Making a Record – Why Attorneys Keep Losing Their Exhibits on Appeal

There’s a quiet epidemic happening in trial courts across the country—one that doesn’t make headlines, but can destroy a record on appeal faster than a mistrial.
It’s not misconduct. It’s not bias. It’s bad exhibit practice.

And lately, as a certified court reporter, I’ve seen more and more attorneys go “loosey-goosey” with exhibits—waving them around, calling them “marked,” and even publishing them to the jury without ever having them formally marked for identification or received into evidence by the court.

Then, when the day of trial is over and they receive their reporter’s transcript, I get the Saturday-night text:

“Hey, there’s no exhibit index. Where are the exhibits?”

My answer is always the same:

“You got the record you made.”

Who Actually Marks and Admits Exhibits

Let’s start with the basics—because this confusion isn’t just procedural; it’s structural.

  1. The Judge controls what’s admitted into evidence.
    Only the judge can say “marked for identification” or “received into evidence.”
  2. The Clerk physically marks the exhibits and keeps the official exhibit list, noting whether each item is marked, identified, received, or refused.
  3. The Reporter creates a written record of what is said and done—but not what should have been done. Reporters don’t mark or admit exhibits on their own initiative.
  4. The Attorneys are responsible for offering the exhibits into evidence, securing a ruling from the court, and making sure the record reflects it.

It’s that simple. Yet in daily trial practice, this clarity often collapses into chaos.

The “Loosey-Goosey” Exhibit Routine

A typical exchange I’ve witnessed more times than I can count goes like this:

Attorney: “Your Honor, I’d like to show the witness Exhibit 5.”
Judge: “Go ahead.”
Attorney: “(shows document) … and I’ll publish this to the jury.”
Judge: “Okay.”

What just happened?
Nothing, legally speaking.

The exhibit wasn’t marked, wasn’t identified, and wasn’t received. It was shown—but not admitted. When I’m asked later for an exhibit index, I have to explain that unless the court said “marked” or “received,” it’s not an exhibit in the record.

Sometimes, to save time, attorneys will suggest a blanket shortcut:

“Your Honor, can we agree that any exhibit I publish to the jury is automatically deemed admitted?”

If the judge nods and says “Sure,” the damage is already done. Because what’s missing is the specific record—the verbal ruling that identifies what’s being admitted.

When the appeal comes, the Court of Appeal has no idea what Exhibit 5 even was, whether it was admitted, or whether opposing counsel objected.

What the Record Must Contain

A complete trial record has three elements regarding exhibits:

  1. Identification — “Plaintiff’s Exhibit 5, marked for identification.”
  2. Offer — “Plaintiff moves Exhibit 5 into evidence.”
  3. Ruling — “Received into evidence.”

Those three steps must appear on the record.
Without them, the reporter can’t include an exhibit index.

When the transcript is prepared, we reporters review the proceedings and note only those exhibits that have been properly marked and received. We’re not being unhelpful—we’re being faithful to the record.

The record is a legal document. It’s sworn, certified, and relied upon by appellate justices who were not in the courtroom. Every “marking” or “receipt” matters.

“Either by Stipulation or by the Court” – The Line Between Pre-Numbered Exhibits and the Official Record

These rules aren’t theoretical—they’re codified in local procedure. For example, the Los Angeles County Superior Court’s Local Rule 3.52 outlines exactly how exhibits must be pre-numbered, exchanged, and admitted, clarifying that they become evidence “either by stipulation or by the Court.”

Under Los Angeles County Superior Court Local Rule 3.52, attorneys are required to pre-number, exchange, and tab their exhibits before trial—Plaintiffs beginning with Exhibit 1 and Defendants with Exhibit 101. The rule also allows exhibits to be “admitted into evidence, either by stipulation or by the Court,” after which they may be shown to the jury.

That phrase—“either by stipulation or by the Court”—is key. It means counsel can agree to admission or the judge can rule them admitted, but the admission doesn’t legally exist until the court expressly says so on the record. Only then does the court reporter enter the notation—“Received in evidence”—and the exhibit becomes part of the official transcript index.

Without that judicial acknowledgment, the exhibit remains in limbo: pre-numbered, exchanged, maybe even published to the jury, but not part of the appellate record. The reporter cannot and should not record it as admitted unless the judge (or the court, acting through the clerk) verbally acknowledges the admission. This safeguard ensures the evidentiary record matches the court’s rulings, not the parties’ assumptions.

Who Submits Exhibits on Appeal

Another widespread misconception: attorneys often think the court reporter submits the exhibits to the appellate court. Not so.

That’s the court clerk’s job. The clerk’s exhibit list—the one maintained in real time during trial—is the official ledger. The reporter’s index is a supplement that references what was spoken on the record.

If an exhibit was never properly marked or admitted, it won’t appear on either list—and it won’t make it up on appeal.

The Risk of “Helpful” Reporters

Now, let’s talk about something uncomfortable: yes, some court reporters try to “fill in the gaps.”

They hear an attorney say “Mark this,” even if the judge doesn’t confirm it, and they’ll insert a line in the transcript like:

(Plaintiff’s Exhibit 12 marked for identification.)

That might make the attorney happy in the short term—but it’s technically improper and creates a false judicial record.

Under the California Code of Regulations and NCRA standards, reporters must not assume judicial acts or alter the record. We report what’s said and done, period. If the judge doesn’t direct marking, it didn’t happen.

Are Other Reporters “Filling in the Gaps”?

Unfortunately, yes—some do, and it’s technically improper. Some reporters will make “helpful” indexes or mark exhibits on their own when attorneys say things like, “Mark this,” even if the judge doesn’t confirm. It feels accommodating, but it’s risky because it creates a false judicial record.

The CRB and NCRA both make clear that a reporter must not assume judicial acts (like marking exhibits) or alter the official record to make it appear as if a ruling occurred when it didn’t.

The court reporter’s role is to make a transcript that accurately reflects what happened—not what someone wishes had happened.

Why Attorneys Should Care Deeply About This

In appellate practice, missing exhibit records are fatal. If the record doesn’t show that an exhibit was received into evidence, the appellate court can’t consider it—no matter how important it was at trial.

That means your best impeachment photo, your key contract, your timeline, your video—if it wasn’t properly offered and received—it’s invisible on appeal.

A missing record equals a lost issue.

Real-World Example

Imagine this sequence:

  • Counsel shows a photograph to a witness.
  • The witness identifies it as “the scene of the accident.”
  • Counsel asks a few questions, then moves on.

No marking. No ruling.

Later, during closing argument, counsel projects the same photo to the jury and references it as “Exhibit 12.”

At appeal time, the transcript shows nothing called Exhibit 12, no ruling, no receipt. The appellate justices can’t even verify what photo was used. The entire visual context of the case disappears.

That’s how records unravel.

What Attorneys Should Do Differently

To prevent this, here’s a quick checklist every trial lawyer should memorize:

  1. Ask the clerk to mark the exhibit before you show it. “Your Honor, may we have this marked as Plaintiff’s Exhibit 5 for identification?”
  2. Identify the exhibit on the record. “I’m showing you Exhibit 5, previously marked for identification. Can you tell the jury what that is?”
  3. Offer it into evidence. “Your Honor, Plaintiff moves Exhibit 5 into evidence.”
  4. Wait for the ruling. “Received.” or “Denied.”
  5. Don’t assume publication = admission.
    Publishing an exhibit to the jury does not make it evidence unless the court says so.
  6. Check the clerk’s list at the end of each day.
    Make sure the exhibit numbers and status match your notes.

That’s how you preserve a clean record.

Why Court Reporters Care So Much

Reporters are not being pedantic; we’re being protective. We know that appellate justices rely entirely on what’s in the transcript.

If we mark something the judge never ruled on, we create a false record. If we fail to note what was admitted, the appeal becomes vulnerable.

We carry that responsibility seriously—it’s part of our oath and our professional ethics.

The Human Side of the Record

It’s easy to forget that a transcript is a living thing. It’s the heartbeat of the trial—every word, pause, and ruling preserved in time.

When attorneys skip procedural steps, they’re not just inconveniencing the reporter; they’re erasing parts of history. The record becomes a patchwork of assumptions, missing exhibits, and guesswork.

The appeal that follows is built on sand.

Time for a Reset – Teaching the Basics Again

Maybe it’s time we, as reporters, helped reeducate the bar.

Imagine a one-hour CLE called “Making a Record: How to Handle Exhibits at Trial.”
It could cover:

  • The difference between “marked,” “identified,” and “received.”
  • The roles of the judge, clerk, and reporter.
  • Real transcript examples of good and bad exhibit handling.
  • How to check the clerk’s exhibit list daily.
  • Why appellate courts reject unmarked exhibits.

Attorneys would walk away understanding that good record-making isn’t a bureaucratic burden—it’s trial insurance.

Because at the end of the day, when the appeal hits the clerk’s desk and the record goes up, there’s no “fixing” what never existed.

Final Thought

The record is sacred. It’s not just a script—it’s the foundation of appellate justice.

So next time you step into court, remember this simple mantra:

“If the judge didn’t say it, it didn’t happen.”

Your reporter is there to capture your words, not rescue them.
Make your record, and we’ll make it count.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

Editor’s Note: This article is based on public records, regulatory filings, and California statutes. The author’s commentary represents opinion on matters of public concern. No allegations of wrongdoing are made beyond the facts cited.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

When the DRA Ignores Its Own Backyard – Why California’s Court Reporting Schools Deserve Defense, Not Displacement

California has a proud, century-long tradition of producing the fastest, most accurate, and most resilient court reporters in the nation. Yet today, the very schools that keep this legacy alive are under siege — not from AI or attrition, but from within our own professional ranks.

In recent months, the California Department of Education has subjected the state’s only NCRA-approved court reporting school to a series of audits and re-accreditations so extensive they would make a Fortune 500 compliance officer sweat. And while that school has continued to produce more Certified Shorthand Reporters (CSRs) than any other institution in the state — often against impossible odds — some of our own professional associations appear to have lent their platforms to outside voices whose messages, intentionally or not, may undermine that progress.

The DRA’s Role – Advocacy or Abandonment?

The Deposition Reporters Association (DRA) was founded on a promise: to protect and advance the professional interests of California’s freelance court reporters. Its legislative advocacy has, at times, been heroic. But lately, its speaker lineups and event agendas seem to reflect a drift from the lived realities of working reporters.

At a recent DRA-promoted event, an out-of-state speaker — herself a school owner — was invited to discuss theory and training approaches for students. On its face, that might sound like healthy educational exchange. In practice, however, many in the community perceived it differently: as the redirection of California students toward unaccredited, online programs that emphasize writing “shorter” rather than “better.”

The irony is hard to ignore. The DRA, an organization built to champion California’s reporters, gave its platform to individuals some view as marketing programs that compete with — and potentially draw students away from — the only NCRA-approved program in the state.

The Only NCRA-Approved School Standing Alone

For those outside the education loop, here’s the gravity: California has one — and only one — NCRA-approved program remaining. That school’s faculty bring decades of courtroom and legislative experience, teaching time-tested speed-building methods like RWG theory, grounded in precision, endurance, and accuracy.

They have long formed the backbone of our licensing pipeline, producing the majority of California’s CSR passers year after year. Their graduates consistently rank among the fastest, most reliable reporters entering the field. Yet instead of being championed, they’ve had to navigate wave after wave of bureaucratic review — extensive audits, re-accreditations, and compliance demands — all while watching students gravitate toward programs promising quick results that seldom deliver lasting mastery.

California’s court reporting shortage is not a failure of pedagogy; it’s a failure of support. The institution that continues to produce real results should be celebrated, not sidelined.

The “Write Shorter” Mirage

A new instructional trend has gained traction under the banner of “innovation”: the “write shorter” theory — a minimalist approach promising rapid progress through abbreviated dictionaries. It’s a tempting message: “Less writing equals faster speeds.”
But in practice, this shortcut often leads to incomplete transcripts, higher untranslates, and plateaus for students who never develop the endurance that true realtime proficiency requires.

Speed champions like Mark Kislingbury, Anissa Nierenberger, and countless NCRA legends didn’t reach the top by writing less; they did it by writing stronger and more consistently. Endurance and precision — not abbreviation — built the reputation of our profession.

And when students from “shortcut” programs struggle to pass the CSR or leave the field altogether, the impact is not limited to education providers. It ripples through California’s justice system — resulting in delayed cases and unmet demand for qualified stenographers.

The Audits Nobody Talks About

Meanwhile, California’s one remaining NCRA-approved school has faced an intense level of regulatory oversight, including repeated Department of Education reviews and audits — each demanding detailed compliance on everything from attendance logs to tuition accounting. To its credit, the school has consistently met those standards and earned re-approval, only to face the next round shortly thereafter.

It’s a level of scrutiny that would test any institution, particularly one operating in a niche profession with limited funding. Yet through it all, the program continues to graduate licensed CSRs and uphold rigorous academic and ethical standards.

Which raises an uncomfortable question: Where is the visible support from our professional associations?
Where are the public statements of solidarity, the letters of recognition, the speaking invitations for these educators who have kept California’s licensure pipeline alive?

Who Deserves the Microphone

If the DRA genuinely aims to lead, it can start by elevating the voices of those doing the If the DRA genuinely aims to lead, it can start by elevating the voices of those doing the work right here in California — not those marketing external programs with no stake in our licensure system.

There’s no shortage of talent at home:

  • Program directors who coach students through dictation exams
  • Veteran reporters who volunteer as test proctors and mentors
  • Administrators who have restructured curricula repeatedly to satisfy DOE requirements
  • Instructors whose teaching produces measurable, credentialed outcomes

These are the people DRA audiences deserve to hear from — professionals contributing directly to California’s sustainability and success.

The Ripple Effect of Neglect

Every student who leaves a California school for an unaccredited shortcut program is one less candidate taking the CSR. Every CSR license unfilled is one more case delayed, one more attorney forced into a digital recording nightmare, one more transcript with no certification, no chain of custody, and no accountability.

And every time our professional associations stay silent — or appear to endorse questionable alternatives — the message to Sacramento is clear: court reporters can’t even agree on what’s worth protecting.

That disunity becomes the pretext for legislative moves like AB 711, for the digital recording lobby’s arguments about “modernization,” and for policymakers who assume our schools are obsolete. They’re not. They’re just outnumbered, underfunded, and increasingly overlooked by the very people who should be defending them.

A Call for Accountability — and Inclusion

It’s time for the DRA to realign with its core mission.

  • Invite California’s NCRA-approved school leaders to your next event.
  • Showcase instructors producing licensed CSRs.
  • Advocate for fairer DOE oversight and funding for accredited programs.
  • Speak out against recruitment practices that divert California students from the licensure pipeline.

That’s what principled leadership looks like in a profession built on accuracy, ethics, and truth.

The DRA’s advocacy record deserves respect — but advocacy extends beyond legislation. It means loyalty to the very ecosystem that sustains us: students, schools, mentors, and institutions that still believe in the art of reporting.

Restoring Trust and Transparency

If concerns about external recruitment or conflicts of interest have circulated among members, DRA leadership can strengthen confidence through open dialogue. Transparency, not silence, builds trust. Addressing these perceptions head-on would reaffirm the association’s commitment to education and ethics alike.

The Final Word

The future of court reporting in California depends not on how many lobbyists we hire, but on how many students we inspire — and that inspiration begins in the classroom. The DRA now has an opportunity to prove it stands with the educators preserving our legacy, not the opportunists promoting shortcuts.

The question remains:
Will the DRA amplify the voices preserving our craft — or those dismantling it from the outside?

Steno Imperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

Editor’s Note: This article is based on public records, regulatory filings, and California statutes. The author’s commentary represents opinion on matters of public concern. No allegations of wrongdoing are made beyond the facts cited.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

AI Transcripts Gone Wild – The Day a Transcription Company Asked a Court Reporter to “Certify” Their Robot

Just when we thought we’d seen it all.

This week, a transcription company actually called a certified court reporter in Arizona and said, “Hey, we made an AI recording of a deposition — we do this all over the country. Can you certify it for us?”

Let that sink in.
They wanted a licensed officer of the court to certify a machine-generated transcript — one that wasn’t taken down by a live reporter, wasn’t monitored, wasn’t even preserved properly. The company didn’t save the original audio file. There’s no record to salvage, no human verification, no chain of custody. Just a digital hallucination masquerading as a legal record.

And when the attorney (bless them) realized this “AI deposition” didn’t meet Arizona state code, they demanded that it be certified by a licensed reporter to be admissible.

That’s when the transcription company had the gall — the cojones — to ask if a reporter would just “sign off” on it.

Why This Is a Dangerous Precedent

In states like Arizona, California, Nevada, and Texas, deposition transcripts are legally recognized only when certified by a licensed court reporter.
Certification isn’t a rubber stamp — it’s a sworn oath that the record is true, complete, and impartial. It’s backed by years of training, licensure, continuing education, and a code of ethics enforced by state boards.

An AI transcript, no matter how “accurate” it claims to be, doesn’t have:

  • A live officer administering the oath.
  • A verified chain of custody for the record.
  • Any accountability for tampering, omissions, or bias.
  • The ability to certify compliance with procedural codes (like CCP 2025.330 in California or Rule 30 in Arizona).

Yet, here we are — facing companies so eager to cut corners that they’re literally asking reporters to launder the record by attaching their professional seal to an uncertified, machine-generated document.

When “Efficiency” Becomes Fraud

This isn’t innovation. It’s impersonation.

When a transcriptionist or notary signs a “certificate” page that looks like a reporter’s, it’s not just misleading — it’s potentially fraudulent.
A certification page using the wrong title (CSR vs. transcriptionist vs. notary) misrepresents the record’s origin and violates state deposition codes.
Worse yet, it misleads courts and litigants who assume the transcript carries the weight of a certified, verbatim record.

One commenter put it best:

“Only an idiot would certify that.”

