A Writing Lesson

            “Oh come on, Jack, quit complaining. You’re writing fiction. How hard can it be? All you have to do is make the reader suspend disbelief for the duration of the story. That’s nothing. Try persuading a jury to vote for your client, or making the Court of Appeals reverse. Write your novels the way I write my briefs. It’s just a matter of clarifying things.”

            “I’m all ears, sweetheart. What should I be doing?”

            “I’m not saying it’s easy—but it’s just a job. You just do it. No agony allowed.”

            “I think I may have heard this somewhere.”

            “You have three categories, right? The ‘Facts’, the ‘Explanation’ and the ‘Consequences’. Now, the beauty of writing fiction is that the facts are all made up.They can be whatever you please. You don’t have to deal with the awkward conflicts and inconvenient disagreements you find in a trial record. So already you’re miles ahead of us.”

            “O.K. Hurray for me.”

            “Then you have ‘The Explanation’, or you can call it the ‘Narrative’—the ‘cause and effect’ connections you want the reader to accept. Whoopee! Nobody’s offering an alternative interpretation. There's only one version. Yours!”

            “My lucky day,” Jack agreed.

            “Yes, and finally you have the ‘Consequences’, or you might say, the ‘Lesson’—how it all works out. And, whoopee again—it works out however you please. There isn’t anybody arguing for the opposite result. There’s just you, Jack, with your custom made facts, and your own way of stringing them together, followed by your clever resolution, which doesn’t have to fit into any recognized legal category. Easy-peasy. And don’t forget, all your readers are volunteers. They aren’t pissed off at you because they were picked for jury duty.”

            Jack laughed, “Gosh, Rachel, it sounds charming. I don’t know why I thought fiction was hard.”

She patted is hand. “You’re a man, Jack. Planning ahead and diligent effort are bound to be difficult. Or maybe you’re comparing yourself to some unattainable ideal. But have I ever had an anxiety attack because my pen is not as long as Shakespeare’s?”

            “Ha, ha. Of course not. You’re far too sensible.”

            “Nor do I indulge myself with illnesses, like ‘Writers’ Block’ that cause me to spend my mornings thinking of ways to waste the afternoon.”

            “Very true.”

            She looked around, then leaned forward as if to confide a secret, “Now, maybe I’m not as smart as some people around here… No, no, Jack! Let me say it. I know you’ll be astonished--but I don’t expect to be brilliant every minute. Sometimes what I write is pure ugly, but I grind and polish until it’s the best I can do in the time allowed. I don’t compare myself to Tolstoy, or even Rufus Choate. But remember, every single day I go head to head with some smart person across the aisle—and whenever I win, I’m as brilliant as Rufus—by definition.”

            “And today you won big.”

            “Oh… I did… yes," she gloated. "So be happy for me.”

            “I am. Congratulations, Rachel.”

            “Clarity, Jack. It’s all about clarification. Not because the jury is stupid (you never want to go down that road.) It’s just the opposite—they have good practical sense about things—they know what’s fair—but they also have built in beliefs that you might have to overcome (or take advantage of) in order to make your point. Clarify, clarify, clarify. Notice that I didn’t say ‘simplify’. If things are complicated you don’t talk down to your readers, you point out a clear path—making it easy for them to find their way to the right answer, which also happens to be the last paragraph in your brief, or novel—the paragraph you wrote before you wrote anything else.”

            “Wow. I see what you mean,” Jack said. “Easy as pie. How come you’re allowed to charge so much?”

            “Supply and demand Jack. We’re not in the fiction trade, competing with everybody and her grandmother. Justice is always in high demand and short supply.”

            “Aha, and lucky for you it’s a regulated market, restricted to licensed purveyors.”

            “Oh sure,” she agreed complacently, “But what is your preferred alternative? Thumb screws? Or maybe you’d like to return to Mr. Hobbes’s State of Nature—‘the war of all against all’—like in Arizona. Anyway, we weren’t talking about money, we were talking about writing. I’m simply pointing out that lawyers are writers too, but you don’t find us on Facebook, with our knickers all in a twist, complaining about how hard it is.”

            “Yes, but Rachel—you are writing for other lawyers. What I write is meant to be read by human beings.”

            “Ha, ha, Jack. Tell it to the judge.”