Challenges and Legalities

Welcome to the podcast. So, it’s November and the year seems to have flown by. I am busy writing the final novel in my cozy mystery series, and although I’m going to miss all the characters, I will be glad to have finished this project. November is the time when I usually start planning my writing schedule for the following year, as well as the dreaded budget. But November is significant in other ways for writers, specifically writing challenges. Now, I know what some of you are thinking – "isn't NaNoWriMo gone?" And yes, the organization imploded in 2024, but here's the thing: the concept of a writing challenge is very much alive and thriving. And honestly? For mystery writers trying to get that first novel done, a writing challenge might be exactly what you need.

Here's the brutal truth: most aspiring writers never finish their first novel. They get stuck in chapter three, or they revise chapter one seventeen times, or they spend six months researching Victorian poisons and never actually write the murder scene. Sound familiar?

Writing challenges work because they impose a deadline and a community. Suddenly, you're not alone in your writing cave, overthinking your detective's backstory. You're part of a group of people all sprinting toward the same finish line.

For mystery writers specifically, challenges are great because they force you to prioritize getting the plot down. You can't spend weeks agonizing over whether your locked room murder is physically possible – you just write it, make a note to fix it later, and keep going. That's actually healthy, because mysteries are revision-heavy by nature anyway. Your first draft is always going to need serious work.

Let's break down what's out there now that NaNoWriMo as an organization is gone.

First is the Classic 50K in 30 Days Model . Plenty of writers still do this independently every November. You don't need an organization's permission to write 50,000 words in a month. Create a spreadsheet, tell your writing buddies, and go. The beauty of this model is that 50K is roughly the minimum length for a mystery novel, so you're actually aiming for a complete draft.

Then there are the Camp NaNo Style Year-Round Challenges. You set your own goal and your own timeline. Maybe you commit to 30,000 words in two weeks, or 1,000 words a day for 40 days. This flexibility is great for mystery writers because you can align it with your actual story structure.

Also there is the  100-Day Novel Challenge . Some writers swear by this. It’s a lower daily word count (around 500-700 words), but the extended timeline means you can actually think about what you're writing. For mystery writers who need to track clues and red herrings, this can be less chaotic than a 30-day sprint.

And there are a multitude of writing sprints and hourly challenges.

Okay, so once you've picked your challenge, here’s some tips to use it effectively to write your first draft, or at least most of it.

Start with some structure.  Spend a few days before your challenge starts sketching out your victim, your suspects, your murder method, and your solution. You don't need a chapter-by-chapter outline, but you need a roadmap. Otherwise you'll hit the midpoint and realize your murderer has no motive and your detective has no clues.

If you do that, then you can write out of order if you need to . If you hit a scene that's not flowing? Skip it. Write the confrontation scene with the killer first if that's what's exciting you today. You're writing a mystery, not a memoir – nobody says you have to draft chronologically. Just keep your word count moving forward.

Don't research during the challenge. You'll want to stop and research police procedures, or court systems, or whether chloroform really works the way you think it does. Don't. Put RESEARCH LATER in brackets and keep writing. Assume your facts are correct enough for now. The challenge is about finishing, not about perfection.

Give yourself permission to write badly. Your first draft mystery will have plot holes big enough to drive a hearse through. The timeline won't make sense. Your detective will magically know things they shouldn't. That's fine. That's what revision is for. The goal of the challenge is to have a complete draft to revise, not a publishable novel.

And build in accountability . If your chosen challenge does not have this built in, then create your own. Join a Discord server, find a writing partner, post daily word counts on social media – whatever makes you show up. The social pressure is half the magic of these challenges.

Here are some common pitfalls to avoid.

Don't compare your word count to other genres .Romance writers might hit 75K in a month. That's fine. Your mystery probably needs more planning between scenes. If you hit 40K or 45K instead of 50K, but you have a complete draft with a beginning, middle, and end, you won. Don't get hung up on arbitrary numbers.

Don't revise during the challenge. I know your inner editor is screaming. I know you want to go back and make chapter three better. Don't. Revision is a black hole. You open that chapter with good intentions and suddenly it's three hours later and you've rewritten the same scene four times and added zero new words. Focus on forward momentum only.

Don't use the challenge as procrastination. This sounds weird, but some writers will do challenge after challenge, always drafting, never revising, never actually taking the next steps to publishing. If you've finished three first drafts in three different challenges, maybe it's time to actually revise one into something publishable instead of starting a fourth.

The great thing about writing challenges is that they teach you that you can write a novel. That's not a small thing. Before you finish that first draft, a novel seems impossible. After you finish it – even a messy, flawed first draft – you know you can do it. You've proved it to yourself.

For mystery writers specifically, you learn how to manage a complex plot under pressure. You learn to keep multiple threads going simultaneously. You learn to draft past the "I don't know how this works yet" moments. Those are skills you'll use in every book you write.

So find a challenge that fits your schedule. Set a goal that scares you just a little bit. Tell someone about it so you can't quietly back out. And then write that mystery novel you've been talking about writing.

And if you are wondering – I am absolutely signed up for a challenge. You’ll find the link in the show notes.

And now onto the craft segment, which is all about legal procedurals.

---

So, legal procedurals. Ever since Grisham proved you could make courtroom drama absolutely riveting, aspiring mystery writers have been eyeing this subgenre with a mix of fascination and terror. And I get it – the appeal is huge. You've got built-in structure (the legal process itself), high stakes (someone's freedom or life), natural deadlines (court dates), and plenty of room for twists. But then you think about actually writing one and the panic sets in: "Don't I need to understand tort law? What's the difference between a motion and a brief? Will real lawyers mock me?"