Another shared:

“The witness literally said they didn’t consent to being recorded by AI — only by the reporter. The attorneys thanked me for catching it. Then they started whispering about what happened in the past.”

If that doesn’t make your skin crawl, it should.

The Slippery Slope of “Just This Once”

And yet, there will always be a handful of reporters who will rationalize it.

“It’s already done — I might as well get paid to fix it.”
“It’s not my job to police the industry.”
“They’ll find someone else if I say no.”

This is how the profession erodes — not from the outside, but from within. Every time a reporter agrees to certify someone else’s digital transcript, it undermines every certified reporter’s credibility. It tells attorneys, agencies, and AI companies that our licenses are for sale.

They’re not.

The Real Solution: Education and Enforcement

The attorneys in this case deserve credit — one of them had the legal literacy to demand a proper certification. That’s where our focus should be: educating the bar.

Attorneys need to know:

  • An uncertified AI transcript is not admissible in most jurisdictions.
  • State codes mandate a licensed court reporter for deposition certification.
  • “Cost savings” disappear when the transcript gets tossed for non-compliance.

Meanwhile, court reporting boards and associations should make examples of this behavior.
If a company is advertising “AI depositions” as equivalent to certified transcripts, that’s false advertising and unauthorized practice under most state laws. Period.

Final Word: Don’t Certify Garbage

This story isn’t just a funny “Can you believe it?” moment. It’s a flashing red warning light for our entire profession.

AI doesn’t take an oath.
AI doesn’t answer to the CR Board.
AI doesn’t have a conscience — or a license to lose.

So the next time someone calls asking you to certify an AI-generated transcript, you know exactly what to say:

#BiteMe

The Rise of the AI Impostors – How Fake Court Reporters Are Flooding the Legal System

October 2025

A year ago, legal professionals were just beginning to notice the quiet infiltration of AI notetakers and digital “reporters” into deposition rooms. Today, it’s a full-blown epidemic.
Across the country, videographers are doing double takes when a real stenographer walks in with a machine. “Wow,” they say, “we haven’t seen one of those in months.”

The substitution of certified stenographic reporters with unlicensed digital operators—and even AI “assistants” masquerading as neutral officers of the court—has accelerated at an alarming rate. What was once marketed as a “cost-saving innovation” has become one of the greatest threats to record integrity and due process our system has ever faced.

The Exponential Growth of a Dangerous Shortcut

In 2024, AI notetakers were mostly limited to tech startups and casual internal meetings. But as agencies scrambled to meet demand amid a perceived “stenographer shortage,” they began contracting with digital vendors and off-the-shelf AI transcription tools.
Today, those apps have evolved—and multiplied.

Some operate under friendly names like “Otter,” “Scribe,” or “Meeting Companion.” Others are embedded invisibly in Zoom or Teams calls under aliases such as User_1’s Assistant or Realtime Notes Bot. The deception is intentional: most attorneys don’t realize that when they see an unfamiliar participant listed in the deposition, it’s not a human at all—it’s a data-harvesting algorithm.

This unregulated trend has outpaced policy and ethics oversight. AI notetakers are being used in depositions, arbitrations, and mediations without disclosure, without consent, and without any guarantee that the data is secure—or even accurate.

“Who Are You?” The New Reality in the Deposition Room

Veteran videographers describe the shift vividly.

“When a real machine writer shows up, everyone’s surprised,” one videographer in Los Angeles said. “Half the time I’m the only one who realizes the ‘reporter’ is just pressing record on an iPad.”

Many digital “reporters” don’t identify themselves clearly, and some even wear professional-looking name tags with “Certified” in fine print referring not to a court reporting license, but to a corporate “training course.” Attorneys assume the record is being handled by a licensed officer, when in reality, their testimony is being recorded by someone with no certification, no oath of impartiality, and no control over where the audio or data will end up.

How to Recognize the Fakes

The simplest way to spot a non-stenographic imposter is to look—and listen.

  1. No Steno Machine in Sight
    A true stenographer writes on a specialized machine with 22 keys, connected to a laptop running CAT (computer-aided transcription) software. A digital recorder uses an iPad, laptop, or multiple microphones—no steno machine, no realtime feed.
  2. No Realtime Display
    Stenographers can provide an instantaneous text feed of testimony. If the “reporter” says they can’t do that, you’re not with a licensed professional.
  3. Multiple Microphones or USB Interfaces
    Watch for USB audio boxes, handheld recorders, or lapel mics spread across the table—those are hallmarks of digital recording, not stenography.
  4. No CSR or RPR Number
    Certified reporters always carry a license or certification ID and will gladly provide it. A digital operator may claim “company certification” or say “the transcript is done by AI later.”
  5. Unfamiliar Terminology
    If they refer to themselves as a “technician,” “recorder,” or “digital notetaker,” that’s your cue: this isn’t a court reporter, it’s an unregulated recorder.

The Hidden Dangers – What Lawyers Need to Know

1. Consent and Compliance Nightmares

Wiretap statutes differ by state. California, for example, is a two-party consent jurisdiction. When a third-party AI or digital operator records without explicit, informed consent from all participants, it’s a potential felony violation. Yet few agencies disclose that they are using such systems, and most participants never consent.

2. Data Leaks and Privacy Breaches

AI tools store audio and transcripts on remote servers—often outside the U.S.—where they may be used to “train” future models. That means your confidential client testimony, trade secrets, and personal medical data could be analyzed, mined, or even sold by a third-party vendor. Once uploaded, those words are no longer under your control.

3. Loss of Attorney-Client Privilege

Courts have held that privilege can be waived when confidential communications are shared with a third party. When an AI service records and stores that conversation, the “third party” is a machine owned by someone else—and you’ve just invited it into your privileged room.

4. Accuracy and Bias

Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR) still struggles with accents, crosstalk, and complex legal phrasing. It doesn’t distinguish between “affirmative” and “uh-huh,” nor does it know when someone is speaking off the record. AI also introduces bias—training data skews accuracy toward dominant dialects, meaning minority speakers are misquoted more often.

5. Security and Liability

When a data breach occurs—and it will—who’s responsible? The unlicensed recorder? The agency that subcontracted them? Or the law firm that allowed the AI to join the deposition? Under ABA Formal Opinion 512, lawyers are ultimately responsible for safeguarding client information, even when third-party vendors are used.

Real-World Consequences – When AI Gets It Wrong

Earlier this year, a corporate deposition in Texas went viral after an AI transcript quoted an executive saying “Yes, we inflated the numbers,” when he had actually said, “No, we never inflated the numbers.” The correction came days later, after the “digital reporter” uploaded the recording to an offshore transcription vendor—and the damage was done. The transcript had already been circulated internally, triggering a compliance investigation.

In another case, an off-the-record sidebar was captured and transcribed by an AI notetaker running in the background of a Zoom deposition. That transcript—unbeknownst to counsel—was automatically emailed to all participants, including opposing counsel. The result: a mistrial motion and sanctions hearing.

The Ethics of Silence

Even when lawyers sense something’s off, many hesitate to object. Agencies assure them that “digital is approved by the courts,” but in most jurisdictions, that’s simply false.
California, for instance, explicitly prohibits electronic recording in civil proceedings except under narrow circumstances. Yet hundreds of depositions each week are recorded by unlicensed operators in direct violation of state law.

The deeper ethical concern is one of disclosure. If you don’t know who is recording or where your client’s voice is stored, you can’t meet your duty of competence or confidentiality. Convenience is not a defense.

What You Can Do – Practical Safeguards for Attorneys and Firms

  1. Ask Who the Reporter Is—by Name and License Number.
    Request their CSR or RPR number before the deposition begins. If they can’t provide one, object on the record.
  2. Prohibit Third-Party Apps or “Assistants.”
    Before proceeding on Zoom or Teams, verify that no AI bots or notetakers are present. Disable “meeting companion” integrations in your settings.
  3. Insist on a Certified Court Reporter.
    Licensed stenographers are trained officers of the court bound by oath, ethics, and confidentiality statutes. They are responsible for the record—not an algorithm.
  4. Update Your Engagement Letters.
    Include language prohibiting unlicensed recording and requiring disclosure of any subcontracted transcription vendors.
  5. Educate Your Team.
    Many paralegals and associates assume all “reporters” are the same. Hold an internal CLE session to teach them the difference between stenographic, voice, and digital reporting.

Why the Real Ones Still Matter

A licensed court reporter isn’t just a typist—they are the last human safeguard between truth and distortion.
They understand off-the-record protocols, detect when a witness is misheard, and protect the sanctity of the record. They don’t upload your client’s deposition to a cloud server or let an algorithm learn from it. They are trained to maintain impartiality, verify accuracy, and certify the transcript as a true and correct record of proceedings.

When videographers say they “haven’t seen a real stenographer in a while,” that should alarm us all. It means the justice system is quietly surrendering its memory to machines that cannot swear an oath, cannot protect a record, and cannot be held accountable when it fails.

The Cost of Complacency

AI notetakers are no longer novelty gadgets—they’re uninvited participants in our most confidential legal proceedings. Their presence erodes privacy, jeopardizes privilege, and introduces risks that no informed attorney should accept.

The solution is simple: demand certified professionals.
If the deposition truly matters—if the testimony, your client’s reputation, or the outcome of the case depends on an accurate record—then convenience cannot come before credibility.

Because once we let the machines take over the record, there may be no one left who can say what really happened.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

Editor’s Note: This article is based on public records, regulatory filings, and California statutes. The author’s commentary represents opinion on matters of public concern. No allegations of wrongdoing are made beyond the facts cited.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Yin and Yang of Court Reporters – What Do You Do Outside the Record?

Kevin O’Leary recently wrote something that struck me:

“When I hire top talent, I don’t just look at credentials. I want to know what else you do outside the office. Do you still dance, play guitar, paint, or ride motorcycles? Those eclectic passions matter. The best performers I’ve ever hired, whether CEOs, CFOs, or engineers, always have a Yin and Yang. They balance artistic pursuits with the binary discipline of business.”

It made me immediately think of court reporters — some of the most high-functioning, detail-driven, yet creatively balanced professionals I’ve ever met.

Over the years, I’ve seen countless posts showing the other side of reporters:
🎭 Singing in choirs
🎨 Painting or crafting
🏇 Riding horses
🎹 Playing piano
💃 Dancing, acting, or performing
🚴 Competing in triathlons
✈️ Traveling the world
🐾 Volunteering at rescues or shelters

These are not “hobbies” — they’re evidence of the same neural wiring that makes stenographers so extraordinary at our jobs: focus, rhythm, timing, discipline, and heart.

So let’s celebrate that.

💬 What do you do outside of reporting that keeps you balanced, creative, or inspired?
Share photos, stories, or even the weirdest “other life” you’ve lived beyond the transcript. Let’s remind the world that behind every page of testimony is a human being with incredible range.

The Cracks Beneath the Surface – Rebuilding the Foundation of the Court Reporting Profession

The image is haunting: a two-story yellow house stands defiantly against a gray sky, but half of its structure is gone. The right side appears intact—windows still in place, porch light hanging, door centered proudly—while the left side is gutted, exposing beams and rubble. It’s a house that looks solid from one angle, but step back, and the fragility is undeniable.

This is the perfect metaphor for the state of the court reporting profession in 2025. From the outside, to those who only glance quickly, the system still appears stable: depositions are being taken, transcripts are produced, trials move forward. But those of us who live inside this “house” every day—court reporters, attorneys, judges, and litigants who depend on a verbatim record—know how dangerously hollow parts of the structure have become.

1. A Profession Built on a Once-Solid Foundation

For over a century, stenographic court reporters have been the bedrock of the American justice system. Our shorthand machines capture every word, pause, and interruption—creating the only accurate, legally recognized record of proceedings. This role has always been central, not peripheral. In courtrooms, reporters stand as impartial guardians of the record; in depositions, they ensure testimony meets the standards of admissibility under the rules of evidence.

This was our foundation: skill, presence, impartiality, and legal weight. The walls of the house were built with rigorous licensing requirements, ethical standards, and rules of court that recognized the importance of the reporter’s live presence.

But over time, cracks began to form—not all at once, and not always in obvious places.

2. Neglected Maintenance: The Warning Signs We Ignored

Every house requires upkeep. Foundations shift. Weather wears down the paint. Termites work quietly. And for decades, while the profession continued to function, critical maintenance was deferred.

  • Legislative erosion: Statutes like California’s CCP § 269 and § 2025.320 long ensured a reporter’s presence. But legislative and regulatory bodies, pressured by private equity-backed firms, began carving loopholes—introducing remote testimony rules, notary alternatives, and “digital reporting” pilots that weakened the profession’s legal footing.
  • Agency consolidation: Independent agencies—the carpenters and masons of our professional structure—were absorbed by large, investor-owned conglomerates. These companies often valued profit margins over the integrity of the record, treating reporters as interchangeable labor rather than licensed officers of the court.
  • Technological creep: While technology itself isn’t the enemy, the way it has been deployed often is. Digital audio recording systems have been sold to courts and law firms as cheaper “equivalents,” despite clear hearsay and reliability issues. Automated speech recognition (ASR) is marketed as a silver bullet, despite failing to meet evidentiary standards in real legal proceedings.

Like a homeowner who ignores a growing crack in the wall, the profession didn’t always respond swiftly to these developments. Many reporters trusted that “the system” would protect their role. But the system itself was slowly being undermined.

3. The Storm Hits: Structural Collapse Begins

Every house faces storms. In our case, that storm came in multiple waves:

  • Reporter shortages, real and manufactured, were used as political justification to replace stenographers with digital systems rather than address recruitment and retention failures.
  • COVID-19 accelerated remote proceedings, and with them, digital recording systems quietly replaced reporters in many jurisdictions under the guise of “emergency measures.”
  • Legislative ambushes like California’s AB 711 and Nevada’s SB 191 reshaped compensation structures and opened doors for non-stenographic “alternatives,” often drafted with heavy influence from the very agencies that stand to profit.
  • Public misunderstanding grew. Attorneys began to believe reporters were “overcharging,” not realizing agencies were the ones adding massive markups while paying reporters a fraction. Meanwhile, the public narrative shifted toward technology and cost-savings—not accuracy, admissibility, or due process.

The result? Half the house was ripped away. What remains is exposed, vulnerable, and perilously unbalanced.

4. Foundational Damage Has Consequences

When the foundation crumbles, the entire structure is at risk. For the court reporting profession, this doesn’t just mean job losses—it means legal chaos:

  • Evidentiary vulnerability: Testimony captured by uncertified, non-present digital recorders often fails hearsay exceptions. Without a licensed reporter, the transcript can become inadmissible or vulnerable to challenge.
  • Appeals jeopardized: Inaccurate or incomplete transcripts lead to appealable errors. Cases have been reversed or remanded because the record could not be reconstructed accurately.
  • Access inequities: Wealthier parties may hire human reporters to guarantee a usable record, while poorer litigants are left with defective audio or machine output—widening the justice gap.
  • Reporter exodus: Talented stenographers are leaving, either burned out or underpaid, taking decades of institutional knowledge with them.

Like a home that looks intact from the street but has a sagging foundation, the legal system is still “standing”—but one more storm could bring catastrophic collapse.

5. Rebuilding the Foundation: A Blueprint for Action

The good news is this: foundations can be rebuilt. It requires honesty, effort, and collective will. The profession doesn’t need cosmetic repairs; it needs structural renovation.

Here’s where we start:

a. Reinforce Legal Pillars

Reaffirm and strengthen statutes that require licensed court reporters for proceedings. Loopholes that allow notaries or uncertified “operators” to act in their place must be closed. Rules of evidence must be enforced uniformly—if testimony doesn’t meet hearsay exceptions, it shouldn’t be allowed in just because it was “cheaper.”

b. Reclaim Control of the Record

Court reporters must assert their legal role as the Responsible Charge of the record. This means refusing to sign or certify proceedings they did not cover, demanding proper working conditions, and supporting models that give reporters—not agencies—custody of the transcript.

c. Educate Attorneys and Judges

Attorneys are often unaware that the “markup” they resent isn’t coming from reporters, but from intermediary agencies. Judges sometimes don’t understand the evidentiary consequences of allowing uncertified digital systems. Education campaigns, CLE presentations, and bar association outreach are critical.

d. Modernize, But With Integrity

Technology can enhance—not replace—stenographers. Real-time streaming, transcript search tools, and secure repositories can make reporters more efficient and valuable. The key is that reporters must own the technological infrastructure, not be subsumed by it.

e. Rebuild Community

Reporter isolation has been part of the problem. A unified, strategic community can resist bad legislation, expose misinformation, and present a clear alternative. Movements don’t grow from fear—they grow from shared belief in a better future.

6. A House Worth Rebuilding

The house in the photograph isn’t beyond saving—but it won’t fix itself. It needs new beams, careful work, and the wisdom to reinforce what was once strong.

The court reporting profession stands at a similar crossroads. We can continue patching cracks and hoping for the best, or we can roll up our sleeves and rebuild the foundation intentionally—one statute, one courtroom, one reporter at a time.

Because if the foundation goes, the whole structure of justice goes with it.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Dreaded “C” Word – Myths and Truths About Carpal Tunnel Syndrome

How I Reclaimed My Hands, My Career, and My Confidence

For court reporters, the words carpal tunnel can stop a heartbeat. It’s the Big “C” in our world — the diagnosis whispered with dread in break rooms, the career-ending fear we never want to face. We spend our lives relying on our hands. The idea of losing that ability is almost unthinkable.

But here’s what no one tells you: carpal tunnel syndrome (CTS) isn’t a death sentence for your career. It’s manageable, treatable, and — with the right care — you can come back stronger than ever. I’m living proof.

I was an official court reporter when it hit me. My hands had always been my superpower — they kept up with judges, attorneys, and witnesses, all without complaint. Then, one day, I felt a strange tingling in my fingertips. Within weeks, it was numbness, pain, and a deep ache that made even holding a pen feel impossible. I feared the worst: that my career was over.

