaign mechanics. If you are working through structure, sequencing, and leadership, our guide to planning and running a capital campaign with AI support covers that. Here we stay on the page: what a case is and how it differs from its cousins, the internal and external versions and what derives from them, the elements that persuade, why most cases fail, a drafting workflow that starts from raw material, the techniques that preserve your voice, the tells that expose an unedited draft, how to test the result, how to handle the stories of the people you serve, and how to keep the case current.
What a Case for Support Is, and What It Keeps Getting Confused With
Set the case beside the three documents people mistake it for. A grant proposal is written to a specification: the funder names what it funds, how long the narrative may run, and what to answer in what order, and the reader is a professional evaluator scoring you against criteria. A case has no specification and no scorer. It addresses a person who owes you nothing and may put it down at any moment. The posture is inverted, which is why staff fluent in grant writing often produce cases that read like institutional submissions: competent, complete, and unmoving.
An annual appeal is a short emotional prompt to act now, built on one story and one ask, written to be skimmed in ninety seconds by someone who already knows you. A case builds the foundation an appeal later draws on in miniature, so your appeals should be derivable from your case and never the reverse. A mission statement, meanwhile, compresses identity into a sentence. It is useful for orientation and almost useless for persuasion, because it names what you do without establishing why it matters, why you specifically, or why anything should change today.
What the case uniquely does is hold the whole argument in one place, in an order that works, with the evidence attached. When a board member stumbles in a conversation with a prospect, the gap is almost always somewhere in the case: an unestablished premise, a number nobody translated, a claim of urgency nobody believes. Fixing the case fixes the conversation.
Four documents, four jobs
Why writing the wrong one produces a case that cannot carry a campaign
- Grant proposal: answers someone else's questions, scored against published criteria
- Annual appeal: one story, one ask, decided in ninety seconds by an existing donor
- Mission statement: compresses identity, establishes no urgency, persuades nobody
- Case for support: the complete argument, with evidence, in the order that persuades
- The test: every other fundraising piece should be derivable from the case, not the reverse
The Internal Case, the External Case, and What Comes From Them
Campaign counsel distinguishes between two versions, and organizations that skip the first pay for it later. The internal case is written for the board, the leadership team, and the staff who will defend this campaign in public. It is long, unpolished, and comprehensive, stating the argument in full including the awkward parts: why the current facility is inadequate in specific terms, what happens if the campaign underperforms, why this program and not the one the board has debated for a year. As the Moran Company notes in its overview of the role of the case statement in fundraising, the internal case forces leadership to put the fundamental reasons for the appeal in writing, and the process matters at least as much as the artifact.
That process is where disagreements surface. A board that has never written an internal case frequently discovers, during the writing, that three members hold materially different theories of what the campaign is for. Surfacing that in a drafting session is uncomfortable and cheap. Surfacing it eighteen months later, when two board members have described the campaign differently to the same prospect, is expensive. This is the step organizations skip most often, precisely because it produces nothing they can print.
The external case is shaped for a reader who does not work for you: shorter, sequenced for interest rather than completeness, written in the language of the person being asked. Everything in it should trace back to something the internal document established. From it a family of derivatives follows, worth naming because organizations tend to commission them separately and end up with five documents that disagree. The leadership brief is two or three pages a board member can absorb and speak from. The one-pager is the leave-behind, often the only thing a prospect actually reads, so it must carry the problem, the solution, the number, and the ask at a glance. The brochure is the designed artifact for lead prospects, and the website page has to work for someone arriving from a search result with no context. The verbal ask is the hardest derivative, because the person delivering it will improvise, and improvisation stays on message only when the argument is genuinely internalized. That piece connects to how you build major gift proposals, since a tailored proposal is the case narrowed to one person's interests.
Drafting the derivatives is a low-risk use of AI, because the source material is already yours. Give a model the approved external case and ask for the one-pager, the web version at two lengths, the board talking points, and a ninety second script. Voice drift is far less likely when a model compresses your words than when it generates new ones.
