I have come to think there may be a more fulfilling way to ‘pay it forward’ and it doesn’t cost a penny. It begins with ‘hello’ and can often times result in idle chatter about nothing very important at all. But it has value. It is the gift of your time. And it can be priceless.
“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. I’ve been thinking about you.” Between the trial and Break Out, Beau’s week had been very full, to say the least but he had thought about Penny several times since they’d met. He knew he had been attracted to her but also knew that they were both just passing in the night.
Whitehorse, the Yukon, the people he’d met, the experiences he’d had, they all changed Beau. He’d been reminded that this life he had to live was best lived with intention, with conviction and passion. He was satisfied that when he was old and grey and just left with the memories of his life, he’d be okay with these ones.
Beau loved it. Here they were Bear, Shrap, Bean and Pablum, out for a night on the town. None of them from here, all of them here for a reason. As the night wore on, each of them trying to out drink one another, all part of the universal cock fight that it is to be a man, the stories got wilder and wilder.
“Hello”, came a voice from across the aisle, “Isn’t this awe inspiring?” A pretty young woman looked over, the interruption made even more welcome by her English accent, not exactly commonplace in these parts, Beau thought to himself.
No judge wants to order a mistrial. Their most fundamental responsibility in any trial, all the more so in a criminal trial, is to ensure the fair administration of justice. Beau always thought it must feel as though they have personally failed in that responsibility.
Jury trials are a fascinating strategic contest between the prosecutor and defence lawyer, both battling for the minds of each and every juror. Of course, in criminal trials the defence doesn’t need to win over the minds of every juror. Just one would do.
Sometime ago I wrote a short story about a notorious murder trial I was involved in. An old prospector Al Kulan, had been killed in a bar in Ross River Yukon with a single shot from a .357 revolver. I defended his killer.
Writing for profit is a fool’s game. I don’t, I write for myself. Some of my writing is profound, some is important, but most of it is neither of those two things. I am at my best as an observational humourist, filtering the mundane through the ‘amusing’ lens and writing.
David Sedaris is a great American observational humourist and he has unknowingly guided me as I spelunked my way through many a dark, confusing writing tunnel. He taught me to stop worrying about inspiration. He says that human beings are very funny, hilarious at times. The knack he says is to get better at seeing it. He is right, if I have grown as a writer it is because I am better now at ‘seeing’ us as we are, simple and complex, shallow and profound, tragic and hilarious. We are endlessly fascinating, a never ending source of writing inspiration.
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