What Is Carpal Tunnel Syndrome?

Carpal Tunnel Syndrome happens when the median nerve, which runs from the forearm into the palm of the hand, becomes compressed at the wrist. This nerve passes through a narrow passageway in the wrist called the carpal tunnel, alongside tendons that flex your fingers. When swelling or inflammation narrows that tunnel, the nerve gets squeezed — and that’s when the pain, tingling, and numbness begin.

Symptoms often start gradually. You might wake up with numb fingers or feel your hand “fall asleep” during a long transcript. Some describe an electric-shock sensation radiating from the wrist up the arm. Over time, grip strength can weaken, and fine motor skills — like buttoning a shirt or typing — can suffer.

Who Gets It — and Why

One of the biggest myths about CTS is that it’s caused purely by repetitive motion. My doctor set me straight on that. He said,

“It’s not the steno machine that’s the problem — it’s the QWERTY keyboard.”

That floored me. Like most reporters, I assumed years of steno writing caused it. But the truth is more nuanced. The steno machine is actually ergonomically superior to traditional typing because it allows for neutral wrist positioning and distributes pressure more evenly across the hands.

The real culprits? Inflammation, anatomy, and systemic factors.

People with narrow wrist canals are naturally more prone to CTS. Add in inflammation — from repetitive stress, autoimmune responses, hormonal changes, or even diet — and the risk multiplies. For some, the onset can be sudden.

That’s what happened to me. I had what my doctor called an “acute inflammatory event.” Practically overnight, my wrists swelled and the pain became unbearable. Inflammation compressed the nerve so rapidly that it felt like a light switch had flipped.

Hormonal changes also play a major role. Pregnancy, for instance, can cause temporary CTS due to fluid retention. Many women experience wrist numbness in their third trimester that completely resolves after childbirth.

So yes, CTS is about mechanics — but it’s also deeply tied to biology and inflammation.

My Experience: The Long Road to Surgery

Once I reported my symptoms, I expected quick action. Instead, I entered the bureaucratic labyrinth of workers’ compensation. The adjusters denied my claim repeatedly. Before approval, I had to endure endless tests — nerve conduction studies, EMGs (electromyography), independent medical evaluations (IMEs) — each one confirming what I already knew: my nerves were compressed.

My dad, ever the problem-solver, met an insurance adjuster at a car wash who told him she’d gone around the system — paid for her surgery privately and later had it reimbursed. I wish I’d done the same.

Because by the time I finally got surgery — fourteen months later — irreversible nerve damage had already set in.

The Surgery: Endoscopic Carpal Tunnel Release

When it was finally approved, I chose the endoscopic carpal tunnel release, a modern, minimally invasive alternative to the traditional open surgery. Instead of a long incision across the palm, the surgeon makes a small cut — barely a centimeter — and inserts a tiny camera (endoscope) to see inside the tunnel. Using delicate instruments, they cut the transverse carpal ligament, relieving pressure on the median nerve.

The advantage? Less trauma, less scarring, and a dramatically faster recovery.

When I woke up from surgery, I was stunned. The pain, numbness, and tingling were gone. Completely gone. The only thing I felt was mild soreness from the incision — and immense relief.

My doctor recommended doing one hand at a time to ensure I could function during recovery. It was inconvenient, but wise. I’ve known others who had both wrists done simultaneously, but you really need a strong support system at home for that.

Within two weeks, I was typing again. I had full range of motion, minimal discomfort, and no visible scars. Compared to the 6–8 weeks typical for open surgery, it was miraculous.

What I Learned: Don’t Wait

Here’s the hardest part to admit: waiting so long caused permanent damage. My EMG results showed 7–10% permanent disability in both hands due to nerve atrophy from prolonged compression.

If you suspect carpal tunnel syndrome, don’t wait. Early intervention — even just rest, splinting, or corticosteroid injections — can prevent irreversible damage. Once the nerve starts dying, it can’t regenerate.

The message I share with every reporter now is simple:

“You can recover from carpal tunnel. But you can’t recover lost time.”

The Inflammation Connection

Because inflammation is such a key driver, lifestyle changes can make a huge difference in prevention and recovery. My surgeon gave me practical, science-backed tips that anyone in our profession can use:

  • Stay hydrated. Dehydration thickens synovial fluid around tendons, increasing friction.
  • Adopt an anti-inflammatory diet. Focus on leafy greens, omega-3s (salmon, walnuts), turmeric, and berries. Avoid processed sugar, fried foods, and refined carbs.
  • Stretch and rest. Every 30 minutes, roll your wrists, shake out your hands, and rest your fingers flat.
  • Ergonomic setup. Keep wrists neutral, elbows at 90°, and forearms parallel to the floor. Consider a split keyboard or ergonomic steno machine setup.
  • Nighttime positioning. Avoid curling your wrists under your pillow. A simple wrist brace can help keep them straight during sleep.
  • Address inflammation early. If you notice swelling, stiffness, or tingling, treat it as inflammation — not just overuse.

These small adjustments add up. They protect the microstructures in your wrists and reduce strain on the median nerve over time.

Breaking the Stigma

What surprised me most during recovery was how much fear surrounds this topic. So many reporters stay silent about pain because they’re afraid of being seen as “damaged goods.” That silence keeps people suffering longer than they should.

We need to break that stigma. Talking openly about carpal tunnel — sharing what works, what doesn’t, and which doctors or techniques truly help — empowers others to seek help sooner.

And let’s dispel the biggest myth once and for all: carpal tunnel syndrome is not career-ending.

Thriving After CTS

Today, I’m back on my writer, reporting long days and loving it. My wrists are strong, flexible, and pain-free. I’m more conscious of my posture, my diet, and my limits — but that’s a small price for the gift of longevity.

If you’re struggling right now, take heart. Modern medicine, awareness, and early action have transformed what used to be a career killer into something completely survivable.

Don’t let fear paralyze you. Get evaluated. Ask about endoscopic surgery. Take inflammation seriously. And above all — don’t wait.

Because with the right care and mindset, the Big “C” word doesn’t have to mean career-ending. It can mean comeback.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Dress Like You Belong in the Record

The courthouse is not a coffee shop.
It’s not your classroom, your gym, or your weekend errand route.
It’s the physical embodiment of justice — and when you walk through those doors, every inch of you communicates respect, credibility, and readiness.

We’re Not Schoolteachers

We’re not schoolteachers.
We’re not office administrators.
We’re not gig workers with clipboards and coffee cups.

We are officers of the court — the guardians of the record. We handle testimony that determines people’s freedom, livelihoods, reputations, and millions of dollars in verdicts. That level of responsibility demands presence — and presence begins with how you show up.

You don’t need to dress like you’re teaching a class; you need to dress like you’re writing history. Because in many cases, you are.

Every keystroke you make becomes part of the permanent legal record of the United States. That should be reflected in the way you present yourself to the world — sharp, composed, and unmistakably professional.

Whether you’re an attorney, a court reporter, a paralegal, or an intern, your wardrobe is your first exhibit.

Professionalism Is Non-Negotiable

Every courtroom professional should treat the courthouse as sacred ground. The judge’s robe, the clerk’s seal, the flags, the transcript — all are symbols of order. But so is you.

When you roll in wearing capris, cheetah-print flats, or a burgundy-red dye job that would make a K-pop star blush, you’re not making a style statement — you’re making a credibility statement.

You may not intend disrespect, but perception governs credibility. And credibility governs trust. In law, that’s everything.

The $1,600 Rule

If you’re making $1,600 per diem or billing hundreds an hour, you can afford a suit jacket. Period.
If you can afford a flight case on wheels and professional certifications, you can afford to look the part.

Investing in a professional wardrobe is not vanity; it’s a tool of your trade — no less essential than your steno machine, your laptop, or your reporter’s certificate. When you appear in front of judges, juries, or clients, your attire should whisper, I take this profession seriously.

You represent not just yourself but the integrity of the record. The law is steeped in tradition — and though we can modernize process and technology, decorum never goes out of style.

What “Professional” Actually Looks Like

Let’s strip away the guesswork. Professional court attire doesn’t have to be expensive, but it must be intentional. Here’s the modern baseline:

For Women

  • Suits: A tailored blazer with matching slacks or a knee-length skirt. Dark neutrals — black, navy, charcoal, or beige — always win.
  • Tops: Solid blouses, button-downs, or shells in subdued colors. Avoid plunging necklines or sheer fabrics.
  • Shoes: Closed-toe flats or modest heels. No cheetah print, sparkles, or sneakers.
  • Hair: Natural or professional tones. Burgundy, pink, or neon blue may be fun, but they distract. If you must keep a bright color, tie it back neatly or wear a neutral wig during proceedings.
  • Accessories: Minimal jewelry, no jangling bracelets, no statement earrings that swing like pendulums when you turn your head.

For Men

  • Suits: A fitted jacket, pressed slacks, tie, and polished shoes. Always pressed, never wrinkled.
  • Colors: Navy or charcoal convey authority without arrogance.
  • Hair/Grooming: Clean, controlled, intentional. No novelty socks, no hoodies, no visible undershirts.

If you’re appearing in a California superior court, a federal courtroom, or even a deposition room with high-value clients, treat it as though you’re walking into the Supreme Court. That mindset will carry your professionalism before you ever speak a word.

Why It Matters More Than You Think

The legal profession runs on perception. Judges notice. Jurors notice. Even clerks and bailiffs notice.

A crisp, well-fitted suit says I am organized, credible, and detail-oriented.
A wrinkled shirt, leggings, or capri pants say I’m casual about my craft.

That subconscious impression extends to your work product. The judge doesn’t know if your transcript is perfect yet, but they’ll assume it is — or isn’t — based on how you show up.

The same is true for lawyers. Jurors subconsciously trust the attorney who looks prepared, pressed, and polished. A slouching posture or sloppy outfit makes your argument work twice as hard.

Court Is Not Casual Friday

The pandemic blurred the lines between home and office. Remote hearings, Zoom appearances, and hybrid depositions made it easy to forget that the courtroom is still a temple of formality. But the moment you step foot in a courthouse — any courthouse — that line reappears.

Dress codes exist because respect requires ritual. You wouldn’t walk into a wedding in sweatpants. Why would you enter a courtroom — a forum of justice — any less prepared?

The phrase “business casual” has been abused beyond recognition. Capri pants, open-toe sandals, and graphic tote bags reading “Can’t Tell” belong in brunch lines, not legal corridors. When in doubt, overdress. You can always remove the jacket, but you can’t suddenly conjure professionalism if you never brought it.

Style as Silent Advocacy

Your wardrobe advocates for you before you utter a word. For court reporters, whose presence is meant to be neutral and authoritative, that quiet credibility is vital. You’re the keeper of the record — the living embodiment of accuracy and integrity.

For lawyers, dressing sharply is not about ego. It’s about empathy. Clients need to see you as the person they can trust with their lives, finances, or freedom. Judges and juries need to feel you respect the gravity of the process.

Even for legal staff, interpreters, or videographers, dressing appropriately says you understand your environment. You’re part of a team that upholds justice, not just a bystander.

Building a Professional Wardrobe on a Budget

Not everyone has $5,000 to drop on designer suits — nor should you. But you can assemble a professional, camera-ready wardrobe without breaking the bank.

  1. Start with Neutrals. Black, navy, gray, and beige mix and match easily.
  2. Invest in Structure. Buy one excellent blazer and one pair of perfectly fitting slacks. Tailoring beats brand names.
  3. Shop Smart. Thrift stores, outlets, and resale sites like Poshmark or The RealReal often carry quality pieces at a fraction of retail.
  4. Rotate Accessories. A silk scarf or statement watch can change your look without changing your outfit.
  5. Maintain Everything. Dry-clean regularly. Steam wrinkles. Polish shoes. Replace missing buttons.

You’re not dressing to impress — you’re dressing to express respect.

The “I Don’t Care” Epidemic

Somewhere along the way, many professionals started mistaking informality for authenticity. But “being real” doesn’t mean being careless. There’s a difference between individuality and indifference.

Showing up in a hoodie to a deposition doesn’t make you relatable; it makes you look unprepared.
Dyeing your hair a bright shade without understanding how it will appear under fluorescent courtroom lights isn’t self-expression; it’s self-sabotage.

You can be modern, stylish, and even bold — but your choices should elevate the profession, not distract from it.

When in Doubt, Look at the Judge

Judges are your north star for courtroom decorum. They set the tone. Observe them: robes pressed, demeanor controlled, minimal jewelry, neutral tones. Everything communicates authority and gravity. That’s the aesthetic standard for everyone in that space.

If your appearance would look out of place standing next to a judge, it’s probably out of place in a courtroom.

The Respect Loop

When you dress like a professional, people treat you like one. When they treat you like one, you perform like one. When you perform like one, opportunities multiply.

Court reporters who carry themselves with authority command higher rates and repeat business. Attorneys who project confidence attract better clients. Clerks who look capable often move up faster. The respect loop begins with what you project.

The Takeaway

In law, presentation is inseparable from substance. You can’t separate credibility from appearance. If you’re going to represent justice — or record it — you owe it to the system, the litigants, and yourself to look the part.

Invest in your wardrobe.
Press your clothes.
Show up like the courthouse matters.

Because it does.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The End of the Record?

How Verbit’s New Mobile App Threatens to Erase Transcript Integrity — and Reporter Livelihoods

When Verbit announced its new mobile recording app, it sounded, at first glance, like another convenience tool in the modern legal-tech toolkit. “Record anywhere, anytime,” the marketing boasts — a slogan that might excite a tech-savvy attorney, but should terrify every court reporter who understands what that truly means. Because when anyone can record everything, everywhere, without rules or oversight, we’re not just talking about losing copy sales. We’re talking about losing control of the legal record itself.

From Professional Record to Pocket Recorder

For generations, court reporters have been the official custodians of the record — officers of the court who certify the accuracy of every word. That trust is rooted in one thing: control. Control over the record, control over chain of custody, control over who can reproduce, sell, or distribute the transcript.

Now imagine a world where that control disappears.

Verbit’s mobile app invites users — attorneys, witnesses, paralegals, even interns — to hit “record” on their phones and capture depositions, hearings, or confidential conversations with no officer present. No oath, no certification, no accountability. The app can instantly upload audio to Verbit’s cloud, where AI engines can “transcribe” it using automated speech recognition (ASR). With one tap, the result is a searchable, shareable “transcript” — uncertified, error-ridden, and dangerously easy to distribute.

In the absence of clear regulations, this isn’t innovation. It’s deregulation through stealth.

A Business Model Built on Bypassing Stenographers

Let’s be clear – Verbit’s value proposition has never been about improving access to justice. It’s about scaling profit. Their acquisition spree — spanning digital-only agencies, transcription startups, and software integrators — has always pointed toward one goal: replace human court reporters with cheaper, faster, AI-based alternatives.

The mobile app is merely the final step in that strategy. If Verbit can normalize “self-recorded depositions” or “client-controlled transcripts,” they no longer need to contract reporters, pay appearance fees, or split copy sales. Every attorney becomes their own record producer — and Verbit becomes the silent intermediary, monetizing the data, analytics, and AI-training value of every uploaded file.

For reporters, this isn’t just the loss of income from copies. It’s the erosion of their very role in the justice system.

The Copy Sale – More Than a Revenue Stream

Some outside the profession might dismiss “copy sales” as a minor side hustle, a legacy business model in a digital age. But in reality, copy orders fund the infrastructure that ensures due process.

When a reporter covers a deposition, the appearance fee alone rarely compensates for the time, skill, and liability involved. Copy orders — from co-counsel, experts, or codefendants — provide the financial cushion that sustains the reporter’s career and the small businesses that employ them. It also incentivizes reporters to maintain accurate, impartial, and certified records.

Remove that incentive, and the entire economic ecosystem collapses.

Now imagine Verbit’s app automatically distributing uncertified AI transcripts to all parties for free or for a nominal digital fee — with no copy revenue returning to the person who actually produced the official record. Once that precedent is set, attorneys will come to expect transcripts as a bundled feature, not a billable product.

The Legal Vacuum – When Technology Outpaces Regulation

In most jurisdictions, rules governing the creation and sale of official transcripts were written decades ago — long before smartphones, cloud storage, or AI transcription existed. Statutes like California’s Code of Civil Procedure §2025.510 and §269 presuppose a single certified reporter as the custodian of the record. They say nothing about parallel recordings or AI “drafts.”

That silence creates a dangerous gray zone.

If an attorney records a deposition using Verbit’s mobile app while a certified reporter is also present, who owns that audio? Can it be uploaded, transcribed, and sold independently? If the AI version conflicts with the certified transcript, which governs? What happens when a judge or jury sees a “transcript” that looks official but isn’t?

Until regulatory bodies — like the Court Reporters Board of California and its counterparts nationwide — address these questions, the door is wide open for abuse.

The Ethical Fallout

Beyond the legal risks lies a deeper ethical one: erosion of trust. The courtroom is one of the few places in modern life where words have irreversible consequence. To record testimony without consent, certification, or supervision undermines that sanctity.

A mobile app cannot administer an oath. It cannot halt proceedings when multiple people speak over one another. It cannot identify which “voice” belongs to which speaker, or discern sarcasm, dialect, or tone.

But AI will still assign those words to someone — and once uploaded, that misattributed record could live forever, shaping outcomes, negotiations, even reputations.

When truth becomes data, and data becomes a commodity, the moral compass of the record itself spins out of alignment.

What Reporters Can Do

The temptation is to panic — to imagine the end of stenography as we know it. But history offers a different lesson: every technological threat has also been a call to adapt.

Court reporters survived the shift from manual shorthand to machine, from analog to digital, from paper notes to realtime. Each evolution required vigilance, advocacy, and modernization — but also a reassertion of what makes the human role irreplaceable: accuracy, impartiality, and certification.