The document family, from source to spoken word
Every piece traceable back to the internal case
- Internal case: long, candid, comprehensive, written to force agreement among leadership
- External case: a reduction of the internal case, sequenced for a reader who owes you nothing
- Leadership brief: two or three pages a board member can absorb and speak from
- One-pager and brochure: the leave-behind and the designed piece for lead prospects
- Website page and verbal ask: the no-context version and the improvised one
The Elements That Actually Do the Persuading
Practitioners describe the classic elements in slightly different orders, but the sequence is stable. Capital Campaign Pro's breakdown of the capital campaign case for support and Graham-Pelton's guidance on writing a case for support converge on the same shape. Read it as a logical chain, not a checklist, because each element earns attention for the next.
It opens with the problem in the world, not your organizational problem: the condition affecting real people that would still exist if your organization vanished tomorrow. Most cases go wrong in the first paragraph by leading with an institutional need. A case opening with the number of families in your county waiting for emergency shelter, and what the average wait has become, is doing something a case opening with a statement about housing insecurity as a complex challenge is not. Then comes why this organization rather than the three other groups working on it, and honesty pays here, because the real answer is usually modest: thirty years in this neighborhood, relationships nobody else has, the only provider within sixty miles. Vague claims of uniqueness read as advertising. A precise, limited claim of advantage reads as credible.
The vision follows: the world after the campaign succeeds, described in the lives of people rather than the operations of the organization. A new wing is not the vision. Forty additional families served each month, with the wait cut from eleven weeks to two, is the vision, and the building is how you get there. Vision without a plan reads as aspiration, so the plan comes next, with timelines, phases, named leadership, and commitments already secured. Sophisticated donors are evaluating execution risk whether or not you invite them to.
Then the numbers, which persuade nobody on their own. What persuades is the translation: what a gift at a given level buys in concrete terms, and how the total breaks into components a reader can hold in mind. Urgency comes next, the element most often faked and most often detected. Real urgency has a mechanism: a lease that expires, a match with a deadline, a property that will not stay available. Manufactured urgency, the kind expressed as a statement that the time to act is now, damages credibility, because experienced donors have read it a hundred times. Finally the invitation, which is not a request for consideration but a specific, warm, unembarrassed invitation to join something. Cases frequently build a solid argument across ten pages and then close with an apologetic line about how gifts of any size are appreciated, discarding the work that preceded it.
The chain, in order
Each element earns attention for the one after it
- A problem in the world, stated with numbers and names rather than categories
- A precise, limited claim about why your organization is the right one
- A vision described in changed lives, not changed square footage
- A plan with phases, leadership, and evidence you can execute it
- Numbers translated into what they buy, and urgency with a real mechanism
- An invitation that is specific, warm, and not apologetic
Why Most Cases Fail
Weak cases fail in a small number of predictable ways, and every one is a failure AI will reproduce and amplify unless you watch for it. Knowing the patterns turns a model from a copy generator into a diagnostic tool, because you can ask it to hunt for these specific problems in a draft, including a draft it wrote.
The first is being organization-centered rather than donor-centered. Count the sentences whose subject is your organization; in a weak case it runs well above half. The reader is repeatedly told what the organization has achieved, believes, and requires, positioned as an audience for institutional self-description rather than a participant. The correction is not to remove the organization but to restructure, so the community's situation and the donor's role occupy the frame and the organization appears as the mechanism connecting them.
The second is abstraction where specificity belongs. Weak cases describe categories: underserved populations, systemic barriers, wraparound services, transformative outcomes. Strong cases describe instances: a wait time, a named neighborhood, a particular thing that happens on a Tuesday afternoon in your building. Abstraction feels safe because it cannot be contradicted, which is exactly why it moves no one. The third is hedged institutional language, common where a case passes through four approvers. Programs seek to address. Initiatives aim to foster. Each hedge removes a little meaning and collectively they remove all of it, and hedging usually means nobody wants to own the claim.
The fourth and fifth travel together. If you cannot name what makes this year different from next year, you do not have urgency, and asserting it anyway costs credibility on every other claim. Likewise a goal of twelve million dollars is an abstraction to almost every reader, while the same twelve million split into a building, an endowment, and three years of bridge funding, each described by what it produces, is legible. Donors are increasingly literate about outcome claims, and a number offered without the context to evaluate it reads as evasion rather than evidence.
