Lessons from Jury Duty

I like to look for writing lessons everywhere I go. So when I was called in for jury duty on Wednesday, I took advantage of the opportunity to learn from the experience.

Some quick background. I was summoned for what was the first jury trial in the county since March. They required everyone to wear masks, moved the voir dire (the questioning of potential jurors) to a room large enough for social distancing, and took some other precautions. Overall, they did a nice job of trying to protect us from the virus.

The case required seven jurors (six regular and one alternate) and I was in position number 14, so even though the judge and attorneys dismissed five people, they never got to me. They probably would have dismissed me, too, since most lawyers don’t like having other attorney on their juries. I did have one or two colleagues who were accepted, but that’s not common.

Did I want to serve on the case? I had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, I’ve never sat on a jury and it might have been an interesting, or at least an educational, experience. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure I would have been bored with the evidence and the arguments. Back in the late 80s or early 90s, I was on a roster of attorneys who arbitrated certain civil cases for the court system in Cook County, Illinois. Most of those cases were automobile accidents where the primary issue was whether the plaintiff was exaggerating his or her damages, and Wednesday’s case sounded just like them.

But even though all I got to observe was the voir dire of the people who were chosen (or rejected) for the jury, I did notice several lessons about writing. (Some of them are a bit of a stretch, but humor me.) Here they are.

1.     The educational video about jurors’ responsibilities said that jurors are not supposed to talk about the case until it is over. I’m pretty sure that didn’t apply to those of us who never got to hear any of the evidence, but even if it did, the case will be over before this posts. And once it is over, even what was said in the jury room loses its confidentiality.

Lesson: Timing is everything. As writers, we can’t keep every confidence until the end or we could quickly lose our readers. Even so, some information is best left to later to enhance the suspense.

2.     The attorneys in the case had very different approaches to voir dire. One relied on specific questions, while the other asked for a brief overview of each potential juror’s background and used an anecdote to gauge the individual’s feelings about damages. Some of the difference was based on personality, and some reflected the lawyers’ objectives created by their clients’ opposing positions. Although each attorney’s general approach is probably similar from case to case, the specific questions and the anecdote are likely to change with the situation.

Lesson: No two characters are alike, and even the same character changes his or her response based on the situation. If we don’t write these differences into our characters, they will be flat and boring.

3.     In Wednesday’s case, the defendant admitted liability, so the only issue was damages. That shortened the case considerably since most evidence about how the accident happened would be irrelevant. It also meant that the defendant didn’t have to testify, and she didn’t even come. Her absence might have been a foolish tactic or a brilliant one. Foolish because even though she wouldn’t be testifying, her presence would have personalized her. That usually brings the party some sympathy and can have a subtle effect on the jury. Or it may have been brilliant tactic if the defendant comes across as unlikeable even when just sitting there. But the point is, when the defendant admitted liability, she eliminated backstory that wasn’t relevant to the outcome.

Lesson: If you start your story too soon, you may lose your audience. Eliminate anything that your reader doesn’t need to know up front. Some backstory may be necessary but can often be woven in later on where it fits more easily.

4.     As mentioned above, the jury was filled before they got to me. They dismissed five potential jurors for various reasons and probably would have dismissed me, too. But that’s okay. Not every person is right for every jury.

Lesson: Just as not every person is right for every jury, not everyone is a potential reader for a particular book. Different people have different tastes, and an author can’t cater to all of them.

So wherever you find yourself, pay attention to what is going on around you.

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Unfortunately, my jury service wasn’t in the charming building in the photo. The courtrooms were moved in the 1970s and are now located in a more modern and starker complex. I don’t have a photo of the current courthouse, but it isn’t nearly as pretty, anyway.