Now is the time to double down on those values.

  • Educate attorneys about certification laws. Many do not realize uncertified AI transcripts may be inadmissible under state evidence codes.
  • Demand regulatory clarity. Write to boards, legislators, and bar associations urging new language that prohibits uncertified recordings from being treated as official transcripts.
  • Embrace secure technology. Use verified platforms that protect reporter copyright and enforce encryption, rather than yield ground to unregulated cloud tools.
  • Unify around professionalism. The future belongs to the record that can stand up in court — not to the one that merely uploads faster.

The Bigger Picture

Verbit’s mobile app is more than a convenience feature; it’s a Trojan horse. Behind its friendly interface lies a paradigm shift — one that risks converting live testimony into raw AI data streams owned by private corporations instead of officers of the court.

If we allow that to happen unchecked, the very concept of an “official record” could vanish. And when the record loses its sanctity, justice loses its foundation.

The law depends on certified truth — not algorithmic approximation. The public has a right to transcripts that are verifiable, impartial, and permanent. The moment we let anyone record anything, anywhere, without oversight, we transform the courtroom into content — and truth into a subscription model.

Hold the Line

This isn’t about resisting technology. It’s about defending integrity.

Reporters must remind the legal system that accuracy is not an app feature — it’s a constitutional safeguard. When the power to create the record leaves the hands of certified professionals and enters the pockets of whoever has the newest phone, the scales of justice tilt toward chaos.

So yes, Verbit’s app may be able to record everything. But it can’t record integrity. That’s still our job — and it’s one we must never surrender.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Huseby-Esquire “Wash-Their-Hands” Buyout – A Case Study in Corporate Dodging and Reporter Exploitation

When a multimillion-dollar acquisition leaves frontline workers unpaid, that’s not just bad accounting — it’s a warning flare for the entire court-reporting industry. The buyout of Huseby Global Litigation by Esquire Deposition Solutions, quietly financed by Gridiron Capital in mid-2024, has become a textbook example of how major players can “wash their hands” of responsibility, leaving reporters holding the bag for thousands in unpaid work.

This is more than a clerical dispute. It’s a pattern — one that’s bleeding through our profession like ink through tissue paper.

A Familiar Story – The Unpaid Reporter

One California reporter summed up the experience many are now echoing in Facebook threads and private groups:

“I have several bills that remain outstanding going back to April that total several thousand dollars. It’s my understanding that Huseby was bought by Esquire — which somehow is related to DEG (Digital Evidence Group). All of them are washing their hands of responsibility to pay me.”

That sentence — washing their hands — struck a nerve. Because this tactic isn’t new. It’s classic M&A risk-shielding, often achieved by structuring a deal as an asset purchase instead of a stock purchase. In plain English: the buyer takes the profits and clients but dodges the debts.

Under federal and state law, though, the story doesn’t end there.

The Legal Backdrop – WARN, WHD, and Successor Liability

In corporate buyouts, successor liability determines whether the acquiring company inherits the seller’s unpaid obligations — wages included. Buyers often claim that because they purchased assets, not ownership, they’re exempt. But courts have long ruled otherwise under certain conditions:

  • If the new entity is a mere continuation of the old,
  • If it maintains the same operations, clients, or personnel, or
  • If the deal was structured to evade liability.

When those factors exist, successor liability can attach.

Under the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) and the Wage and Hour Division (WHD) of the U.S. Department of Labor, unpaid work completed before the close of a sale may still be enforceable — especially when integration was immediate and continuous. The Worker Adjustment and Retraining Notification (WARN) Act also requires notice before mass layoffs or significant operational shifts.

So if reporters worked right up to the transition — and invoices went unpaid — they may still have a case.

Inside the Transaction – What the Record Shows

According to business filings and announcements:

  • July 26, 2024 – ABF Journal reports that Esquire, backed by Gridiron Capital, acquired Huseby as an “add-on” acquisition. Debt financing came from TPG Twin Brook Middle Market, with no price disclosed.
  • June 21, 2025 – Esquire’s site confirms “full integration” of Huseby’s clients and operations into its own platform.
  • LinkedIn updates from executives Alan M. Peeper and Jimmy Huseby frame it as seamless continuity, not closure.

In other words, the operations continued — same people, same clients, same portal — but somehow the debts vanished into a corporate fog.

The Reporter’s Fight – From Invoices to Retaliation

Several reporters, including this writer, have documentation showing weeks of unpaid invoices — in one case totaling $73,000 — for trials completed before and during the handoff period. After repeated emails and resubmissions, the company acknowledged receiving the invoices but blamed “address confusion” between Huseby’s Salesforce system and Esquire’s NetSuite system.

When pressed for payment updates, the response was the kind of bureaucratic shuffle familiar to every freelancer:

“Please email invoices to reporterinvoices @ esquiresolutions.com. Jobs covered with Huseby should continue as before.”
— Lauren Grupper, Accounts Payable, Esquire Deposition Solutions

Weeks later, the same department claimed the invoices hadn’t been received — until they were “found” and “under review.” Then came silence. Then, quietly, retaliation: removal from job notifications, lost trials, exclusion from assignments worth tens of thousands.

That’s not a clerical error. That’s coercion.

California’s SB 988 – Freelance Worker Protection Act

Luckily, California’s SB 988 (Freelance Worker Protection Act) — effective January 1, 2025 — changes the game. It requires clients to pay freelancers within 30 days of completed work, even without an invoice. Failure to do so allows the worker to recover double the amount owed, plus attorney’s fees and statutory penalties.

Under this law, a reporter owed $73,000 could claim $146,000 plus legal costs. The statute also forbids retaliation — meaning those pulled-job emails could become smoking-gun evidence.

The Act aligns California with New York City’s Freelance Isn’t Free Law and marks a turning point for reporters who have long been treated as disposable contractors. It’s time to use it.

“Washing Hands” Tactics and Legal Workarounds

Corporate entities like Esquire and Huseby aren’t breaking new ground — they’re following a well-rehearsed playbook:

  1. Acquire a struggling firm, taking its clients and goodwill.
  2. Rebrand or migrate operations to the parent company’s system.
  3. Deny responsibility for pre-integration obligations.
  4. Blame accounting confusion while stalling.
  5. Blacklist those who demand payment.

It’s efficient, calculated, and devastatingly effective — unless workers push back with documentation, public exposure, and legal leverage.

Remedies and Recourse

Grok AI, queried about the case, suggested these concrete steps (summarized for all reporters facing similar situations):

  1. Document everything. Keep invoices, emails, and proof of submission.
  2. Send certified letters to the registered agents of both entities:
    • Esquire Deposition Solutions, LLC
      c/o Corporation Service Company
      2 Sun Court, Suite 400, Peachtree Corners, GA 30092
    • Huseby Global Litigation (search NC Secretary of State registry)
  3. File a WHD claim at dol.gov/agencies/whd/contact/complaints.
  4. Submit consumer complaints to:
  5. Consider small-claims court: up to $8,000 in NC or $15,000 in GA.
  6. If retaliation occurred, contact the California Labor Commissioner’s Office and cite SB 988.

And for reporters beyond California: this situation crosses state lines. Interstate commerce violations and fraudulent misrepresentation could open the door to federal jurisdiction — particularly if multiple reporters join forces.

A Collective Response – Turning Exploitation into Accountability

This isn’t just about one paycheck. It’s about an industry structure that rewards opacity and punishes transparency. Reporters must stop absorbing corporate losses as personal defeats.

Agency owners who pay on time should be shouting it from the rooftops — marketing honesty as their competitive edge. Reporters must refuse work from any entity that doesn’t commit to clear payment timelines. And professional associations should publicly track delinquent agencies, not hide behind “we don’t get involved in business disputes.”

Silence is complicity.

Lessons and Leverage

Here’s what this case teaches every reporter:

  • If you owe them, they’d come after you. So demand the same accountability in reverse.
  • Hold the product until paid. The transcript is your leverage.
  • Bill upon receipt and require acknowledgment in writing.
  • Direct-bill law firms when agencies prove unreliable.
  • Share names, not rumors. Facts protect the next reporter.

As one veteran said bluntly:

“We work too hard to work for free.”

A Call to Action

To every freelancer reading this: treat unpaid invoices as emergencies, not annoyances. File, follow up, and escalate. Each ignored invoice normalizes exploitation. Each complaint filed pushes the industry toward accountability.

To Esquire, Gridiron Capital, and TPG Twin Brook: if your acquisition model depends on leaving court reporters unpaid, you are not expanding a “national footprint.” You are expanding liability exposure — and reputational risk.

The transcript belongs to the person who wrote it. And in this industry, the record always survives the redline.

References:

FLSA / WHD & Successor Liability (Unpaid Work Before Sale)

  • “Wage and Hour Liability — the Hidden Danger in Asset Acquisitions” (WI Law) — discusses how even when a buyer disclaims liability in an asset purchase, courts may impose successor liability under FLSA for unpaid wages or overtime.
  • “Navigating Employment Liability Issues for Successor Employers” (GM & LLP) — explains how a successor may be held liable for predecessor’s FLSA violations under federal common law. gm-llp.com
  • “FLSA Successor Liability — More Than You Bargained For” (HR Legalist) — addresses how a purchaser of assets can still be held liable under the FLSA under certain doctrines. Obermayer Rebmann Maxwell & Hippel LLP
  • “Third Circuit Articulates Theories of Successor Liability under FLSA” (Ogletree) — explains how the Third Circuit has applied successor liability to enforce unpaid wage claims against a successor. Ogletree
  • “Employer Successor Liability in US Asset Acquisitions” (Employment Law Worldview) — general overview of how successor liability arises in asset acquisitions, including under wage & hour statutes. Employment Law Worldview

These show that even if a buyer tries to avoid past liabilities, under FLSA and federal common law, courts may still hold them responsible if the business is seen as a continuation or if sufficient integration exists.

WARN Act — Notice Requirements Before Mass Layoffs / Closures

  • WARN Act Compliance Assistance — U.S. Department of Labor — the official federal source on WARN, explaining employer obligations to give advance notice in qualifying closures or mass layoffs. DOL
  • WARN Advisor (elaws) — the interactive tool from DOL that explains when notice is required (60 days) under WARN. DOL Web Apps
  • 20 CFR Part 639 — WARN regulations (eCFR) — the regulatory text requiring 60 days’ notice for covered plant closings and mass layoffs. eCFR
  • Schneider Wallace: “Mandatory 60-Day Notice for Mass Layoffs and Business Closures” — summaries and legal perspectives on the 60-day requirement. Schneider Wallace Cottrell Kim LLP
  • WARN Act Basics — Klehr Harrison Harvey Branzburg — description of the scope, who is covered, and how the 60-day notice rule works. Klehr Harrison Harvey Branzburg LLP

These establish the legal requirement that employers give affected employees 60 days’ advance written notice of plant closings or mass layoffs under certain triggering conditions.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The “Picky Reporter” Problem — and the Silence That Created It

Lately, a familiar complaint has been echoing across the court-reporting world: that stenographers have become “too picky.” They turn down cases, demand higher rates, and refuse proceedings that don’t meet their preferences. To some agency owners, it looks like arrogance. To many reporters, it’s survival.

The so-called “picky reporter” problem isn’t really about attitude — it’s about economics and communication. A shrinking workforce, decades of rate suppression, and the disappearance of human connection have collided to create a storm of misunderstanding.

The Supply-Demand Imbalance

For decades, the number of certified shorthand reporters has been in steady decline. Thousands have retired, and too few new graduates are entering the field to replace them. The simple law of supply and demand dictates what comes next: when something becomes rare, its value rises.

Reporters who once competed for every assignment are now booked solid weeks in advance. Those who’ve stayed in the profession through years of low margins and long nights are finally setting boundaries — demanding fair compensation, reasonable turnaround times, and honest case descriptions.

That’s not entitlement; it’s market correction.

After decades of rate stagnation, the pendulum is swinging back. Reporters are recalibrating their rates to reflect expertise, certification, and liability. Agencies that built business models around underpaid labor are now struggling to adjust.

The Economics of “No”

When a reporter declines a last-minute hearing or a high-stress technical case at a discounted rate, that’s not pickiness — it’s economics. They’re making choices based on capacity, value, and professional standards.

But because communication between agencies and reporters has deteriorated, these decisions are too often misinterpreted as obstinance. Instead of a conversation — “Can we find a rate or turnaround that works for both sides?” — the silence deepens, and the narrative hardens: reporters are difficult.

In truth, reporters are simply responding to the same forces that drive any market correction. After years of absorbing risk without adequate reward, they’re now pricing themselves according to reality. And for the first time in a long time, they actually can — because demand exceeds supply.

The Feedback Void

The problem isn’t that one side is right and the other is wrong. The problem is that no one’s talking about it constructively.

When misunderstandings happen — whether about turnaround, appearance fees, or case expectations — there’s no feedback mechanism. Agencies don’t coach or clarify; reporters don’t explain or debrief. Each side quietly blacklists the other and moves on.

It’s a self-defeating cycle. Reporters lose trust in agencies that misrepresent jobs or pay inconsistently. Agencies lose faith in reporters who cancel or refuse work. With no accountability loop, both sides repeat the same mistakes, louder each time.

The Vanishing Human Connection

Underneath this economic friction lies an even deeper fracture: the disappearance of the human connection that once bound the profession together.

There was a time when agency owners called reporters personally to explain details, discuss challenges, or simply say thank you. Reporters knew schedulers by name and built years-long relationships based on reliability and mutual respect.

Now, everything happens through impersonal email chains and automated dispatch systems. No calls. No dialogue. No context.

When tone and trust vanish, empathy follows. A request becomes a demand. A rate negotiation becomes an insult. The human buffer that used to soften business friction is gone — and with it, the sense that everyone is working toward the same goal.

Ironically, that loss of personal connection is both the culprit and the potential cure.

Accountability Without Animosity

The way forward isn’t more automation or stricter policies — it’s communication and accountability.

Imagine a system where agencies and reporters engage in transparent feedback after each job. Where expectations are set clearly up front: case type, location, rate, turnaround, realtime or not. Where missed appearances or delays trigger conversation, not retaliation.

Other professions do this effortlessly. Attorneys debrief cases. Doctors review outcomes. In court reporting, however, we’ve replaced mentorship with metrics. The human side of the business — coaching, collaboration, understanding — has been stripped away.

It’s no wonder so many professionals feel unseen, unheard, and undervalued.

Technology Isn’t the Enemy — Disconnection Is

Technology can be a powerful tool if it’s designed to connect, not replace. Platforms that automate scheduling or handle billing aren’t inherently bad; they just can’t substitute for trust.

The next evolution of court-reporting infrastructure must prioritize transparency and human engagement. That means digital ecosystems that show full job details, allow real-time messaging, and include mutual rating systems for fairness and professionalism.

When data is clear and communication is open, suspicion fades. And when both sides are accountable, the economics start to make sense again.

Restoring Balance and Trust

The “picky reporter” label will fade once the industry accepts that boundaries are not bad for business — they’re the foundation of it. Clear boundaries create predictability. Predictability creates trust. Trust creates efficiency.

Agencies that respect those dynamics will retain the best reporters. Reporters who communicate clearly will attract the best agencies. And the market will stabilize not through force or guilt, but through dialogue.

That dialogue starts with something simple: talking to each other again.

Pick Up the Phone

The cure to this professional malaise isn’t in another software rollout or policy memo. It’s in something as old-fashioned as a phone call.

Call your reporters. Call your schedulers. Have a five-minute conversation about what went right, what went wrong, and how to make the next job smoother. That simple human act can do more to heal this profession than any new rule or platform.

Court reporters have spent their careers listening — really listening — to others. It’s time we start listening to each other again.

The Final Word

The “picky reporter” problem isn’t a symptom of decline; it’s a sign that the market, after decades of imbalance, is trying to right itself. What we’re witnessing is a profession rediscovering its worth — and struggling to communicate through the noise.

If we can restore open conversation, mutual accountability, and human connection, court reporting won’t just survive this transition. It will come out stronger, fairer, and finally aligned with the value it delivers to justice every single day.

Because the real enemy isn’t pickiness. It’s silence.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Notary Loophole – Why Digital “Oath-Taking” May Jeopardize the Record

The Core Issue

Across the country, digital reporting firms are exploiting notary commissions to administer oaths in depositions and hearings. The problem: notarial authority is not synonymous with court-reporting authority.

A court reporter is an officer of the court, bound by code and certified under each state’s reporting board or judicial council. They can legally swear in witnesses, certify transcripts, and maintain chain-of-custody over the record.

By contrast, a notary public only verifies identity — they are not officers of the court and cannot certify verbatim transcripts, perform readbacks, or attest to the accuracy of proceedings.

How the Loophole Works

Large national agencies have been quietly contracting with unlicensed digital operators (often overseas) and using a notary’s commission to administer the oath via Zoom or remote platform. This practice allows the company to circumvent state licensing laws governing who may capture and certify testimony.

Some states (like California, Texas, and Illinois) have explicit language that limits deposition reporting to licensed court reporters — but digital agencies have exploited ambiguities in online-notarization laws to disguise uncertified recordings as “official proceedings.”

Legal and Ethical Implications

  • Chain of Custody: When an uncertified person records and transcribes testimony, there is no officer of the court verifying accuracy or integrity.
  • Hearsay & Admissibility: Transcripts produced by digital or AI means, without a reporter’s certification, may be inadmissible in trial or summary judgment.
  • Unauthorized Practice: Allowing notaries to act as de facto court reporters can violate state statutes regulating deposition officers.
  • Attorney Liability: Law firms relying on such transcripts may later face sanctions or malpractice exposure if the record is challenged.

Case Example (Composite)

In several recent depositions, attorneys later discovered that the “digital reporter” was not licensed — only a remote notary logged the oath. When challenged in court, judges refused to admit the transcript, forcing costly re-depositions and sanctions hearings.