A newer failure belongs on this list: the case with no discernible author. Grammatically clean, structurally correct, entirely without a point of view, because it was generated rather than written and nobody added one back. That failure is the subject of the rest of this article, and it is the one most likely to affect organizations otherwise doing everything right.
A diagnostic pass you can run on any draft
Six questions, each one a common failure
- What share of sentences take the organization as their subject
- Which claims are categories rather than specific, contradictable instances
- Where hedging verbs have quietly removed the commitment from a claim
- What concrete mechanism makes this year different from next year
- Which numbers appear without a translation into what they buy or mean
- Whether any sentence in the document could only have been written by you
Start From Raw Material, Not From a Blank Prompt
Almost everything that goes wrong with AI-assisted case writing traces back to a decision made in the first thirty seconds: asking a model to write a case for an organization described in three sentences. Given nothing, a model returns the statistical center of everything it has read about nonprofit campaigns. That output is fluent, plausible, correctly structured, generic, and worst of all it looks finished. People edit it lightly, because nothing is obviously wrong, and ship something that could belong to any organization in the country.
The alternative produces a fundamentally different result. Before you ask for a word of prose, assemble the material specific to you and give the model all of it: your strategic plan, including the parts that did not make the public version; several years of program data, the numbers you actually track rather than the ones you report; notes from board interviews about why this campaign matters to them personally; transcripts from donor conversations, especially lead prospects, because their language is the language your case should use; past appeals annotated with what performed; beneficiary stories you have genuine permission to use; your brand guidance; and the financials behind the project.
Then do the step almost everyone skips. Before drafting, ask the model to analyze rather than write. Have it map the themes recurring across board interviews and donor conversations and name where they diverge. Ask which claims in the strategic plan the program data actually supports, what a skeptical major donor would push back on, and what a case would normally need that is missing here. The output is findings, not prose, and those findings routinely change what the case ends up arguing. Organizations often discover that the theme leadership assumed would carry the campaign is not the theme appearing in donor language, which is exactly what you want to learn before writing rather than after printing.
From the findings, build an outline and argue with it before drafting starts, since structure is cheap to change at that stage and expensive once eight pages exist. One warning about the raw material: donor notes, board interviews, financial detail, and client stories are sensitive in different ways, so use a business tier where your inputs are not used for training, redact client identifying detail before it goes anywhere, and treat donor notes with the confidentiality you apply to the rest of your donor records.
What to assemble before you prompt
The material that makes the draft yours rather than generic
- The strategic plan, including the internal version with the unvarnished parts
- Program data you actually track, across several years, not just headline figures
- Board interview notes and donor conversation transcripts, in their own words
- Past appeals annotated with what worked, plus your brand and style guidance
- Beneficiary stories you have documented permission to use, and nothing else
Keeping Your Voice on the Page
Voice is not a decoration applied at the end. It is the accumulated effect of hundreds of small choices about rhythm, vocabulary, how much you concede, whether you use contractions, and what you find worth saying. A model asked to write in a warm, authentic voice produces what it has learned warmth looks like, a recognizable performance of warmth rather than yours. Adjectives do not transmit voice. Examples do.
So build a voice guide from your own best writing. Gather eight or ten pieces that genuinely sound like you: the appeal that overperformed, the executive director's best letter, the program update people quoted back to you. Ask a model to describe the voice in operational terms rather than adjectives. Average sentence length. Whether contractions appear. How the writer handles bad news. Which words recur. What it never does. The result is a working voice specification, more useful than anything a branding exercise produces because it comes from evidence rather than aspiration, and keeping it current is the discipline covered in our piece on brand voice consistency. Then put two or three full pieces of your own writing in the context alongside it, because models imitate demonstrated patterns far more reliably than they follow described ones.
Draft section by section. Whole-document generation is where voice goes to die, because the model establishes a register in the first paragraphs and maintains it mechanically for eight pages, producing a uniformity no human writer would produce. Working one section at a time lets you intervene while the piece is malleable and preserves the natural variation a real document has.
