So, this past week I attended the always excellent DRI Appellate Advocacy seminar, which was held this year in Orlando. And guess who was one the featured speakers this year? None other than ACS Queen Bee Dahlia Lithwick. Well, y’all can guess what was going through my head on the drive down to Florida. You bet. I was channeling Dana Carvey’s “Church Lady” character, and picturing in my mind the type of “education” I would be receiving from Mrs. Lithwick. But I have to say, she was a fantastic speaker.  And she gave me a great writing tip, which I plan on using in the near future, and which I will share with y’all now:

The next time that you’re writing a brief, and the lines are starting to blur together, and you know that any further review of the document will be worthless without putting it down for a day or two, change the document’s font.  According to Lithwick, it is like reading an entirely different brief.

A simple but wonderful suggestion, and one that I suspect will prove to be very useful in the near future.

Anyway, her talk about bringing a record to life on appeal was fantastic. I was very, very impressed with her.

But the funniest thing was my conversation with Lithwick after her talk. Here’s a recap of what happened. I walk up to the side of the stage where Lithwick is speaking with four or five liberal admirers, and they are all throwing out their liberal street creds. “I clerked for Blackmun!” “I have a Scalia dartboard!” “I hate the Constitution too!” And then I pipe up, “I am a former right-wing blogger who disagrees with just everything you’ve ever written. I clerked for Judge Manion, and would have cut off my right arm to clerk for Justice Thomas. But I think you’re an excellent writer, and I thought your talk was fantastic.” Lithwick looks at me with this wry smile, and says, “Well, that’s the best compliment I’ve had in quite some time. Where did you blog?” “Southern Appeal,” I reply. Lithwick then looks at me as if I just admitted to smashing her pumpkin a few Halloweens back, and says, “Ah, I know who you are. You’re quite the troublemaker.”

Good times.