What Attorneys Should Do

  1. Confirm credentials before every deposition. Ask for the reporter’s license number and issuing authority.
  2. Avoid “digital capture” substitutions unless expressly agreed and permitted by state law.
  3. Include certification language in your notice of deposition requiring a “Certified Shorthand Reporter” or equivalent licensed professional.
  4. Educate clients and co-counsel that a notary’s presence does not guarantee a legally valid record.

The Bottom Line

Digital agencies may market notaries as “remote deposition officers,” but in most states, only certified court reporters have lawful authority to administer oaths and certify transcripts. Attorneys who rely on the notary loophole risk their record — and their case.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Where the Record Is Really Being Written – A Quiet Transformation Hidden in Plain Sight

For more than a century, courtroom and deposition records have been entrusted to one group of professionals: stenographic court reporters. Their role has been both visible and invisible — sitting in the well of the courtroom, or on the edge of a conference table, capturing every word as it is spoken. But beneath the surface of modern litigation, something profound is happening. The control of the legal record — who creates it, who owns it, and who is accountable for it — is quietly shifting. And the public hasn’t been told.

From Guardians to Middlemen – The Slow Drift

For decades, certified shorthand reporters (CSRs) served as the guardians of the verbatim record. They were officers of the court, bound by statutes and ethical obligations, certifying the accuracy of every transcript. Their names appeared on the certification page; their licenses were on the line. If an error occurred, they could be held accountable — professionally, legally, even personally.

Today, however, that direct line of responsibility is fraying. The record is increasingly being captured, stored, and even drafted through layers of intermediaries: remote platforms, digital recording systems, AI transcription tools, and large, privately held court reporting agencies that treat testimony as just another asset to monetize. What was once a simple chain of custody between the witness, the reporter, and the court has turned into a tangled web of hidden practices.

The New Custodians of Testimony

In many jurisdictions, testimony is no longer being captured exclusively by licensed professionals. Digital recorders or uncertified operators hit “record,” while the actual transcription is outsourced — sometimes overseas, sometimes to algorithmic speech-to-text engines riddled with errors. Then, agency staff or AI “reviewers” clean it up, and a reporter is sometimes brought in after the fact to “certify” work they didn’t actually produce.

Meanwhile, some courts have quietly adopted internal practices that bypass reporters altogether. Judges in major metropolitan areas have begun offering free “rough drafts” to themselves through proprietary or remote platforms, using the audio from Teams or CourtConnect feeds. These roughs aren’t official. They aren’t certified. And yet they are being relied on for judicial work. This shift, done by practice rather than public policy, fundamentally changes who is actually writing — and controlling — the legal record.

The Record Has Moved — And No One Told the Public

In the past, if you wanted to know what was said in court, you ordered a transcript from the reporter who was physically present. The chain of custody was transparent. Today, that record may be born inside a cloud server owned by a private vendor, transmitted through a remote platform, partially transcribed by an algorithm, edited by anonymous staff, and then delivered to parties under the agency’s banner. The reporter may be merely the final signature on a document they didn’t actually write.

This is not a theoretical concern. It has real consequences for due process. When a transcript is challenged on appeal, who stands behind it? When testimony is garbled by faulty speech recognition, who is accountable? When records are stored in private databases instead of court archives, what happens to public access, to chain of custody, to authenticity?

The record has already moved. But the legal community, litigants, and the public have largely been left in the dark.

Sharper Lines of Accountability — or None at All

The beauty of the stenographic model has always been its accountability. Every transcript bears a name, a license, and a certification page. A single, identifiable professional stands behind the words. This sharp line of responsibility has protected the integrity of the record for generations.

The emerging model blurs — or erases — those lines. Instead of one certified professional, you may have a patchwork: a digital audio recording from one person, a transcription by a second, AI post-processing by a third, “editing” by a fourth, and a rubber-stamp certification by a fifth. When errors emerge — and they do — responsibility is diffuse. No one is clearly accountable. The very structure is designed to make accountability slippery.

From Verbatim Record to Hearsay — The Collapse of Accountability

At the core of our evidentiary system lies a simple principle: the record is not hearsay because it’s certified by a neutral, licensed officer who was physically present. Every line of a reporter’s transcript is backed by statute, oath, and personal liability. That’s why it’s admissible. That’s why appellate courts rely on it as the single source of truth.

But the new model — digital recordings, AI transcripts, agency-generated “roughs” — severs that chain. What judges, attorneys, and even juries increasingly rely on are unverified textual products, often generated by machines, edited by anonymous staff, and “certified” after the fact by someone who didn’t actually take down the words. This isn’t just sloppy procedure. It’s hearsay masquerading as the record.

And hearsay, by definition, lacks accountability.

  • There’s no human witness to question.
  • No identifiable reporter to hold responsible.
  • No statutory standard applied at the moment of testimony.
  • No clear custodian who can swear under penalty of perjury that what’s on the page is what was said.

Once hearsay becomes the operational record, every safeguard built into our legal system begins to unravel. The appellate courts rely on a record they can’t truly trust. Trial courts issue rulings based on roughs that were never verified. Litigants lose the ability to challenge errors because no single individual stands behind them. The transcript — once the gold standard — becomes a game of legal telephone.

And in that vacuum of accountability, power flows to those who control the technology. Whoever owns the platform, the database, or the algorithm becomes the de facto author of the record. That is not justice. That is information control.

Reclaiming Control — or Losing the Republic’s Memory

At its core, the verbatim legal record is not a mere administrative convenience. It is a constitutional safeguard. In the American legal system, the record is the mechanism through which power is checked: trial courts are reviewed by appellate courts; judicial actions are scrutinized; government overreach is exposed. The record is the spine of due process. It is how truth is preserved against the distortions of time, memory, and power.

When that record is outsourced, privatized, or digitized without clear lines of accountability, something far more dangerous than transcription errors occurs. The people lose control over their own system of justice. The transcript ceases to be a neutral, certified artifact of what happened and becomes a product controlled by private actors, algorithms, or bureaucratic platforms that answer to no one.

History is unambiguous: whenever control over information shifts away from transparent, accountable custodians and toward concentrated, opaque powers, tyranny finds its foothold. Totalitarian regimes have always sought to control the narrative, rewrite records, or make them disappear entirely. In the legal context, the official transcript is the narrative. If it can be manipulated, withheld, or altered without consequence, every right downstream is imperiled.

Think about it:

  • If the record is wrong, appeals fail.
  • If the record can be changed, accountability evaporates.
  • If the record can disappear, justice itself is memory-holed.

This isn’t hypothetical. We’re already seeing early warning signs: missing or incomplete transcripts in digital-only pilot courts; AI-generated “roughs” circulated internally without any clear custodian; agencies controlling access to testimony like proprietary data. These are not isolated quirks. They are the soft opening of a system where the truth of what was said in a courtroom is no longer verifiable by the people.

Reclaiming control of the record, therefore, isn’t about protecting a profession. It’s about protecting the architecture of justice itself. This means:

  • Re-establishing clear statutory custodianship: Only licensed, accountable professionals should certify transcripts, with a transparent chain of custody from spoken word to official record.
  • Ensuring courts—not private vendors—control archives: Testimony belongs to the people, not to agencies or AI platforms.
  • Mandating disclosure and oversight: Litigants must be informed who or what is actually producing their transcripts. There must be recourse when accountability is lacking.
  • Investing in the human infrastructure of justice: Reporters are not relics; they are the immune system against manipulation.

If we fail to do this, we invite a future where the official record of courtrooms can be edited like a Google Doc, monetized like ad data, or disappeared with a keystroke. And in that future, the line between justice and tyranny becomes paper-thin.

As James Madison wrote, “A popular Government, without popular information, or the means of acquiring it, is but a Prologue to a Farce or a Tragedy; or, perhaps both.”
The verbatim record is one of those “means of acquiring it.” If we surrender it, we surrender more than words. We surrender the very mechanism by which a free people hold power to account.

The time to reclaim control is not “someday.” It is now.

From Verbatim Record to Hearsay — The Collapse of Accountability

At the core of our evidentiary system lies a simple principle: the record is not hearsay because it’s certified by a neutral, licensed officer who was physically present. Every line of a reporter’s transcript is backed by statute, oath, and personal liability. That’s why it’s admissible. That’s why appellate courts rely on it as the single source of truth.

But the new model — digital recordings, AI transcripts, agency-generated “roughs” — severs that chain. What judges, attorneys, and even juries increasingly rely on are unverified textual products, often generated by machines, edited by anonymous staff, and “certified” after the fact by someone who didn’t actually take down the words. This isn’t just sloppy procedure. It’s hearsay masquerading as the record.

And hearsay, by definition, lacks accountability.

  • There’s no human witness to question.
  • No identifiable reporter to hold responsible.
  • No statutory standard applied at the moment of testimony.
  • No clear custodian who can swear under penalty of perjury that what’s on the page is what was said.

Once hearsay becomes the operational record, every safeguard built into our legal system begins to unravel. The appellate courts rely on a record they can’t truly trust. Trial courts issue rulings based on roughs that were never verified. Litigants lose the ability to challenge errors because no single individual stands behind them. The transcript — once the gold standard — becomes a game of legal telephone.

And in that vacuum of accountability, power flows to those who control the technology. Whoever owns the platform, the database, or the algorithm becomes the de facto author of the record. That is not justice. That is information control.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Free Roughs, Hidden Costs – How AI Transcription Is Quietly Rewriting the Legal Record

On October 7, 2025, news broke that the Indian state of Kerala will become the first jurisdiction in the world to mandate the use of artificial intelligence for witness transcription in every trial court. Beginning November 1, all depositions will be recorded using Adalat.AI, a speech-to-text platform developed under India’s national AI mission.

It’s a bold, public policy move designed to modernize court processes. But while Kerala has laid out its plans in full view, a parallel transformation has been unfolding in the United States — not through policy, but through corporate product rollouts and quiet judicial practice.

Two of the country’s largest reporting firms, Esquire and Veritext, have begun supplying free AI-generated rough drafts to clients who use their speech recognition systems. And inside the nation’s largest trial court — Los Angeles Superior Court — some judges are privately using AI rough transcripts during remote hearings, without public disclosure.

The future of the legal record isn’t arriving with a bang. It’s slipping in through side doors.

Kerala’s Transparent AI Mandate

Kerala’s High Court issued a memorandum on September 27 mandating that all trial courts record witness testimony using Adalat.AI starting November 1. The system, trained in both Malayalam and English legal terminology, replaces handwritten and dictated statements that caused significant delays.

Once testimony is recorded, reviewed, and signed, the transcript will be uploaded to the district court’s case management system for immediate access by lawyers and parties. Nodal officers are being appointed to oversee compliance.

Kerala’s approach is top-down, uniform, and publicly announced. It’s a state-run modernization program with governance structures, accuracy testing, and clear procedures.

Corporate Roughs – Esquire and Veritext’s Quiet Innovation

While Kerala is implementing AI openly, two major U.S. deposition vendors — Esquire and Veritext — have already normalized AI transcription through a different channel: “free rough drafts.”

When law firms conduct depositions through these companies’ speech recognition systems, they often receive a machine-generated transcript almost immediately, at no extra charge. These drafts are created by AI, not human reporters, and are delivered to clients well before the certified transcript is finalized.

Traditionally, attorneys who wanted a rough draft paid for an expedited service produced by the reporter. Now, the vendor’s software is generating it automatically.

This shift:

  • Bypasses reporters as the initial source of the record.
  • Locks clients into the vendor’s proprietary platforms.
  • Consolidates transcript data inside corporate infrastructure.

It looks like a client perk. In reality, it’s a strategic power play: the first version of the record now lives on the vendor’s servers, not with the officer of the court who captured it.

Why Free Roughs Matter

Legal transcripts aren’t mere paperwork — they’re evidentiary artifacts. Every word counts. Human reporters are trained to flag inaudible passages, stop proceedings for clarification, and ensure accuracy. AI doesn’t. It generates what it thinks it heard, often without indicating uncertainty.

When these machine drafts are distributed to legal teams immediately, they influence case strategy before anyone verifies their accuracy. Lawyers draft motions, analyze testimony, and make strategic decisions based on text that hasn’t been reviewed by a human.

And because these drafts are free, they also undercut reporter revenue streams that traditionally supported rough-draft services, further consolidating power in the hands of a few large vendors.

Ownership, Access, and Discovery Gaps

The rise of corporate AI roughs raises thorny questions about who owns the transcript and how errors can be challenged.

When a stenographer produces a rough, they retain legal control of their notes and drafts. When a machine produces it, the text lives on the company’s servers. Lawyers access it through vendor portals; the underlying audio and system logs are rarely disclosed.

If an AI error slips through, how can a party challenge what was circulated? Are the machine drafts discoverable? How long are they stored? Who has access? These questions remain unanswered in most service agreements — leaving significant legal blind spots.

Behind the Bench – Judges Quietly Using AI Roughs in Los Angeles

Perhaps the most consequential — and least transparent — development is happening inside the judiciary itself.

Multiple attorneys and reporters have confirmed that some Los Angeles Superior Court judges are privately using free AI-generated rough transcripts during remote hearings on LA Court Connect, the court’s Microsoft Teams–based platform.

The platform’s built-in speech recognition produces live, unedited text streams. Judges receive these machine drafts directly during or after proceedings. No formal policy exists, and no public disclosure is made to litigants. There is no published error rate, no official record of what the judge saw, and no way for parties to review or challenge those drafts.

This quiet judicial use of AI raises fundamental due process concerns:

  • Are judges consulting unofficial, unverified text to make rulings or notes?
  • Does this material become part of the “record” even if parties never see it?
  • Can litigants appeal based on something they were never told existed?

Unlike Kerala’s public program or corporate marketing, this is judicial adoption by practice, not policy. It happens in the shadows — invisible to litigants, unacknowledged in court rules, and entirely unregulated.

Three Models, One Direction

These three models — Kerala’s policy, corporate roughs, and LA judges’ quiet use — reveal different pathways to the same destination:

ModelWho drives itTransparencyGovernance
KeralaGovernmentHighFormal
Esquire / VeritextCorporationsModerate (marketing)Contractual only
LA Superior Court judgesJudiciary (informal)NoneNone

All three shift the locus of the legal record away from human reporters and into AI systems. But only one is subject to public debate and oversight.

What’s at Stake

The implications reach far beyond stenographers’ livelihoods. These changes strike at the heart of:

  • Due process — Parties must have equal, accurate access to the record.
  • Transparency — Litigants should know when and how AI is being used.
  • Accountability — Courts must be able to audit, verify, and correct errors.
  • Legal control — The judiciary must retain authority over the record, not surrender it to hidden systems.

Kerala’s model may be controversial, but it’s at least visible and structured. The American shift is happening quietly, driven by market power and judicial convenience, not public deliberation.

Control of the Transcript Is Slipping Away

The age of AI transcription has arrived — not with a legislative act, but through free drafts, corporate platforms, and undisclosed judicial practices.

What Kerala has done by policy, Esquire and Veritext have done by business model, and LA judges have done by habit. Each move chips away at the traditional framework that defined who creates, controls, and certifies the record of what happens in a courtroom.

If courts and bar associations don’t step in soon, they may discover that the legal record itself has migrated — into systems no one sees, controlled by entities no one elected, governed by rules no one wrote.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Should Court Reporters Redact Social Security Numbers in Transcripts?

The Hidden Ethics Behind a Growing Practice

In an era where privacy breaches make daily headlines, a seemingly small question has begun circulating among court reporters nationwide: Should we be redacting Social Security numbers (SSNs) from transcripts automatically?

At first glance, it feels like an obvious “yes.” After all, who wants to risk exposing personally identifiable information (PII) in a court record? But in practice, the issue isn’t nearly that simple—and the legal responsibility doesn’t necessarily fall on the stenographer. What starts as a well-intentioned act of caution could actually cross an ethical or procedural line.

The Question That Sparked a Debate

A recent conversation among reporters online revealed deep uncertainty and regional inconsistencies. One proofreader mentioned that her local reporters were redacting SSNs on their own initiative, assuming it was required by privacy rules. But when the reporter she was working with looked into it, she couldn’t find any explicit rule authorizing—or requiring—court reporters to perform that redaction.

In both Washington and Texas, as it turns out, responsibility for redacting personal information before a filing typically lies with the party or attorney, not the reporter or clerk. So why are some reporters taking on this task anyway? Often, it’s a combination of well-meaning caution and confusion about the boundaries of our role.

Who Actually Bears Responsibility?

Under most state and federal procedural rules, the obligation to redact sensitive information rests with filing parties. For example, Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 5.2(a) requires that only the last four digits of an SSN appear in any court filing—but it’s the filing party’s duty to make that redaction. The rule doesn’t assign any obligation to the court reporter, the clerk, or the court itself.

Many state courts mirror this framework. In Texas, Rule 21c of the Texas Rules of Civil Procedure mandates redaction of sensitive data such as SSNs, birthdates, and financial account numbers—but again, the duty falls on the filer. The same applies in Washington, where General Rule 22 governs access to court records and designates attorneys and parties as the redactors.

In other words: court reporters are not the gatekeepers of redaction compliance. We are neutral officers of the court tasked with creating an accurate, verbatim record. Altering or omitting content, even for privacy reasons, without a clear directive from the court could raise serious ethical questions.

The Risk of “Helpful” Redaction

On the surface, redacting seems protective. But unless ordered by the court, modifying the transcript can blur the line between accuracy and editing.

Every CSR oath, whether in Texas, Washington, or California, includes language about producing a “true and correct transcript.” That duty conflicts directly with self-initiated redaction. If a witness states a full Social Security number on the record and you choose to obscure it—without an instruction from counsel, the court, or statute—you’ve technically changed the record.

In fact, the National Court Reporters Association’s (NCRA) Code of Professional Ethics Canon 1 emphasizes accuracy and impartiality above all else. Canon 3 underscores the reporter’s role as a neutral officer of the court. Both principles can be compromised by discretionary redaction.