Use AI more for structure and diagnosis than for finished prose. This is the shift separating organizations getting real value from those producing generic material. The highest-value uses are analytical: find every sentence where the organization is the subject, list the claims the attached data does not support, identify the weakest paragraph and explain why, rewrite this section three ways so I can see the options, tell me what a skeptical reader would ask here. Those uses improve your writing. Asking for a finished case replaces it.
Then read it aloud. The oldest editing technique available remains the most effective detector of machine-assisted prose, because generated text is optimized for how it looks rather than how it sounds. Anything you stumble over, or feel embarrassed saying out loud, is a place to rewrite, and since much of a case will eventually be spoken by board members, this doubles as a check on the derivative you care most about. Finally, the last pass belongs to a human. Not a review, a pass. Someone who knows the organization rewrites into the document the detail only an insider knows, the sentence that takes a position, the specificity no model could have produced because the fact lives in somebody's memory rather than in any file you uploaded.
Six practices that protect voice
Structure and diagnosis from the model, judgment and specificity from you
- A voice specification derived from your own best past writing, in operational terms
- Full writing samples in context rather than adjectives describing a tone
- Section-by-section drafting, never a whole document in one request
- Analytical prompts that critique and restructure rather than generate final copy
- A read-aloud pass, followed by a human rewriting pass that adds insider detail
The Tells: What Gives an Unedited Draft Away
It is worth being concrete about the patterns, because they are learnable and they are the fastest quality check available. Wikipedia's volunteer editors have assembled an unusually detailed field guide to signs of AI writing, drawn from thousands of real examples, and while it was built for encyclopedia editing, most of what it identifies transfers directly to fundraising prose. The guide is explicit that these are observations rather than rules: none proves anything on its own, and human writers use all of them legitimately. It is the density that gives a document away.
Watch first for inflated vocabulary where a plain word would do. Delve, tapestry, realm, pivotal, foster, underscore, testament, landscape, navigate, leverage, robust, holistic. None is wrong, but when a document reaches for the elevated synonym consistently, particularly at the exact moment a specific fact would have been more useful, the effect is prose that sounds important while saying less. Watch next for the rule of three appearing everywhere: serving with compassion, dignity, and respect; a bold, inclusive, and sustainable vision. Human writers use triads occasionally for rhythm; generated text uses them structurally.
The negative-parallel construction is the next tell: stating what something is not before stating what it is, most recognizably in the shape of it is not merely X, it is Y. Genuinely useful, and also the single most overused sentence shape in generated prose. Alongside it sit editorializing summaries, the paragraphs that close by telling the reader what they meant and why it is significant. The same instinct produces uniform architecture: every paragraph four sentences long, every section the same length, bold lead-ins on every bullet. Real documents are lumpier, because real writers have more to say about some things than others.
Then there are punctuation habits, including the em dash. The long dash used to set off a clause has become the most talked-about signal, to the point that people now avoid it defensively in writing that has nothing to do with AI. Treating it as proof is a mistake, since it has been standard English punctuation for centuries, but its frequency in unedited generated text justifies a search-and-review pass. The same applies to the curly quotation marks and the particular bullet characters certain tools insert. This article, for what it is worth, contains none of them.
The most serious tell is confident detail that is not true. Models produce plausible figures, plausible dates, and plausible descriptions of programs you do not run, in exactly the same register as the accurate sentences around them, so every factual claim needs verification against a source document before the case leaves the building. The reason to care about the rest is not that detection tools will flag you. It is that donors read more of this material every month and are developing an ear for it, and the reaction is not outrage but something worse for a campaign: a quiet sense that nobody at the organization cared enough to write this themselves. Our comparison of AI-generated and human-written fundraising appeals looks at how that perception forms.
