In my years as a criminal defense trial lawyer, “discovery” wasn’t a process—it was an event.

It usually arrived inside a creased manila envelope, thick with paper and stapled together like a grade school art project. Surveillance footage came in strange formats. Witnesses didn’t always give statements. If something crucial was missing, I had to hike over to the DA’s office or hunt down that one dusty machine that could read the footage or play the video.

So criminal discovery became a series of fleeting, high-stakes moments. Preliminary hearings, collateral proceedings like forfeiture actions or license suspension hearings, even open records requests—I treated them all like mining expeditions. Interviews were vital. Strategy was survival. I tried multi-week felony cases with nothing but a basic police report and carefully banked inconsistencies. And I learned to do much with little.

If you’re unfamiliar with exactly what I’m talking about, this article from FindLaw gives a brief and helpful explanation of the difference between discovery in criminal and civil proceedings. It lays out how criminal discovery is narrower, often asymmetric, and tightly constrained by constitutional protections—especially compared to its civil counterpart.

Fast forward to today, and the shift into civil litigation feels like stepping onto a different battlefield. The procedural landscape is expansive. Depositions, interrogatories, requests for admission, Rule 26 conferences. The toolbox is real, and it’s stocked. And yet all those days spent being scrappy serve me well here!

But coming from a background where discovery was improvisational, I now approach civil discovery like a surgeon, not a tourist.

I walk into depositions knowing exactly what I want to lock down. Written discovery isn’t a fishing expedition—it’s a scalpel. And without a magistrate judge glancing over their glasses to try to limit my scope (they knew what I was up to), I rely on discipline rather than mere deadlines to get it done.

And let’s talk about summary judgment. The idea that I can strike a case before trial using Rule 56 still thrills me. I said just yesterday, as I was prepping my summary judgment packet, “I think it’s the coolest thing that summary judgment even exists.” In the criminal world, your closest equivalent might’ve been a demurrer or a motion for a bill of particulars—procedural nibbles that rarely carried any real bite.

So yes, civil litigation offers luxury. But it demands maturity. Coming up the hard way made me strategic. It taught me thrift. It trained me to see clarity amid chaos, and that instinct transfers beautifully into this new terrain.

Looking back, criminal defense was like the proverbial walking uphill in the snow both ways. But the cold made me tough. And now, with tools I used to dream of, I don’t take a single one for granted.

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⚖️ Key Lessons from the Transition

• Criminal discovery taught me discipline
  When every minute mattered, clarity wasn’t optional—it was essential.
• Civil discovery rewards focus over volume
  With so many tools available, knowing which tool to use is more powerful than having them all.
• Strategic instincts transfer across domains
  Tight timelines, limited access, and trial-first thinking in criminal law sharpened my edge for civil practice.
• The luxury of summary judgment is real—but so is the responsibility
  Knowing its value makes me fight smarter, not longer.

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📚 This post is part of my ongoing series: What Being a Criminal Defense Attorney Taught Me About Being a Civil Defense Attorney.
Stay tuned for the next installment, where I’ll dive into how cross-examination principles from criminal trials elevate witness prep in civil litigation.