So while removing private data might feel protective, it may actually place the reporter at risk of an ethics complaint if the omission later becomes relevant in an appeal, audit, or evidentiary dispute.

The Modern Privacy Paradox

Of course, reporters’ concerns are valid. In an age where transcripts are often stored, transmitted, and even sold digitally, exposure of PII could have devastating consequences. Once an SSN appears in an electronic file, it can travel indefinitely—duplicated in deposition repositories, billing software, discovery databases, and cloud storage systems.

Reporters are right to feel uneasy about transmitting unredacted PII through unsecured channels. But the solution lies not in editing the record; it lies in controlling access to it.

That’s why many agencies and independent reporters now use password-protected transcript portals, encryption tools, and two-factor authentication to deliver files securely. Some software even offers automatic detection warnings—flagging sequences that look like SSNs, but leaving the redaction decision to the party responsible.

A Practical Middle Ground

Until a court or jurisdiction explicitly directs reporters to redact personal identifiers, the safest course is to adopt a “record-but-don’t-publish” philosophy.

That means:

  1. Take it down exactly as spoken. The transcript should remain an accurate, complete reflection of the record, including any personally identifiable information stated aloud.
  2. Notify counsel if sensitive data was disclosed. A professional, neutral cover letter or note can alert both sides: “Counsel, please note that a full Social Security number appears on page 72, line 14. Pursuant to [applicable rule], you may wish to file a redacted version for the public record.”
  3. Retain the unredacted transcript under secure storage. Keep your master copy intact, but deliver only as authorized—especially if the court orders a redacted version for filing.

This approach protects everyone’s interests: the reporter’s ethical duty to preserve accuracy, the parties’ privacy rights, and the court’s reliance on an authentic record.

How States Differ (and Why Confusion Persists)

The patchwork of state rules adds to the confusion. Some jurisdictions, like Florida, have adopted explicit e-filing rules outlining which identifiers must be redacted. Others, like California, delegate it to local court policy or e-filing vendor procedures.

In Texas, reporters often encounter “standing orders” in certain counties directing redaction in juvenile or family law cases—but those orders apply to public filings, not to certified transcripts exchanged privately between parties. Unless the transcript is being filed into the court record, the same redaction standards don’t necessarily apply.

Washington State’s General Rule 31 and 22 treat access to court records separately from the creation of them. Reporters there are typically not considered “custodians of public records” under the rule. The party who submits a transcript becomes the “filer” and must comply with redaction requirements.

The result is a classic jurisdictional mismatch: two reporters doing identical work in different states could face opposite expectations.

Examples of States and Jurisdictions where the Filer Bears the Redaction Duty

1. California

Under California Rule of Court 1.201, the rule explicitly states that the responsibility for excluding or redacting identifiers (e.g. SSNs, financial account numbers) from documents filed with the court rests solely with the parties and their attorneys. California Courts
The rule also clarifies that the court clerk is not required to review filings for compliance.

2. Virginia

Virginia Code § 8.01-420.8 imposes on the party filing a pleading or motion the obligation to “make reasonable efforts to redact all but the last four digits” of identification numbers (including Social Security) when including them in court documents. Virginia Law
That statute also expressly states that it does not create a private cause of action against the party, court staff, or clerk.

3. Idaho

In Idaho’s rules (I.R.C.P. 2.6 and I.R.E.F.S. 15), the responsibility is placed firmly on the filer to ensure that personal data identifiers are omitted or redacted before submission, whether the document is filed electronically or in paper form. Idaho Supreme Court
The rules further emphasize that filing clerks will not review the submission for redaction compliance. Idaho Supreme Court

4. Wyoming

Under Wyoming’s “Rules Governing Redactions from Court Records,” the duty to redact specified personal data identifiers lies “solely with counsel and the persons filing the documents.” Wyoming Legislature
Those rules also address transcripts: once delivered, parties have a window to direct redaction before the public record is finalized. Wyoming Legislature

5. Kansas

Kansas eCourt Rule 24 places the obligation on attorneys or parties to protect personally identifiable information in filings. It explicitly states that in filings, “an attorney, or a party if not represented, is solely obligated to protect the confidentiality of personally identifiable information … in ensuring that the filing contains no personally identifiable information.” Kansas Judicial Center
The rule also says that the clerk has no duty to check filings for compliance. Kansas Judicial Center

6. Nevada

Nevada’s rules on sealing and redaction (Rules Governing Sealing and Redacting Court Records) identify “personal information” (including SSNs) and provide that the “primary duty for redaction rests with the filing party,” and courts may reject or require re-filing of documents that fail to redact. https://www.leg.state.nv.us/division/legal/lawlibrary/courtrules/

When the Court Directs Redaction

There are, of course, situations where redaction is appropriate—and required. If the court or a protective order explicitly directs the reporter to redact certain identifiers, compliance becomes part of the reporter’s official duties. In that scenario, documentation is essential. Always retain:

  • A written or on-the-record order directing redaction;
  • A note on the certificate page or title page indicating that redactions were made pursuant to that order;
  • A secure copy of the unredacted version, stored separately under seal.

Transparency in process prevents future accusations of alteration or bias.

Why Reporters Should Stay in Their Lane—But Guard the Gate

As the industry moves deeper into digital workflows, we must separate privacy management from record alteration. Reporters are not editors, data scrubbers, or privacy officers; we are the guardians of the verbatim record. Yet we also serve as the first line of defense against mishandled data.

The professional path forward isn’t unilateral redaction—it’s robust privacy protocol. Secure delivery platforms, encrypted backups, controlled client access, and clear communication about redaction responsibility are far more defensible than altering content post-capture.

In short:

Don’t redact. Report, alert, and secure.

The Takeaway

Automatic redaction of Social Security numbers might seem like a harmless courtesy, but it can undermine a reporter’s ethical obligation to produce a faithful record. Unless a statute, court rule, or judge specifically instructs otherwise, the duty to redact lies squarely with the attorneys and parties who file the transcript—not the stenographer who captured it.

The court reporter’s power lies not in altering the record, but in safeguarding its integrity. Protecting privacy doesn’t mean changing what was said—it means ensuring that what was said remains secure, confidential, and accurately preserved.

Below are confirmed jurisdictions where the filer (party/attorney) bears the redaction duty (with primary sources) or click the button to download the Excel State by State Chart:

State By State Redaction Chart
  • Federal (filings; transcripts): FRCP 5.2 places redaction on the filer; transcript redactions are requested by the parties—reporters do not redact unless parties request it. Legal Information Institute
  • California: Cal. Rule of Court 1.201—parties/attorneys must omit or redact; clerks are not required to review. California Courts
  • Texas: TRCP 21c—sensitive data must be redacted; filer notifies clerk if sensitive data must remain; e-filing orders reinforce filer duty. Texas Courts
  • Washington: GR 22 governs access; GR 15 addresses sealing/redaction (by party motion/court order), not a clerk duty. Washington Courts
  • Florida: Rule 2.420 amended—clerks ended automatic review in most civil filings; identification/redaction is on the filer. The Florida Bar
  • Virginia: Va. Code § 8.01-420.8—filing party must redact all but the last four digits of specified identifiers. Virginia Law
  • Idaho: I.R.C.P. 2.6 & I.R.E.F.S. 15—responsibility to omit/redact is on the filer; clerks need not review. Idaho Supreme Court
  • Kansas: Supreme Court Rule 24—attorney/party is solely obligated to protect PII; clerk has no duty to review. Kansas Judicial Center
  • Nevada: NEFCR & Rules for Sealing/Redacting—submitting party must ensure personal info is not in public filings or is redacted. Nevada Judiciary
  • New York: 22 NYCRR 202.5(e)—parties must omit/redact confidential personal information; court may order removal/redaction. Legal Information Institute
  • Illinois: Supreme Court Rule 138—filer must omit/redact and use a confidential information form; clerk not required to review. Illinois Courts
  • New Jersey: Rule 1:38-7—filing party must redact; courts will not order clerks to assume this task. Lowenstein Sandler LLP
  • Colorado: Public access/redaction rule places duty on filer; District of Colorado reminds that parties (not reporters) request transcript redactions. Colorado Judicial Branch
  • Georgia: OCGA § 9-11-7.1 & Uniform Superior Court procedures reflect filer obligation and sealing/redacted-public-version workflow. Justia Law
  • Massachusetts: SJC Rule 1:24 & E-Filing Rule 12—filer is responsible; clerk will not review each document. Mass.gov
  • Michigan: MCR 1.109(D)(9)—duty rests solely with parties/attorneys; clerk not required to review. Michigan Courts
  • Minnesota: Gen. Rules of Practice 11 & 14—filers are solely responsible for designating non-public info and ensuring proper handling of identifiers. MN Revisor’s Office
  • North Carolina: e-filing guidance—sole responsibility of the filer to omit/redact sensitive information. efiling.nccourts.org
  • Ohio: Sup.R. 45(D)—responsibility for omitting personal identifiers rests solely with the party (mirrored in local rules). pmcourt.com
  • Oregon: UTCR 2.130/2.100/2.110—courts are not required to redact; parties must segregate confidential info (CIF). Oregon Courts
  • Pennsylvania: Case Records Public Access Policy—filing party must redact; courts/custodians are not required to review/redact filings. Pennsylvania Code & Bulletin
  • Wisconsin: Wis. Stat. § 801.19—no party may submit protected information except as the rule provides; attorney/filer must redact. Wisconsin Legislature Documentation
  • Utah: UCJA 4-202.09 & courts’ guidance—private identifiers must be provided on a separate cover sheet; filers must leave out non-public info. Utah Courts
  • Arizona: Courts provide redaction request forms; responsibility sits with filers to seek redaction of identifiers in filed docs. AZCourtHelp.org

What this means for reporters

  • The pattern in these jurisdictions is the same as TX/WA: reporters should not “auto-redact”; the duty sits with the filer. If a transcript is to be filed publicly, counsel should direct any redactions (and in federal court, parties provide a redaction list to the reporter). cod.uscourts.gov

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The CA Law Has Changed – Freelancers Now Have Legal Protection — Even If Agencies Don’t Know It Yet

October 2025

This year alone, I’ve had three separate court reporting agencies fail to pay for completed work within 30 days — all while openly admitting they didn’t know about California’s new Freelance Worker Protection Act (FWPA). Even more alarming, several agency owners commented on my recent StenoImperium article saying they had never heard of it.

That ends today.

What SB 988 (the Freelance Worker Protection Act) Actually Says

Effective January 1, 2025, California’s FWPA requires that:

  • Freelancers must be paid within 30 days of submitting an invoice unless a written contract specifies otherwise.
  • The hiring party must provide a written contract detailing the scope, rate, and payment terms for any job over $250.
  • Freelancers have the right to file a complaint with the Labor Commissioner for nonpayment or retaliation.
  • Most importantly — retaliation is illegal.
    Agencies cannot penalize, blacklist, or withhold future work from a freelancer who asks to be paid or asserts their rights under the Act.

This is not optional. It’s law.

What’s Happening in the Field

In just the past few months, I’ve seen agencies:

  • Delay payment for transcript copies for months or years.
  • Threaten to “remove a reporter from the rotation” for following up on unpaid work.
  • Claim ignorance of the law entirely.

The ignorance defense doesn’t hold up. Courts and regulators have repeatedly affirmed: “Ignorance of the law excuses no one.”

But this is where we — the reporters — can make the biggest difference: through education, documentation, and diligence.

How Reporters Can Protect Themselves

1. Update Your Rate Sheet and Contracts

Add a one-line clause referencing SB 988 to every job confirmation or invoice:

“Pursuant to California’s Freelance Worker Protection Act (SB 988), payment is due within 30 days of invoice date. Retaliation for lawful collection efforts is prohibited.”

Include your payment methods, late-fee terms, and your CSR number.

2. Revise Your Email Signature

Example:

Protected by California’s Freelance Worker Protection Act (SB 988) — timely payment required, retaliation prohibited.

This reinforces professionalism while signaling that you know your rights.

3. Send Job Confirmations in Writing

Every assignment confirmation should reference your payment terms and the FWPA clause. This creates a written record of notice — crucial if you ever need to file a complaint.

4. Track Collections Proactively

Keep a spreadsheet or use accounting software (like QuickBooks, FreshBooks, or Wave) to log:

  • Date invoiced
  • Agency contact
  • Amount due
  • Follow-up reminders sent
  • Payment received date

If payment exceeds 30 days, send a polite but firm reminder referencing SB 988.

5. Escalate Professionally

If no response after two follow-ups:

  • Send a formal demand letter (you can adapt the sample from StenoImperium’s resources section – below).
  • CC the agency’s accounting and management.
  • State that failure to pay constitutes a violation of the FWPA.
  • If still unpaid, file a complaint with the Labor Commissioner’s Office or Small Claims Court.

Educate the Agencies — Don’t Just Shame Them

Many smaller or out-of-state firms genuinely don’t know about this new law. That’s why including it on our documentation is so important. Every email signature, rate sheet, and confirmation becomes an opportunity to teach.

By citing the statute clearly and consistently, we normalize compliance — just as we’ve done for per-page rates, notary verification, and transcript certification standards.

What the Profession Can Do Collectively

  • Share this article with agency owners, scopists, and colleagues.
  • Add a “Know Your Rights” section to reporting school curricula and mentorship programs.
  • Encourage associations (NCRA, CCRA, DRA) to publish FWPA awareness bulletins.
  • Push for enforcement clarity at CRB and the Department of Industrial Relations.

If agencies want to operate in California, they must follow California law — including paying their reporters promptly and without retaliation.

Closing Thought

For years, freelancers have operated on trust — hoping our invoices would be honored and our professionalism respected. The Freelance Worker Protection Act gives us something more tangible: legal backing.

It’s time to use it.
Let’s hold agencies accountable, educate with integrity, and stand together as the guardians of the record — and now, of our own livelihoods.

~ R E S O U R C E S ~

Downloadable Tools or Templates

  • 🧾 Download Collection Letter Generator
Collection Letter Template – SB 988
  • 📧 Download Email Signature Template
Email-Signature-Template-SB988
  • 📄 Download Sample Rate Sheet with SB 988 Clause
Sample Rate Sheet with SB 988 Clause
  • 📄 Download Sample Freelance Service Agreement
Download Sample Freelance Service Agreement

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Do Freelance Court Reporters Have to Provide Parking Receipts? The Truth About Fixed-Rate Line Items and 1099 Independence

When you’re an independent court reporter or legal contractor, few things are more irritating than being asked for parking receipts — especially when your parking rates are already published on your rate sheet, listed on your invoice, and embedded into your Master Freelance Agreement.

Most reporters know the routine: you work across multiple courthouses, you have different daily or hourly rates depending on location and assignment type, and your parking rates are clearly spelled out — $25 at Stanley Mosk, $20 at Compton, $15 at Norwalk, etc. Yet somehow, one agency insists on parking receipts while the others don’t.

Why? And do you actually have to provide them?

The answer reveals a lot about how agencies handle 1099 contractors, and even more about how you can assert your professional boundaries while staying compliant and professional.

1. The Root of the Problem: Inconsistent Accounting Practices

Each reporting agency has its own internal accounting and client-billing structure. Some operate like small businesses — trusting your invoices as the full and final record of your services. Others, especially large or corporate-owned agencies backed by private equity, function like mid-size corporations.

Those companies often require receipts for everything because of their internal audit controls or client billing transparency rules. If they pass through your parking charge to a law firm or government agency, their client might require documentation for every reimbursable expense, so they cascade that requirement down to you — even though you’re an independent contractor, not an employee.

In other words, the request usually has nothing to do with you personally. It’s a downstream effect of their accounting department’s workflow.

But that doesn’t mean they have the right to demand it — especially when your contract already sets parking as a fixed rate.

2. Understanding the Legal Distinction – Reimbursement vs. Fixed-Rate Line Item

This is the heart of the issue.
As a 1099 independent contractor operating through your own corporate structure, you are not a W-2 employee. You are selling professional services at pre-agreed rates.

When your rate sheet or Master Freelance Agreement lists courthouse-specific parking fees as flat line items, those rates are considered contract prices, not reimbursable expenses.

That distinction matters.

  • Reimbursement model: The company reimburses you for variable out-of-pocket costs you incur (e.g., mileage, meals, parking meters). In that case, receipts are required for tax and audit purposes.
  • Fixed-rate model: The company purchases your services (including parking) at a fixed price. No receipts are required because it’s not an expense reimbursement — it’s part of your professional fee structure.

Think of it like this: when a caterer charges $50 per person for an event, the client doesn’t get receipts for the chef’s groceries. They’re paying the price of the service, not reimbursing expenses.

If your rate sheet clearly states “Parking – $25/day (Stanley Mosk Courthouse)” and your signed agreement incorporates that sheet by reference, then the parking fee is not subject to documentation requirements — it’s part of your pricing, period.

3. Why Some Agencies Still Demand Receipts

So why does only one agency insist on parking receipts?

It usually boils down to one of three reasons:

  1. Corporate accounting rigidity: Their internal policies may require attaching a receipt to any “expense” line in their system, regardless of your 1099 status.
  2. Client pass-through billing: If their client demands itemized proof for reimbursement, they may require it from you even if your agreement treats parking as fixed.
  3. Employee mindset confusion: Some agencies blur the line between employees and contractors. They apply W-2-style procedures (like expense documentation) to 1099s because their systems aren’t designed to handle both models cleanly.

4. The Software Bottleneck Nobody Talks About

Here’s the irony:
In most cases, their accountants know it’s unnecessary — but the software requires a file upload before it can mark the invoice “complete.” So you end up feeding the system paperwork it doesn’t legally need.

This has nothing to do with IRS compliance or contract law. It’s just how enterprise accounting software is coded.