A find-and-fix pass before the case goes out
Density is the signal, not any single instance
- Search the inflated-vocabulary list and replace with plain words or specific facts
- Count triads and negative-parallel constructions, then cut all but one of each
- Delete closing sentences that summarize significance instead of adding content
- Break the uniform paragraph rhythm deliberately, letting some sections run longer
- Verify every number, date, name, and program description against a source document
Testing the Case on Three Kinds of Reader
Internal review tells you almost nothing, because everyone reviewing the case already knows the answers to the questions it is supposed to answer. They read past the gaps by filling them from memory. The only reliable test is reading it to people whose knowledge differs from yours, and three readers catch three different classes of failure. Read it aloud rather than emailing it, because you learn as much from where they shift in their seat as from what they say afterward.
A board member catches the ownership failure. You are not testing whether they approve, since they will. You are testing whether they can say it back. Read them the case, wait a day, then ask them to describe the campaign as if you were a prospect. Wherever they hesitate, paraphrase into something vaguer, or default to old talking points, the case has failed to give them usable language. That is a document problem, not a board member problem, and it usually means the argument is correct but not memorable.
A lapsed donor catches the credibility failure, and this is the most uncomfortable and most valuable of the three. Someone who gave before and stopped has a specific, informed skepticism no internal reviewer can simulate. They will know whether the urgency is real, because they remember the last time you called something urgent. They will notice if the vision resembles one you described five years ago without noting what became of it. Ask them directly what makes them doubt it, and be prepared to hear about your last campaign rather than this one.
A stranger catches the assumption failure. Find someone who knows nothing about your organization or your field, ideally with no particular sympathy for the cause. They will stop you at the jargon you no longer hear yourself using. They will not understand the acronym. They will ask a basic question about why the problem exists, which you will discover the document never answers because everyone in your office already knows. They will also tell you when they stopped caring. Strangers are the only readers who can find the hole you cannot see, because your expertise is what conceals it.
A model supports this without replacing it: ask it to read the draft as a skeptical donor and list objections, or to name the sentence where a reader is most likely to disengage. What it cannot do is notice the pause before someone answers a question, and that pause is frequently the most informative data you will get.
Three readers, three failures
Read it aloud, and watch as much as you listen
- Board member: can they say it back a day later without reaching for old language
- Lapsed donor: does the urgency and the evidence survive informed skepticism
- Stranger: where does jargon, an acronym, or an unstated assumption stop them
- All three: the exact moment attention drops, which no internal reviewer will report
- AI pre-screen: objections, jargon, and disengagement points, before the humans read
Consent and Dignity in the Stories You Use
A case almost always includes the story of someone your organization has served, because specificity persuades and nothing is more specific than a person. That is also the part of the document most likely to cause harm, and AI raises the stakes in two directions at once. It makes it trivially easy to produce a polished, emotionally effective story from raw case notes, and equally easy to smooth a real person's account into a genre-standard arc that no longer resembles what happened to them.
Start from consent, and from a more demanding definition than a signature on an intake form. Ethical storytelling practice treats consent as specific, informed, revocable, and free of pressure, which means the person knows what will be published, in what materials, for how long, and to whom, and understands with complete clarity that declining will not affect their access to services. Truesense's guidance on ethical storytelling in fundraising is a reasonable starting point, and the AFP Code of Ethical Standards sets the professional obligations above it. Be explicit about AI in that conversation too: if a model will help shape the written version of someone's story, the person should know, and should review the final text rather than approve a plan in the abstract.
Dignity is a separate question and does not follow automatically from consent, because someone can freely agree to a portrayal that still reduces them to their hardest moment. The practical tests: does the story show agency rather than only need, would the person be comfortable if their child read it in ten years, is the hardship described at a level of detail that serves understanding rather than effect, and does the narrative treat the person as the protagonist of their own life rather than as evidence of your effectiveness. Models are particularly prone to that last failure, having learned a template in which the organization arrives and transforms a passive subject, and they will reproduce it faithfully unless you instruct otherwise and then check.
A few habits prevent most problems. Keep consent records linked to specific assets with expiry dates, so you know which stories can appear in a campaign running several more years. Maintain a real withdrawal process, including how a published story comes down. Never paste identifying client detail into a general-purpose AI tool. The same discipline applies to images, covered in our article on managing photo library consent, and the craft question of telling many stories well without flattening them is the subject of our piece on scaling storytelling with AI.