Here's the good news: you don't need a law degree to write a compelling legal procedural. You need to understand how to research smart, what readers care about, and how to make the legal system serve your story instead of the other way around. Let's break it down.

First, let's talk about what your readers are showing up for, because it's not a legal education.

They want justice or the pursuit of it. Legal procedurals are fundamentally about people fighting for what's right within a flawed system. Your readers want to see underdogs win, corruption exposed, truth revealed. The legal process is the battlefield, not the point.

They want characters they care about. A brilliant legal mind is boring if we don't care about them as a person. Grisham's Rudy Baylor works because he's broke, idealistic, and in over his head. Your lawyer protagonist needs life outside the courtroom: debt, family drama, ethical dilemmas, a cat they forget to feed. Something human.

Readers want to understand what's happening. They don't need to understand every legal nuance, but they need to follow the story. If they're confused about what's happening in court or why it matters, you've lost them.

And they want twists and tension. The legal process itself is methodical and slow. You need to inject urgency and surprise. Surprise witnesses, sudden revelations, evidence that changes everything, legal maneuvers that flip the case. The law is your framework, but drama is still your job.

Unless you are an actual lawyer, you will need to research. And even if you are a lawyer, research into the genre will help you.

So start with the obvious: read successful legal procedurals. Grisham, obviously, but also Scott Turow, Lisa Scottoline, Steve Martini, Michael Connelly's Lincoln Lawyer series. Pay attention to how they explain legal concepts, how much courtroom detail they include and where they take liberties for drama.

Thanks to the internet, you can watch real trials on YouTube. Court TV, high-profile cases, even local proceedings if they're streamed. This is gold for getting the rhythm and language right. How do lawyers object? How do judges speak? How slow is it?

You need to know basic legal processes: how a case moves from arrest to trial, what discovery is, what motions are filed when, how jury selection works. You can get this from books like "Law 101" or online resources. You're learning the roadmap, not memorizing every turn.

 If you don't know any lawyers personally, reach out to your local bar association, or find legal writing groups online. Many lawyers are happy to answer basic questions, especially if you're clear that you're writing fiction.

If you can, spend a day at your local courthouse. Sit in on trials. It's public. It's free. You'll get a feel for the atmosphere, the tedium, the sudden moments of drama, how people dress and behave. This is invaluable for sensory detail.

When you come to writing your draft, you will need to structure your timeline. Thankfully, the legal process has a built in structure which you can use, starting with the inciting incident -the crime – and ending with the trial and verdict.

You don't have to show every phase in detail, but readers need to feel the progression. If you jump from "we filed the case" to "we're in trial tomorrow" without showing the investigation, it feels thin.

You will have to explain what is going on, without devoting pages of your story to dull explanations.

One of the easiest tricks is to have a character who needs things explained. A new associate, a legal assistant, a client who doesn't understand the process. Your protagonist can explain to them, which means you're explaining to the reader, but it feels natural.

Real legal proceedings are slow. Discovery takes months. Jury deliberation takes hours or days. You cannot write this in real-time, so you’ll have to compress your timelines.

The courtroom scenes are often the climax of a legal procedural, so spend a lot of time working on this phase of your story.

But the Investigation is a large part of the book. Legal procedurals aren't just courtroom drama. Much of your story is investigation: digging up evidence, tracking down witnesses, uncovering the truth.

This is where you can have fun. Your lawyer protagonist becomes a detective. They're interviewing people, visiting crime scenes, finding documents, following paper trails. This is also where you can add danger – someone doesn't want the truth found, and lawyers can be threatened, followed, even attacked.

The investigation also creates your trial strategy. What your lawyer discovers determines what they argue in court. Show this connection. The brilliant closing argument doesn't come from nowhere; it comes from the work we've seen them do.

Great legal procedurals have moral complexity. Your protagonist should face tough choices:

• Do you defend someone you suspect is guilty?

• Do you use a legal loophole that feels morally wrong?

• What if winning means an innocent person suffers?

• How far do you go to protect client confidentiality?

• What if the truth would help your case but destroy your client?

These dilemmas are what elevate your story from procedural mechanics to real drama. The law is rigid; humans are messy. Show that tension.

Mystery readers expect twists. In legal procedurals, your twists can come from:

• Evidence appearing or disappearing – The smoking gun shows up late, or key evidence is ruled inadmissible

• Witness revelations – Someone lies, or tells a truth that changes everything

• Hidden connections – The victim/defendant/witness has a secret relationship to someone else in the case

• Legal technicalities – A procedural rule that suddenly makes or breaks the case

• Your protagonist's discovery – They uncover something that reframes the entire case

The best twists are legally plausible but unexpected. Set them up subtly, then pay them off with maximum impact.

You Can Do This.  You can write a legal procedural without being a lawyer. You just need to care enough to get the basics right, make the story clear enough for readers to follow, and remember that you're writing drama, not a legal manual.

Your job is to make readers feel the stakes, care about the outcome, and stay up past midnight to see how the trial ends. If you do that, readers will forgive the occasional legal shortcut. They're not reading to pass the bar exam. They're reading for a great story.

So pick your crime, find your lawyer protagonist, figure out what they're fighting for, and start building your courtroom drama. The only objection readers will have is when they finish and realize they have to wait for your next book.

I rest my case.

Until next time, this is Jackie Sharp and the Murder School Podcast.