Most large agencies use platforms like QuickBooks Online, SAP Concur, or NetSuite, often with custom billing extensions. Those systems are configured to flag any expense-coded line item as incomplete until a “receipt” field contains a file.

It’s a checkbox requirement, not a legal one.
In other words, the software doesn’t know — or care — what the document is. It only checks that something has been uploaded.

And that’s where your workaround begins.

5. System Workarounds and Audit Compliance

If an agency’s accounting system blocks payment until a “receipt” is uploaded, you can absolutely satisfy that requirement — without compromising your independent-contractor structure or mislabeling your billing as a “reimbursement.”

Here’s what you can safely and ethically do:

✅ Upload your rate sheet, contract, or invoice instead.

The system won’t parse or read the file contents; it simply verifies that an attachment exists. Once you upload a file, the “receipt required” flag disappears and your payment proceeds through approval.

You’re not deceiving the system — you’re supplying legitimate supporting documentation that substantiates your parking rate. In fact, your rate sheet or signed agreement is stronger evidence than a random parking stub because it directly proves the contractual basis for payment.

🧾 Why this is perfectly legitimate

From an accounting standpoint, the goal of a receipt upload is to demonstrate that the charge has a valid foundation.

  • Your contract and rate sheet are that foundation.
  • You’re showing that your parking rate is pre-approved and contractually defined, not a discretionary expense.
  • You’re aligning with the system’s audit intent — providing documentation for the payment — while preserving your legal status as a 1099 vendor.

If anyone in accounting asks why the upload isn’t a physical receipt, you can respond professionally:

“Because my parking rates are fixed and contractually defined, I uploaded my rate sheet as the supporting documentation. It serves as the substantiating document for the parking line item.”

That’s a truthful, professional statement — and completely defensible in an audit.

🗂 File-naming tip

To make it seamless for their records, use clear labels like:

  • ParkingRateSheet_StanleyMosk.pdf
  • Parking_Attestation_Contract.pdf
  • ParkingDocumentation_NAME.pdf

The system sees an attachment; the human reviewer sees legitimate documentation. Problem solved.

🧠 Bonus: Create a “Parking Fee Attestation”

If you want to go the extra mile, you can merge your courthouse rate table with a brief declaration like this:

“Parking rates are fixed by contract per courthouse and billed as line items. This document is provided in lieu of receipts for system documentation purposes.”

That one-page PDF satisfies the software, reassures accounting, and protects your independence — all at once.

6. How to Handle Receipt Requests Gracefully, but Firmly

When you encounter this situation, you can respond diplomatically while maintaining your contractual boundaries. Here’s a sample response:

“Parking is billed according to my published courthouse rate sheet and incorporated into our signed Master Freelance Agreement. These are fixed rates, not reimbursable expenses, so receipts aren’t required under the terms of our agreement.

If your accounting department requires a receipt for internal audit purposes, I’ve uploaded my rate sheet as the supporting documentation.”

That language does three important things:

  1. It cites your contract (authority).
  2. It distinguishes between fixed rate and reimbursement (classification).
  3. It resolves their system requirement without ceding your independence (compliance).

7. The Smartest Long-Term Fix – Codify It in Your Master Freelance Agreement

To avoid this recurring headache, your Master Freelance Agreement should contain an explicit clause stating that parking and mileage are fixed rates, not reimbursements, and that receipts are not required.

Here’s a model clause you can adopt:

Parking & Local Travel — Fixed Rate (No Receipts).
Reporter’s parking and local courthouse travel are billed as fixed-rate line items per courthouse, as published on Reporter’s current Rate Sheet, which is incorporated herein by reference. These amounts are contract prices, not reimbursements; therefore, receipts are not required. Any contrary “policy” or expense procedure of Agency or its client shall not modify this term unless amended in writing and executed by both parties.

And for agencies that truly need paper trails for their clients, you can soften it with:

Parking Documentation (If Requested).
Upon Agency’s written request for internal audit purposes only, Reporter may provide a simple attestation of parking for the date and courthouse listed on the invoice. Such attestation shall not alter the agreed fixed rates nor convert them to reimbursable expenses.

Both clauses assert your independence while providing an audit-friendly option.

8. Optional – Include an Invoice Note or Attestation Template

Sometimes the simplest fix is the easiest.
Add a line at the bottom of your invoice:

“Parking billed at fixed courthouse rate per Master Agreement/Rate Sheet. Receipts not required.”

If an agency still refuses to process payment without “proof,” attach this short attestation:

Parking Fee Attestation
Reporter: [Full Reporter Name]
Date of Service: [MM/DD/YYYY]
Courthouse: [Name of Courthouse]
Matter/Job #: [####]
Contracted Parking Rate (per Rate Sheet): $[amount]
I attest that paid parking was required to perform this assignment at the courthouse listed above and is billed at the contracted fixed rate.
Signature: _______________________ Date: __________

That single-page document satisfies even the most rigid accounting systems and keeps your files consistent.

9. Why This Matters for 1099 Reporters

Independent contractors must guard the boundaries of independence carefully. The more an agency dictates your invoicing format, documentation requirements, or administrative processes, the more they blur the line between contractor and employee.

From a legal and IRS perspective, forcing you to follow employee-style accounting protocols could even weaken their own defense in a misclassification audit. If the agency treats you like staff, they assume risk.

Every time you assert your right to define your own pricing and billing structure, you reinforce the legitimacy of your 1099 status. You’re not being “difficult” — you’re maintaining proper business boundaries.

10. The Bigger Picture – Professional Respect and Administrative Efficiency

There’s also a philosophical angle here.
Court reporters, videographers, and interpreters who operate as independent professionals shouldn’t be treated like employees submitting reimbursement forms. You’re a vendor — not a subordinate.

Every unnecessary receipt, form, or upload request costs you time, and time is money. A streamlined, consistent billing structure not only protects your independence but improves your efficiency across multiple agencies.

Agencies benefit too, when they accept standardized rate sheets and fixed pricing models. It eliminates disputes, reduces turnaround time, and clarifies expectations for both sides.

11. Bottom Line – Know Your Agreement and Stand on It

If your agreement specifies courthouse-specific parking rates, that’s your pricing — full stop. You are not obligated to provide receipts unless your contract says you must.

The one agency that still asks for receipts probably isn’t trying to undermine you; they’re just operating under rigid internal controls or outdated systems. Politely reminding them of your contractual terms — and offering your rate sheet, contract, or attestation as documentation — resolves 99% of these issues.

Ultimately, this is about professionalism and boundaries.
You deliver certified, verbatim transcripts under oath — a service that demands precision, accountability, and trust. Your rate sheet and agreement reflect that same professionalism. Parking fees are not loose change — they’re part of your business structure.

So the next time someone asks for a parking receipt, remember: you’re not an employee turning in an expense report. You’re an independent professional honoring a contract.

And that contract — not a parking stub — is your proof.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

Editor’s Note: This article is based on public records, regulatory filings, and California statutes. The author’s commentary represents opinion on matters of public concern. No allegations of wrongdoing are made beyond the facts cited.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Breaking News!!! L.A. Judge Refuses Jury Readback Instruction in Civil Trial — Citing “Time” as Reason

In the Stanley Mosk Courthouse, a Los Angeles Superior Court Judge openly refused to provide jurors with the standard civil jury instruction informing them of their right to request testimony readback during deliberations — a statutory right guaranteed under California law.

During the jury instruction conference in a civil jury trial currently in deliberations, Judge Cochran stated on the record:

“I’m not going to give jury instruction 508, having a court reporter read back testimony. It’s hard to find the court reporter, chase her down, get her in here, going through the testimony to pick out what they want, and then all that. It just takes time. Do you know where I got that?”

The courtroom clerk replied, “Your predecessor.”

This refusal to give the readback instruction is legally significant, raising both procedural and constitutional concerns. It highlights a growing and troubling pattern in California civil courts: judges treating mandatory readback procedures as discretionary administrative inconveniences, rather than statutory obligations that protect the integrity of jury deliberations.

The Law is CCP § 614 and the Jury’s Right to Readback

Under California Code of Civil Procedure § 614, juries in civil cases have the right to request readback of testimony if they disagree or are uncertain about what a witness said. The statute provides:

“After the jury have retired for deliberation, if there be any disagreement between them as to the testimony, or if they desire to be informed on any point of law arising in the case, they must require the officer to conduct them into court. Upon being brought into court, the information required must be given in the presence of or after notice to the parties or counsel.”

This language is not discretionary. When jurors make a proper request, the court must bring them back into open court and provide the information they request — including readback by the official court reporter. Judges do not have the authority to refuse such a request because it is “inconvenient” or “time-consuming.”

Despite this clear statutory mandate, Judge Cochran went a step further and misinformed the jury about their rights under CCP § 614. Addressing the panel directly, he stated:

This statement is flatly contrary to California law. Jurors do, in fact, have the right to request readback, regardless of the length of the trial. By telling them “we don’t do that,” the court not only declined to give the required instruction, but affirmatively misled the jury about a statutory right, potentially tainting deliberations and creating a strong appellate issue, if any disagreement over testimony arises.

📘 The Instruction is CACI No. 5008

To ensure jurors understand this right, the Judicial Council of California adopted CACI No. 5008 – Disagreement About Testimony. The instruction states:

“If you disagree about the testimony, you may ask that the court reporter read to you the relevant parts of the testimony. You may also ask to be informed on any point of law.”

This is a standard instruction given before deliberations in civil jury trials. Its omission is rare — and potentially prejudicial — because it leaves jurors unaware of a key procedural safeguard designed to resolve disputes about evidence accurately.

Case Law Says it’s a Mandatory Duty, Not Discretion

Although most appellate case law on jury readbacks arises in the criminal context, the principles apply equally in civil trials because CCP § 614 governs both. California appellate courts have consistently held that failure to honor a jury’s request for readback constitutes error:

  • People v. Butler (1975) 47 Cal.App.3d 273 — The Court of Appeal reversed a conviction where the trial court refused a jury’s request for testimony readback, emphasizing that the statutory duty under Penal Code § 1138 (the criminal analogue of CCP § 614) is mandatory.
  • People v. Gurule (2002) 28 Cal.4th 557, 649 — The California Supreme Court reiterated that a court “must provide the jury with the requested information,” including readback, and that failure to do so is error.

The same language — “must” — appears in CCP § 614. In civil trials, courts have treated refusal to provide requested information or readback as reversible error where prejudice can be shown, because such refusals impair the jury’s ability to deliberate accurately and fairly.

Readback Matters Because of Accuracy and Deliberative Integrity

Juries are tasked with resolving disputes about facts based on witness testimony. Over the course of a multi-day or multi-week civil trial, jurors may hear dozens of witnesses and hundreds of exhibits. It is neither realistic nor legally sound to expect perfect recall of every detail.

Readback ensures that when jurors disagree or are uncertain, they can rely on the official verbatim record rather than memory, conjecture, or persuasion by the loudest voice in the room. This safeguard:

  • Reduces the risk of deliberative error,
  • Protects the parties’ due process rights, and
  • Reinforces the role of the court reporter as the guardian of the record.

By refusing to give CACI 5008, Judge Cochran effectively withheld from the jury the knowledge that this safeguard exists.

Structural Breakdown – Reporter Continuity Lost

A significant factor underlying this breakdown is the loss of reporter continuity in civil trials. Traditionally, official court reporters — or seasoned freelancers who treated trials as a single, continuous assignment — remained with the case from voir dire through verdict, ensuring they were present and fully familiar with the record during deliberations. By contrast, the growing reliance on agency-booked pro tem reporters, who often cover trials on a piecemeal basis, has fractured this chain of custody. Reporters rotate in and out, don’t communicate with each other, and are frequently “out of the loop” once their day or portion is finished. This lack of coordination leaves judges scrambling to locate whichever reporter happened to cover the relevant witness, or their transcripts, at precisely the moment the jury requests readback. Reporters who maintain full-trial continuity, by contrast, routinely stay through deliberations or hand off certified transcripts to a designated colleague — practices that eliminate these logistical gaps. The problem isn’t with the concept of readback; it’s with a staffing model that treats trials like interchangeable calendar slots rather than unified proceedings.

Judicial Convenience vs. Legal Duty

Judge Cochran’s stated reason for refusing the instruction — that it’s “hard to find the court reporter, chase her down, get her in here… it just takes time” — reveals a judicial culture problem. In busy civil courts like Stanley Mosk, efficiency pressures are real. But administrative inconvenience is not a lawful basis for denying jurors a statutory right.

The judge’s remark also implicitly frames the reporter’s role as peripheral — a logistical burden rather than an essential officer of the court. In reality, the ability to perform readback is one of the clearest examples of why live, licensed court reporters remain indispensable in California’s legal system.

Unlike AI transcripts or uncertified recordings, reporters can instantly locate, certify, and read back testimony with legal accuracy and reliability, ensuring the jury receives the exact words spoken in court.

Systemic Pattern – Erosion of Safeguards

This morning’s incident is not an isolated event. Across California, particularly in high-volume civil courts, there has been a quiet erosion of procedural safeguards as courts adapt to resource constraints, shortages of reporters, and increasing pressure to move cases quickly.

This erosion often takes the form of:

  • Judges discouraging or refusing readbacks;
  • Substituting uncertified digital recordings for official transcripts;
  • Skipping or modifying standard instructions; and
  • Framing reporters as “optional” or “inconvenient” rather than essential.

These practices may seem minor in the moment but have major implications on appeal. When a verdict is challenged, appellate courts look to whether the jury was properly instructed and had access to accurate information during deliberations. A judge’s refusal to give a mandated instruction — especially one tied to a statutory right — is a glaring red flag.

Potential Appellate Implications

If a party in this case were to lose at trial and challenge the outcome, Judge Cochran’s refusal could form the basis of an appellate argument that:

  1. The court failed to instruct the jury on a material legal right (CACI 5008 / CCP § 614);
  2. This omission misled the jury about their procedural options during deliberations; and
  3. The omission resulted in prejudice, particularly if the jury later disagreed on testimony but did not realize they could request readback.

Appellate courts apply a harmless error analysis to jury instruction errors. However, where a statutory right is involved and the error may have influenced deliberations, reversal is possible.

Moreover, this kind of error is entirely avoidable. The instruction is standard. The procedure is clear. The reporter is present. The only barrier in this case was judicial will.

Broader Context – The Reporter’s Role and Judicial Accountability

This shift isn’t just a logistical inconvenience — it’s a further step toward removing court reporters from the judicial process altogether. By fragmenting trial coverage among rotating freelancers and agency contractors, the courts are normalizing a system where the reporter is no longer treated as a central officer of the court but as a disposable, interchangeable service provider. When judges grow accustomed to not knowing who the reporter is, or whether a reporter can be located for readback, it becomes easier to justify technological “solutions” like digital recording or AI transcription in the name of efficiency. What begins as administrative disorganization quickly becomes a pretext for permanent structural change — sidelining human reporters and eroding the safeguards they provide.

Stripping court reporters from the trial process isn’t just an industry issue — it’s a constitutional one. Court reporters are not mere transcriptionists; they are independent officers of the court, ensuring that every word uttered in a courtroom is preserved faithfully and subject to judicial oversight. When that safeguard is eroded — whether through administrative neglect, outsourcing to agencies, or replacing reporters with machines — the accuracy and accountability of the record are compromised. History shows that removing independent oversight from judicial proceedings is a dangerous step toward tyranny. Without a verifiable, contemporaneous record, power consolidates in the hands of those who control the narrative after the fact — not those who speak truth in real time. This is why the reporter’s role is not ornamental; it is structural to the rule of law.

Conclusion

Judge Steve Cochran’s refusal to give the jury the standard readback instruction is more than an offhand administrative decision. It is a legal error with significant implications, both for the parties in the case and for the broader integrity of California’s civil justice system.

By declining to inform jurors of their statutory right under CCP § 614, the court potentially undermined their ability to deliberate accurately and fairly. By framing reporter readback as a logistical inconvenience, it signaled a troubling cultural shift away from procedural fidelity and toward expediency.

The law is clear. The instruction is standard. The reporter is present. The right belongs to the jury.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Real Markup – Why Attorneys Think Reporters Are Overcharging (and Who’s Actually Pocketing the Profit)

For years, a quiet but powerful misconception has distorted how attorneys view court reporters. Ask a litigator about transcript costs and many will tell you: “Reporters charge too much.”

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: it’s not the reporters overcharging you. It’s the agencies in the middle.

“Agencies built walls between attorneys and reporters to protect their margins, not to improve service. The irony is, the people actually producing the record are the ones attorneys are kept farthest from… Once attorneys realize they can work directly with the certified professionals who create and certify the record, everyone wins — except the middlemen who’ve been taking a cut for simply standing in the way.”

That captures it. For decades, national agencies inserted themselves as gatekeepers—controlling scheduling, billing, production, and distribution—then built empires by marking up the labor of the licensed professional who actually creates and certifies the record.

And now, with remote work, digital tools, and growing attorney awareness, those walls are cracking.

I. The Economic Sleight of Hand

When an attorney receives a hefty invoice, it usually arrives from the agency, not the reporter. That invoice can reflect rates two or even three times higher than the reporter actually earned.

A typical pattern:

  • Reporter’s page rate: e.g., $3.50 per original page; $0.75 per copy page.
  • Agency billing rate: e.g., $6.50 per original page; $2.50 per copy page.
  • Spread: The agency pockets the difference—often 40%–60%—without adding corresponding value to the creation of the record.

Multiply that spread across thousands of pages and multiple copies, and the margins become enormous. Attorneys feel gouged—and they are—but not by the reporter whose license, presence, skill, and certification legally anchor the record.

II. The Hidden Upsells: Derivative Products the Reporter Often Isn’t Paid For

Here’s the part most invoices obscure: ancillary line items that agencies monetize, but rarely share with the reporter who produced the underlying record.

