Classroom writing

Stop Writing Legal Briefs That Sound Like a Robot

Formal does not mean obscure. Break long sentences, use active voice, and let your logic do the talking.

You submit a two-page brief, feeling confident. The next day, the professor’s comment is one line: “Readable? No.” It stings. But you don’t need to feel sorry for yourself. You confused “legal authority” with “syntactic complexity.” In U.S. law schools, the first job of a brief is clear argumentation. The second is showing you know procedure. If the first fails because of nested clauses, the second never happens.

This over-formality usually comes from three traps: passive voice, Latin overload, and background paragraphs that read like abstracts. You don’t need to explain the history of Article I in a brief. You need to tell the professor why the opposing argument breaks down in this specific case. Spend your energy on connections, not vocabulary.

Step 1: Brutally split long sentences. If a sentence exceeds 40 words or has two-plus clauses, cut it. Legal logic does not rely on syntax. ❌ The defendant, who was subsequently found to have been acting under duress as defined in Miller v. State, did not voluntarily commit the actus reus. ✅ Defendant acted under duress (see Miller). Thus, no voluntary act. Thus, no actus reus. See? The logic is harder.

Step 2: Find the subject. Passive voice in legal writing hides awkward facts, not status. ❌ It is often argued by scholars that the proportionality principle is flawed. ✅ Scholars argue that the proportionality principle is flawed. Who argues? Stated. What is the view? Stated. Cut “It is often argued by scholars” and your voice emerges.

Step 3: Latin is seasoning, not the meal. ❌ The res judicata principle applies, barring a nunc pro tunc amendment. ✅ Res judicata blocks the late amendment. The word “res judicata” is already formal enough. You don’t need “nunc pro tunc” to add weight. If the professor is decoding your Latin combo, they think you’re showing off, not arguing. I never manually fix these loose connectors; I drop the draft into easydue. It tightens the links, saving time for actual argumentation.

Step 4: Use connectors instead of adjectives. Professors hate empty intensifiers. ❌ The evidence was compellingly weak and unreasonably inconclusive. ✅ The evidence is weak. It does not support the conclusion. “Compellingly” and “inconclusive” are emotional words. In a brief, use factual statements instead of emotional judgments. Your logic should be strong on its own; it doesn’t need adverbs to rev the engine. Step 5: Give your conclusion in the first sentence. The brief’s opening must contain your Main Point. ❌ Before discussing the merits, it is important to note the procedural history... ✅ The trial court erred in admitting Exhibit B. This error was not harmless. The professor has no time for your preamble. First sentence: the legal basis. Second sentence: why. Step 6: Delete all “I think.” ❌ I believe that the court should grant certiorari. ✅ The Court should grant certiorari. You are an advocate, not a commentator. Remove “I think/believe/argue.” Let your logic speak. Remember: Legal power comes from structural rigor, not ancient vocabulary. The clearer your voice, the faster they read. Don’t write a tombstone; write a knife.

The takeaway is simple: your voice in legal writing is not about sounding like a 19th-century judge. It’s about making your logic impossible to ignore. If you have to read a sentence twice to find the subject, that sentence is wasting everyone’s time. Cut it. Make it active. Make it clear. That is what makes a brief dangerous. Not the font size. Not the Latin. The clarity of your attack. Now go back to that draft and strip out every passive verb you see. Your professor will notice the difference by page one.