So, it’s not surprising I finally got around to having my newly downsized law librarian and self-proclaimed private investigator, Pat Pirard, get hired to work with an attorney on jury selection in what seems like an open-and -hut murder trial.

I always wanted to be seated on a jury, but during the selection process the question would always come up, “Are there any police officers in your family?” I was an only child, but I had cousins, two identical twins who were raised like my brothers who were both cops. Yes, I loved both of them, probably worshipped them because they were three years older than me, but I would try to explain that one became a police officer because he was a bit of a bully and probably enjoyed the power he had over others when he was in uniform and the other twin was knocked unconscious with his own billie club while trying to reason with a suspect during an arrest. He joined the police force to serve and protect (he was also deathly afraid of spiders.)

I figured knowing such different cops well made me especially qualified to be neutral and listen to the facts in a trial rather than being swayed by police testimony. Unfortunately, I never persuaded the judge and was always dismissed before I was sworn in to a jury.

My degree in behavioral science may have contributed to my fascination with juries, too. I was one of those people who had a professor who hired acting students to rush into the classroom unannounced and do outlandish things before rushing out again and then asking us to write down answers to questions about what we had just seen. In a classroom of thirty students, none of us agreed on everything we had witnessed. That experience taught me that firsthand witness accounts aren’t necessarily a recitation of facts, but can sometimes be influenced by a witnesses’ perception of what was happening.I relished the idea of studying the body language of witnesses during testimony and knew some of the tricks about watching where their eyes went as they recalled what happened to judge whether they were recalling an incident or making it up as they testified. I devoured articles about how to spot a lie. I wanted to use what I learned, but never had a chance.

One time when I was called for jury duty, but not called to the jury box, I returned to the courtroom and took notes about how the attorneys used their preemptory challenges to remove jurors. I was so fascinated by their logic—which struck me as being the reverse of what I thought it should have been—that I came back for the entire trial to see if it made any more sense to me.

What’s the cliché, “if you can’t do, teach?” I think writing about an experience you haven’t had works as well so I always wanted to incorporate jury selection in a mystery I wrote. In “What Lucy Heard,” I finally got my chance.

My protagonist, Pat Pirard, is modeled on a real person also named Pat. Both Pats were the Santa Cruz Law Librarian for many years, both carry a 357 Magnum gun and know how to use it, and both are unlicensed private investigators.  I rely on the real Pat for information about some of the tools she uses in her investigations, not to mention her myriad ideas based on cases she’s worked, but it took me until this year to finally ask her if she’d ever done any jury selection. The response I got was not the one I expected. She said, “Oh, yes, and never again.”

“Why, what happened?” I asked.

“It was a murder case. I wanted to meet the accused and decide if I believed his story before I agreed to work on jury selection. When I met him, I believed him, and went to work. I used every idea I had about jury selection—some of my ideas were unconventional—but they worked and he was acquitted. The only problem was that after the trial, I began to have doubts about his innocence. I didn’t sleep for four months worrying about what I had done until the real killer was caught and confessed. Never again. I can’t take that kind of stress.”

Oh, what fun! I was flooded with ideas about what to look for in a potential juror and Pat shared her secrets for her work about who to fight to seat and who to challenge. The real Pat’s experience took place before the incursion of social media into everyone’s life so I added some research using it. Of course I changed details about the murder, the accused, and the motive for murder, but starting “What Lucy Heard“ with jury selection and the impact Pat’s work had on the trial outcome was a joy for me to write.

The meaning of the word grit when used to described a person states “courage and resolve; strength of character.” At least, that’s what the Oxford Dictionary says. I like to think I have grit. But I don’t like the word so much. Grit. Naw. Not a great word.

Now grits. I can get behind grits. And often do. Back to the Oxford Dictionary: “A dish of coarsely ground corn kernels boiled in water or milk.” I like my grits in the morning with bacon and eggs. I like cheesy grits. I like buttery grits. Some people like their grits plain, just a little salt and pepper. I can do that, although I really prefer them with lots of butter or cheese. Whoops! I think I said that.

Moving on to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary on the word gritty. When applied to a person it means “Having strong qualities of tough uncompromising realism. A gritty novel.” Unfortunately, I don’t write gritty. I write cozy. I rarely read gritty, either. I like happy endings or at the very least, ones with justice. And I don’t like too much suffering, especially with an animal. If a novel gets too gritty for me (or a movie) I give it a toss. I try to protect myself.

I didn’t used to be like that, but I learned my lesson the hard way. After reading The Pawnbroker at sixteen years old, I didn’t sleep for three nights. I cried all the time. It’s the story of a WWII concentration camp survivor and it was beyond tough to read. In my teens, this book taught me that I don’t have the “4th wall” that most people do. I was traumatized by the book but in a way, it was a good thing. If I had any childish illusions about sadism, concentration camps, and human suffering, this book dispelled them. It also turned me into an adult overnight. I have never been the same after reading it. That is the power of a novel. That is the power of the written word.

Now in all fairness, The Pawnbroker was beyond gritty. But I find the older I get, the more precious life becomes. The more I respect goodness, kindness, and generosity of spirit. I’ve also been through enough gritty things in my own life that I don’t want to spend time reading about other’s grittiness. Plus, if I want to be scared out of my wits, despondent, or depressed I have but to turn on the six o’clock news or step on a scale.

So, I think I’ve covered the three words, grit, grits, and gritty. And give me grits every time.