LawProse Lessons

What about the lawyer who says, “I won’t use AI at all”? It’s an understandable reaction. The machines hallucinate—when allowed to. They confidently invent cases, quotations, and propositions. But refusing to use a powerful tool can be as foolish as trusting it blindly. Guided well, AI can spot patterns, generate possibilities, expose arguments, and dispatch […]

Good writing welcomes readers in. Its meaning is available on first reading because its sentences proceed in a logical order, its words carry their ordinary and intended sense, and its structure helps readers see where they’re going. Accessibility doesn’t mean oversimplification or a ban on technical terms. Legal analysis often requires precision and specialized vocabulary.

You may say that grammar favors your interpretation—as long as you promptly show the reader why: “The grammar supports the taxpayer’s reading because the final modifier logically and grammatically applies to the entire coordinated series, not merely to the last item.” That’s an argument. This isn’t: “The grammar favors our interpretation.” That’s a conclusion with

One of the most useful words in English is also one of the most maligned: that. Some writers drop it reflexively, as if every instance were deadweight. At times, omission is entirely proper. After the verbs say and think, for example, you can typically omit it without a hitch: He said the claim was bogus;

One of our former interns, now a BigLaw paralegal, paid us a visit yesterday. (He’s taking the LSAT today, so fingers crossed.) He recently took our Advanced Legal Writing & Editing online seminar, and he was all but gushing about how much more effective he’d become at editing briefs for the lawyers at his firm—especially

Fabricated citations have become a real problem in courts across the country. As of this month, the public database tracking AI-hallucination incidents in court filings has climbed past 1,700 cases worldwide—up from a few hundred as recently as six months ago. The curve is steep, and it’s not slowing down. The Tenth Circuit underscored the

Complaints about “AI prose” often miss the real issue: the problem isn’t the machine but the editor. Two things are usually going on. First, readers sometimes mistake unfamiliarity for inferiority. AI systems draw on a wider range of punctuation and syntactic patterns than many lawyers typically use. What feels “off” may simply reflect the lawyer’s

The new 7th pocket edition of Black’s Law Dictionary arrives this week—and it’s the rare desk reference you’ll actually use. It puts a working lawyer’s vocabulary in your hand: compact enough to carry, dense enough to repay five minutes of browsing between tasks. This isn’t a book for the occasional lookup. It’s a book you

“It’s all up here in my head. I just can’t get it on paper.” Almost nobody who says this is right. What’s “up there” usually isn’t a finished argument waiting to be transcribed. It’s a feeling of understanding, a loose web of associations, and perhaps a few good phrases. The mind quietly supplies missing links

Cocounsel tells you, “Redline the draft all you want.” The line sounds generous; the premise is shaky. It assumes that the draft is redlinable. Often it isn’t. Some drafts don’t call for tweaks; they call for a total do-over. The structure is off, the theory wanders, the emphasis misses the point. The “redline” then becomes

Even in the age of AI, the case for in-house legal-writing training hasn’t weakened—it’s stronger than ever. Most lawyers still don’t use AI well. Some rely on it too casually and invite error, embarrassment, or worse. Others avoid it and forfeit clear gains in speed and reach. Either way, the problem is the same: lack

Legal writing often goes wrong at the extremes: either it stiffens into archaic formality, or it relaxes into casual chatter. Both weaken the writer’s authority. Unduly formal prose—crowded with herein, aforementioned, and tortuous sentences—doesn’t signal precision. It signals distance and strain. But writing that sounds offhand (basically the court punted, that argument won’t hunt) swings

“How will I begin?” That question trips up even seasoned lawyers, and it often decides whether a brief lands or falls flat. The rule isn’t new, but it’s demanding: your first sentence must grab attention. If it doesn’t, you’ve already lost ground. Judges read fast and skeptically. Your opening can’t wander. It must frame the

Most people open a dictionary to settle a question. The wiser reader opens it to start one. A good dictionary, being an invitation to roam, teaches the mind to wander with purpose and to notice how language gathers meaning through shade and proximity. The best discoveries come not from the term you mean to look

Anything that can be thought can be written. That dictum is both challenge and liberation for the legal writer. If a concept can take shape in your mind—even faintly, even clumsily—it can be captured in words. Law thrives on precision, but precision starts with the audacity to express what seems unsayable. A writer who believes

Ralph Waldo Emerson warned: “The first rule of writing is not to omit the thing you meant to say.” Legal writers sometimes break this rule in the name of caution: softening conclusions, hiding behind abstractions, or burying the bad fact in a dependent clause. Yet legal readers reward clarity, not self‑protection. A lawyer who won’t say the

In the legal world, writing isn’t an accessory; it’s the work itself. Every transactional, regulatory, or legislative document must be hammered out in language tough enough to carry legal weight and, later, survive attack. Yet the language in which we must frame ideas is inherently unstable. Words stretch, meanings drift, and no clause remains perfectly

Professionals can improve their writing at any age because the brain remains adaptable, and writing itself is a craft driven more by technique than fixed talent. Neuroscience shows that neuroplasticity, the brain’s capacity to form new connections, persists throughout adulthood when we practice challenging skills with focus and feedback. Writing draws on composite abilities—such as

To say that editing is an act of friendship is to recognize how it affirms both the writer’s effort and the reader’s experience. When you involve an editor—whether by choice or assignment—it means your writing is meant for more than just your own eyes. The work is being readied for a broader audience, and the

If writing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well every time. Every line you shape trains your ear, sharpens your rhythm, and builds reflex. Careless sentences in emails or quick notes don’t just waste words but weaken your craft. When you take the time to tighten a sentence in a thank-you note, you’re building the precision