Before a person's story enters the case
Consent is necessary and not sufficient
- Specific, informed, revocable permission naming the materials and the timeframe
- Unambiguous assurance that declining does not affect access to services
- Disclosure that AI helped shape the text, plus review of the final version
- A portrayal showing agency, not a template in which your organization rescues someone
- Consent records tied to assets with expiry dates, and a working withdrawal process
After the Draft: Using the Case and Keeping It Current
A finished case is a beginning, not a deliverable. The most common waste in campaign communications is an excellent case sitting in a folder while staff and volunteers keep improvising from memory. Produce the derivatives at once, from the approved source, so they agree. Then train the people who will speak from them. Board members do not need the full document, they need three sentences they can say naturally and a clear sense of what to do when asked something they cannot answer. Rehearsal beats briefing, and a model makes a useful rehearsal partner: have it play a skeptical prospect and let a volunteer practice until the argument stops sounding memorized. Organizations running a broader annual program will find the same source material feeds the annual fund, provided someone maintains the link rather than letting the two sets of messaging drift apart.
Then keep it alive, because a campaign runs for years and a case written in month one describes a world that no longer exists by month thirty. Costs change. Phases complete. A lead gift lands and the remaining need shifts. A case still citing the original figures after two years quietly signals that nobody is paying attention, and prospects in the later public phase are reading a document written for the quiet phase, for a different audience, at a different moment.
Treat the case as a versioned document with a named owner and a quarterly review during an active campaign. Update the facts: numbers, progress, completed phases, new commitments. Check the argument: does the urgency mechanism still hold, does the vision still match the plan, has anything you promised failed to happen in a way the document should acknowledge. And check the voice, because updates accumulate and each one is a chance for someone in a hurry to paste in a generated paragraph that does not sound like the rest. AI handles the first part efficiently, comparing the current case against updated financials and listing every claim now out of date. The second and third parts need the human attention the original draft did.
The quarterly case review
Three passes, one owner, on the calendar
- Facts: figures, completed phases, new commitments, remaining need
- Argument: does the urgency mechanism and the vision still hold as written
- Voice: catch generic paragraphs that crept in during hurried updates
- Derivatives: propagate every change through the one-pager, web page, and brief
- Field notes: what prospects responded to, so the next case starts from evidence
Conclusion
The case for support has always been a test of whether an organization can say clearly why it matters, and capable writing tools have not changed that. They have changed who can produce a competent draft, which is now almost anyone with an afternoon and the right raw material. What they have not changed, and arguably have made more valuable, is the ability to produce a document that could only have come from your organization. Competent drafts are abundant now. Documents with a point of view are not.
The workflow that works is consistent across the organizations doing this well. Assemble your real material before you prompt anything, and make the model analyze it before it writes a word. Settle the structure before drafting. Draft in sections, with your own writing in front of it as the pattern rather than adjectives describing a tone. Use the model hardest for what it does better than a tired person on a Thursday afternoon: finding the weak paragraph, listing unsupported claims, generating three alternatives you can choose between. Then take the whole thing away from it and rewrite into it yourself.
The failures to watch for are the old ones plus one new one. Organization-centered instead of donor-centered, abstract where it should be specific, hedged where it should commit, urgent without a mechanism, numerical without meaning. Those were killing cases for decades before any of this technology existed, and a model prompted casually will reproduce every one of them in polished form. The new failure is the document without an author: correct, fluent, and indistinguishable from the hundred others a major donor has read this year. Test for it by reading the thing aloud to a board member, a lapsed donor, and a stranger, and watching what happens to their faces.
Underneath all of it sits an obligation that has nothing to do with craft. The people whose stories make the case persuasive did not sign up to be persuasive. They agreed, on specific terms you should be able to produce on request, to let you tell something about their life so that other people might act. Keeping that agreement honest, including being clear about how the text was made and letting them see it before anyone else does, matters more than any sentence in the document. Get that part right and a slightly rougher case is still a good one. Get it wrong and the most beautifully written case in your sector is not worth the paper it is printed on.
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We help nonprofits build a voice guide from their own best writing, structure a case for support from real material rather than a blank prompt, and keep every derivative piece consistent through a multi-year campaign.
