The stories nobody puts in the firm newsletter. Real entries from inside legal work. Everything that actually happened, documented under oath.
One thing. Usually the thing you say out loud in the parking garage when the door is already closed. Short. Specific. Goes nowhere else.
Whatever is currently happening in the profession that needs to be documented. No advice attached. Observation only. You do the rest.
"Deal closed. Basket arrived. Card said Esq., but somehow it ended up on my desk. Adequate recognition for extraordinary work. #re-gifted"
Blog posts and newsletter issues, in order. Nothing off the table.
Three months into my legal career, I was already working for the managing partner. Not because I had any business being there. Because the only person in that office who knew what was happening had just left.
Read this postHe had a hanger in his office. The wooden kind. The tie draped across it cost more than two days of her check. The suit, more than a month. The tailor came to the office. During business hours. And someone needed to make a phone call.
Read this postBaby attorney. One year post-bar. Middle office. Printer right outside his door, right behind my desk. You can guess where this goes. It goes exactly where you think it goes.
Read this postI enrolled in paralegal school because of a TV show. Donna had a latte and attorneys who feared her. I had a cubicle, a bread basket, and 58 minutes to rethink every decision I had ever made.
Read this post