Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: One of the things that really distresses me is when people talk about “getting out of jury duty” and all the “clever” things they’re going to say to avoid it. Of course there are reasonable reasons, and we don’t need to go into them here.

But I have such massive respect for people who say yes, sure, Like the wonderful and thoughtful author T.M. Dunn, who, in the midst of all her writerly responsibilities, stepped up. And like every good writer, had a life-changing experience–and learned something powerful. 

(Her brand new book is HER FATHER'S DAUGHTER--and she's generously giving away a copy to one lucky commenter!)

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt
By T.M. Dunn

I recently was one of twelve jurors and two alternates on a murder case.

Going into it, I knew not to expect the television courtroom drama I was all too familiar with from the hundreds of episodes, maybe more, I’ve watched of Law and Order, specifically Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. 

Real life is nothing like television, not even reality TV. I wasn’t too surprised to discover how drama-free a real trial can be. The prosecution, and the defense, spent a great deal of time in what I thought of as in the weeds, but later realized it was part of a bigger objective, to not prejudice the jury with hearsay, emotional stunts, or anything that wasn’t related directly to the evidence in the case. The same aspects that make for boring television, make for a fair trial.

After the first day of deliberation, it hit me. A trial may not be anything like television, but my role as juror in many ways paralleled my role and responsibilities as a writer, specifically a writer of thrillers.

As a juror you need to look at the evidence presented by the prosecution while considering the holes the defense may have made in said evidence. As writers, we also need to present evidence that is reasonable enough for our readers to find our stories and the worlds we create credible. As a thriller writer I start off with a crime, usually a murder, then I present evidence with many twists and turns, that my readers will examine and buy into enough to keep on reading, and when they reach the end, if they’re surprised, and I hope they will be, they feel the ending was earned.

As a writer who tends to lean on character-driven stories, I know from my “expert experience” (something that was brought up a lot in this trial) that my characters’ flaws, fears, their attributes, create obstacles and block their paths to getting what they want. The more I know about my characters, the easier it is to determine what actions they would or wouldn’t take.

In my case, as a juror I was stuck on the concept of “reasonable doubt.” It wasn’t until I looked at myself as a character and saw that I’m not reasonable by nature, that I could see the evidence presented from a more subjective view. I had to look into myself and examine the way my mind works to see that my imagination and the scope of what I see, or don’t see, as probable, often isn’t reasonable or for that matter rational.

During the trial we, the jurors, were court-mandated to refer to the case as a criminal case, and not mention the word murder. We weren’t to check online or any media source. We were not under any circumstances to discuss the trial with anyone, including each other, until the prosecution and the defense rested and it was time for us to deliberate. 

It wasn’t until after the trial ended that I discovered my husband and daughter already knew more of the backstory of this case from the media than I did. 

If this was a novel, and the story was told from the point of view of a juror, or jury, the story might be limited in scope. Unless, we added other points of view like that of the prosecutor, defense attorney, and the judge. As jurors our knowledge was limited to what was presented in the courtroom. 

It was our job to follow all the twists and turns and piece together the evidence, to reach a just verdict. Just can be a loaded word. We discussed, argued, listened, debated, reenacted what had been presented to us in the courtroom. We examined the evidence over and over. In a sense one could say we played the role of amateur sleuths.

It’s always bittersweet when I finish a novel, a mix of feelings, exhaustion, some exhilaration, relief that I finally got to the end, satisfaction that I wrote an ending I believed I earned, and there’s sadness. I’m never ready to leave the characters, who I had spent so many months, sometimes years, getting to know. 

I always find some comfort in the fact that before the book is out in the world there are many stages in the editing process, and many chances to change my story, reexamine my decisions, if it turns out that some of my choices weren’t the best ones after all.

At the end of the trial, yes, I felt exhausted, but exhilarated-- not so much. There was relief that we got to the end, and I felt confident that we made the right decision. I was sad about leaving the other jurors. We established trust between us and we bonded. There was no comfort in the editing process. There was no editing process. Our verdict was final. 

The weight of this was suffocating. I wasn’t alone in feeling that this was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made, and may ever make, in my life. This may sound a bit overdramatic, but I can’t imagine anything that is more dramatic, more crucial, than having another person’s life in one’s hands. I had never experienced this kind of responsibility with anything I’ve ever written. As one of the jurors said, “One life can’t be brought back and now another life is also ruined.”

In the end, we found the defendant guilty. We returned to the courtroom to state our verdict. When the judge had the clerk call out each of our names for us to individually state our verdict, I could hear in my fellow jurors' voices what I heard in mine, conviction but not without sorrow.

Guilty--the hardest word I have ever had to say in my life.

The defendant in the courtroom is not a fictional character, and his life was in my and the other eleven jurors’ hands. There is no delete button. Once a verdict is made, that’s it. Case closed, unless there is an appeal.

HANK: Ah, this is so incredibly and wonderfully thought-provoking. Thank you. Such a responsibility. And as the wife of a defense attorney, and an investigative reporter, and as a crime fiction author..it’s so powerful to me how much we need to understand how there are a million sides to every story, and how the system needs to be kept in line and made to work.

How about you, Reds and Readers? What say you?

And a copy of HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER to one fabulously lucky commenter!

T. M. Dunn has served as Senior Director of the Writing Institute at Sarah Lawrence College, where she holds an MFA in creative writing. She coaches aspiring and established writers and teaches creative writing workshops. She is the co-host of the Westport Library's podcast, "Go Ahead, Write Something." This Italian-American, Bronx-raised rebel has traveled the world. She lives in Stamford, Connecticut where she is currently working on her next novel, with her rescue puppy Blanqui snuggled at her side.

Hank has to add: How hilarious is Blanqui? Best name ever.

HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER

Raw, edgy, and full of twisted family secrets, HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER (Crooked Lane Books / July 18, 2023 / $28.99) is the perfect crime thriller for fans of Oyinkan Braithwaite and Karen Dionne. Twenty-five-year-old Linda Donovan has spent her life working for her father, Anthony, at Donovan and Daughter Exterminators in New York City. On the anniversary of her mother’s death, her father makes his annual visit to his late wife’s grave while Linda heads to a Park Avenue apartment building to work solo. When she arrives, she finds the body of an elderly resident, partially eaten by rats. The gruesome death not only speaks poorly of the Donovans’ exterminating services—it also points to foul play. When the cops show up, they demand to speak to Linda’s father. But despite her efforts to contact him, Anthony has gone off the radar. As he evades a possible murder charge, Linda’s father records in five notebooks—and five damning acts—the story of how he met and fell in love with her mother, a previously untold history of familial abuse, tormented souls, and true love gone terribly wrong.