  • Condensed Transcript (4-up/8-up) PDFs.
    Attorneys are often charged add-on fees for condensed versions. Reporters typically receive $0 from this upsell, even though it’s merely a reformat of their certified work product.
  • Word Index / Concordance.
    The alphabetical word list and page-line references can carry a separate line item. Again, in most arrangements reporters receive no share of that fee.
  • Exhibits Handling & Hosting.
    Scanning/OCR, Bates stamping, hyperlinking, repository “access,” printing, shipping—these often appear as billable “services.” Reporters, who introduced and tracked those exhibits in real time, usually receive none of the exhibit revenue.
  • Repository / “Platform” or “Tech” Fees.
    Many agencies charge monthly or per-matter fees for access, uploads, distribution, or “archiving.” The reporter generally isn’t compensated from these platform charges.
  • Electronic Delivery / Processing Fees.
    “E-delivery,” “processing,” “file-handling,” or “production” surcharges are common. Reporters typically don’t participate in that revenue either.
  • Copy-Order Surcharges.
    Additional-law-firm copies can carry steep markups; reporters may get a contractual copy rate, but many don’t share in the agency’s higher-billed copy price.

In other words, agencies aren’t just marking up the core page rate—they are stacking derivative revenue streams on top of the transcript the reporter created, while the reporter often sees none of that ancillary income. This is a key reason attorney invoices feel bloated and why the blame gets misassigned to the reporter.

III. How the Wall Was Built

Over 30 years, national conglomerates consolidated smaller firms and normalized the “full-service” model. Their core strategy: control of the attorney–reporter relationship.

  • Scheduling gatekeeping. Reporters were discouraged from direct client contact; all bookings flow through the agency.
  • Transcript distribution. Agencies intercept delivery, masking the true economics.
  • Client lock-in. Perks, portals, and bundles make switching inconvenient—while hiding markups and derivative fees.

The outcome: the legally responsible professional is economically and relationally sidelined, while the intermediary captures the spread and the add-ons.

IV. The Legal Irony: Reporters Bear the Responsibility

By statute and rule, only certified court reporters create and certify the official verbatim record. Agencies are not licensed to do that. Yet it’s the reporter—not the agency—who must:

  • Attend and take down every word verbatim
  • Swear in witnesses
  • Produce, proofread, and certify the transcript
  • Safeguard the record

If the record is challenged, it’s the reporter’s name and license on the line. The entity pocketing the markups and derivative fees is not the one assuming the legal risk for record integrity.

V. Why Attorneys Are Waking Up

  1. Remote proceedings lowered the drawbridge.
    During COVID, lawyers dealt directly with reporters on Zoom and saw how responsive direct coordination could be.
  2. Modern tools removed the “value-add” mystique.
    Calendaring, secure portals, e-signature, delivery—all manageable without a middleman.
  3. Transparency questions are rising.
    Attorneys comparing invoices are discovering the gulf between what reporters are paid and what agencies bill—especially on derivative line items.
  4. Ethics alignment favors licensed professionals.
    Working directly with the person who certifies the record better aligns with attorneys’ supervisory duties in remote/hybrid matters and overall diligence obligations.

VI. Everyone Wins When Attorneys Work Directly With Reporters

Connecting directly delivers tangible benefits:

  • Fair compensation for the skilled professional, which sustains quality and availability.
  • Clear, honest pricing without opaque markups and surprise “platform” or “processing” fees.
  • Faster turnaround and better communication—fewer layers, fewer delays.
  • Aligned legal responsibility with the person who actually creates and certifies the record.

The only losers are the middlemen who profit from the spread and the derivative add-ons.

VII. A Practical Checklist for Attorneys (Use This on Your Next Matter)

  1. Ask for a line-item quotebefore the proceeding that distinguishes:
    • Reporter’s page/copy rates
    • Any rush/rough/realtime rates (who gets paid what)
    • All derivative items (condensed, concordance, exhibit handling/hosting, repository, e-delivery) with per-unit pricing
  2. Insist on pass-through pricing or no-charge bundling for condensed/concordance.
    If you’re being billed, verify who is being paid.
  3. Clarify exhibit economics.
    Who scans/OCRs? What’s the rate? Are there hosting or “repository” fees? For how long? Can you opt out?
  4. Receive the invoice from the reporter (or reporter-centered platform).
    You’ll see the true economics—and usually pay less overall.
  5. Build a reporter roster.
    Know your CSRs by name and license number. Keep direct contact information and book them directly.

VIII. Conclusion

The belief that court reporters are “overcharging” was shaped by decades of agency markups and a forest of derivative fees layered atop the transcript. Reporters—the only licensed professionals who can create and certify the record—often receive none of the money generated by condensed transcripts, concordances, exhibit handling, repositories, and “tech” surcharges.

As attorneys scrutinize invoices and reconnect directly with reporters, the economics—and the ethics—snap back into alignment. The system works better, costs come down, quality goes up, and accountability rests where the law already puts it: with the certified professional who makes the record real.

The tide is turning. Tear down the wall. Call the reporter.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Top Court Reporting Trends to Watch in 2025 – Real Innovation, Legal Integrity, and the Return to Verbatim

Hold onto your steno machines, reporters — the legal record landscape in California is undergoing a seismic shift.

Hold Onto Your Steno Machines — The Record Is Rising

Hold onto your steno machines, reporters — the legal record is about to roar back with a vengeance. As we charge through 2025, the court reporting industry isn’t fading into the background — it’s stepping into the spotlight. What some thought was “old-fashioned” is proving to be the most powerful, high-tech, and legally sound way to protect the truth.

Across courtrooms, boardrooms, and Zoom rooms, certified stenographers and voice writers are shattering the myths: there is no shortage, the verbatim record is stronger than ever, and “record now, transcribe later” isn’t progress — it’s regression. We’re not watching history happen. We’re making it.

In this rallying call for the future, we’ll explore the trends reshaping the landscape: remote coverage that expands reach, overflowing schools training the next generation, technology that enhances rather than replaces, and a renewed focus on Responsible Charge — the bedrock of legal accuracy.

Whether you’ve been reporting for decades or are just stepping into this profession, buckle up. The future isn’t automated — it’s live, verbatim, and unstoppable.

The legal record is the foundation of justice — and the way we capture it is evolving fast. Far from being “old-fashioned,” certified court reporters are leading the charge with high-tech tools, new remote workflows, and a renewed focus on legal integrity. Below are the real trends shaping the future of court reporting in 2025 — not the marketing myths.

Picture This: A Day in the Life of a Modern Court Reporter

Picture this: It’s a crisp California morning in 2025. I’m at my kitchen table, sipping my favorite cold brew, laptop open, ready to log on for my first Zoom deposition of the day. No traffic. No commute. No juggling courthouse parking. Just me, my steno machine, my voice mask, and a remote proceeding waiting to begin.

Within minutes, I’m connected to attorneys from San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Texas—all in one morning. My realtime feed is streaming live, exhibits are handled securely through the cloud, and I’m in full Responsible Charge, ensuring every word is captured accurately, legally, and in the moment.

This is the new landscape of court reporting. We’re not sitting in dusty courtrooms waiting for proceedings to start—we’re running statewide coverage from our desks, equipped with high-tech tools and the legal authority to create the official record.

And unlike the “record now, transcribe later” crowd, I’m not relying on some future typist to interpret a muffled recording. I’m capturing every word live, clarifying in real time when speakers overlap, ensuring the chain of custody is airtight.

Technology isn’t replacing us—it’s amplifying us. It’s removing geographical barriers, cutting down inefficiencies, and allowing us to focus on what matters most: producing a certified, verbatim record that holds up in court.

1. Zoom Depositions Have Unleashed Unprecedented Coverage

The biggest shift in recent years isn’t digital recorders — it’s Zoom. Remote depositions have broken the geographic barriers that once limited reporters to one physical location per day. Now:

  • California-licensed stenographers and voice writers can cover proceedings statewide — or even across state lines with reciprocal licenses — without stepping on a plane.
  • Out-of-state reporters are increasingly obtaining California licenses to help meet demand, expanding the pool of qualified professionals while maintaining legal standards.
  • Reporters can now cover multiple proceedings in a single day, maximizing availability and efficiency without compromising accuracy.

This is the real “efficiency revolution”: leveraging technology to make live, certified coverage more accessible, not replacing it with after-the-fact audio files.

2. The “Shortage” Narrative Is Collapsing

For years, digital recording companies and their private-equity backers have repeated one mantra: “There’s a court reporter shortage.” In 2025, that claim rings hollow.

  • California’s training pipeline is booming. With the introduction of voice writing into CSR licensure, schools have tripled their output, and many programs are running waitlists.
  • Social media marketing has generated unprecedented interest among Gen Z and Millennials, who see court reporting as a high-tech, independent, well-compensated career.
  • Graduates are entering the field in record numbers, drawn by flexible remote work and mission-driven purpose.

The truth: there’s no shortage — there’s growth. The only “shortage” is of agencies willing to follow the law and hire qualified professionals.

3. Verbatim Is the Future — Not Audio Files

Some agencies push “record now, transcribe later” systems as if they’re innovative. In reality, these models are a century old — and legally flawed.

  • Audio recordings without a certified reporter are out-of-court statements. They are hearsay under the rules of evidence and do not meet the statutory requirements for a verbatim record.
  • California’s Code of Civil Procedure § 2025.320 and Government Code §§ 69941.1, 69942 require that proceedings be taken down by a licensed Certified Shorthand Reporter or a legally authorized equivalent.

And let’s be clear: recordings made without a certified reporter present are not the official record. They’re out-of-court statements—and under the rules of evidence, that’s hearsay. Without a licensed reporter in Responsible Charge taking down the proceedings in real time, these recordings don’t meet statutory requirements, aren’t self-authenticating, and can’t substitute for a legally recognized verbatim transcript. Hearsay isn’t innovation—it’s inadmissible.

Without a reporter in Responsible Charge, there is no official record — only a recording, subject to errors, omissions, tampering, and post-hoc reinterpretation.

Real innovation isn’t regressing to dictaphones; it’s pairing live steno and voice writing with modern remote tools to produce instantaneous, certified, and reviewable records.

4. “Responsible Charge” Remains the Legal Gold Standard

Court reporters aren’t just note-takers — they are the guardians of the record. A licensed CSR or voice writer in Responsible Charge:

  • Ensures proceedings comply with statutory recording and certification requirements.
  • Makes immediate on-the-record clarifications when speakers talk over each other, mumble, or misstate.
  • Protects against transcript manipulation by ensuring the record is certified contemporaneously, not days later in a separate room by an unknown typist.

By contrast, digital recording models divorce the act of capture from the act of certification, introducing chain-of-custody gaps, evidentiary vulnerability, and opportunities for corruption.

5. Court Reporting Is Embracing, Not Resisting, Technology

The “old vs. new” framing is a false dichotomy. Modern stenographers and voice writers use:

  • Realtime streaming to provide instantaneous text feeds to attorneys and judges.
  • Cloud-based exhibit handling, secure portals, and encrypted delivery systems.
  • Remote deposition platforms, AI-assisted dictionaries, and advanced editing tools — all layered on top of a legally valid, verbatim foundation.

This is true high tech: reporters using cutting-edge tools to enhance speed, accuracy, and access, while preserving the integrity of the record.

6. The Profession Is Growing Younger — and Stronger

Perhaps the most inspiring trend is the demographic shift. Court reporting is attracting a new generation of smart, tech-savvy professionals:

  • Students are entering the field earlier, drawn by flexible schedules, strong earning potential, and the ability to work nationwide from a single laptop.
  • Social media has given rise to vibrant communities that celebrate skill-building, mentor newcomers, and showcase the artistry of realtime.
  • Voice writers and steno reporters are joining forces under the CSR licensure umbrella, strengthening professional unity.

The future of court reporting isn’t aging out — it’s leveling up.

The Real Trend – Integrity Through Innovation

The coming year will continue to separate marketing hype from legal reality. The real trends aren’t AI replacing humans, or digital recordings displacing certified reporters. They’re:

  • Zoom expanding access
  • Training pipelines overflowing
  • Steno and voice writing embracing tech
  • Reporters anchoring the legal chain of custody

Court reporters aren’t resisting change — they’re leading it. And in 2025, the legal system is waking up to the fact that the most advanced way to capture the record is also the oldest: live, verbatim, certified.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Protected: Thousands of California Court Reporters Just Got an Email — and It’s Damage Control Disguised as “Dialogue”

This content is password-protected. To view it, please enter the password below.

Hope Is Our Weapon – How Court Reporters Can Win This War

“If we lose hope, we’re doomed.” — Jane Goodall

When Jane Goodall shared her video message of hope, she wasn’t talking about court reporting. But her words resonate powerfully in our profession right now. Court reporters across the nation are watching encroachments from digital recording companies, ASR firms, private equity, and judicial power structures with a mixture of exhaustion and fear. Many feel as if the tide is too strong to resist.

But hope is not naïve. Hope is strategic. Hope is the refusal to surrender to inevitability. It is the belief that with the right actions — grounded in law, ethics, and truth — we can reverse the tide.

And make no mistake: we can win this war.

Hope Anchors Us in a Larger Mission

Jane Goodall found hope not in denial, but in resilience. She believed in small, determined groups changing the trajectory of entire ecosystems. That is exactly the position stenographic court reporters are in today.

Every article that exposes a legal vulnerability, every ethics opinion that highlights a breach, every public conversation that shifts perception is a seed planted. You may not see the tree overnight, but roots are forming.

Each of these efforts is not just content — it is a weaponized fact, a strategic wedge, a foundation for reform.

The Record Is the Battlefield

Authoritarian power structures — whether in governments or court systems — thrive when records are controlled, centralized, or manipulated. History shows us: control the record, control the narrative. That’s why judges, administrative agencies, and private equity firms are all vying for control of the transcript.

Court reporters, by contrast, represent distributed guardianship. Each of us, trained and licensed, stands at the threshold of truth in a courtroom or deposition. We are the check. The witness. The human firewall.

When reporters are cut out through loopholes, outsourced to machines, or intimidated into silence, the battlefield shifts in favor of those who benefit from opaque, unaccountable records.

But when we fight — legally, strategically, publicly — we shift it back.

Decentralized Integrity Is A Better Model

The answer isn’t despair. It’s innovation with integrity. A decentralized, reporter-controlled model — where court reporters remain the trusted custodians of the record, while leveraging technology responsibly — is a superior system to any centralized bureaucracy or corporate monopoly.

This model protects against tampering, preserves transparency, and empowers both the courts and the public with accurate, accountable transcripts. (See this article for more.)

Articles as Ammunition

My advocacy work — from uncovering legal cracks to publishing public-facing explanations — is not just “raising awareness.” It’s laying down the intellectual architecture for victory.

  • Legislators can’t fix what they don’t understand. My work makes the invisible visible.
  • Attorneys can’t fight what they don’t see. My work gives them talking points, citations, and courage.
  • Judges can’t claim ignorance forever. My work holds a mirror up to the system.

This is slow power — not flashy, but deeply effective. This isn’t just my fight — it’s ours. The future of the record depends on all of us standing together. You can help by sharing these articles with reporters, attorneys, judges, and agencies. You can write your own articles, shine light in your own circles, and add your voice to this cause. If you’re interested, reach out to me — I will help you.

Why We Must Reject Despair

Despair is seductive. It lets us opt out. It whispers, “They’re too big, the system’s too corrupt, nothing you do matters.” But despair is a tool of those who profit from your silence.

Hope, by contrast, is defiance. It is saying, “We see you, and we’re not done.”

Every legal theory exposed, every misrepresentation challenged, every article published is one more refusal to disappear. And others are watching — attorneys, students, allies. Hope is contagious.

The Path Forward

This fight isn’t abstract — it’s winnable. But it requires all of us to move with clarity and purpose. Here’s how we do it:

1. Keep Exposing Legal Vulnerabilities

We must keep shining a light on the cracks that others are exploiting: the notary loophole, hearsay defects, Title 16 violations, and judicial misrepresentations. Every exposure strengthens our legal and moral position.

2. Build Public Legal Literacy

Attorneys, judges, legislators, and the public can’t defend what they don’t understand. Break it down. Share articles. Use clear examples. When people grasp why stenographic reporting matters, they stop seeing us as optional — and start seeing us as essential.

3. Model the Better System

We don’t just say the current system is broken — we show a better one. A decentralized, reporter-controlled, transparent model is more secure, more accurate, and more accountable than any centralized bureaucracy or tech-driven shortcut.

4. Grow a Community of Hope

Movements don’t grow from fear; they grow from shared belief in a better future. Hope is contagious. Share wins. Encourage newer reporters. Speak up in meetings. Publish your perspectives. Each voice strengthens the chorus.

Hope as Strategy

Jane Goodall changed the world not by force, but by persistence, clarity, and hope. Court reporters can do the same.

We are not relics of the past. We are guardians of the record, defenders of due process, and innovators in service of justice.

With hope as our strategy and truth as our shield, we can — and will — win.

Join the Movement

This isn’t just my fight — it’s ours. The future of the record depends on all of us standing together. You can help by sharing these articles with reporters, attorneys, judges, and agencies. You can write your own articles, shine light in your own circles, and add your voice to this cause. If you’re interested, reach out to me — I will help you.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

He Who Controls the Record, Controls Reality – Why Court Reporters Are the Last Line of Defense

There’s an old saying: “History is written by the victors.” But in courtrooms, history is written by those who control the record — and that power has never been more contested. Across centuries and civilizations, those in power have understood that if you can erase, rewrite, or control the narrative, you can shape the future. Today, in the American legal system, that power often rests in the hands — and the fingers — of stenographic court reporters.

But what happens when that record is outsourced, digitized, or corrupted by those with political, financial, or technological power? What happens when the guardians of the verbatim record are pushed aside for expedience, profit, or manipulation?

The answer isn’t hypothetical. History gives us the blueprint.

1. “He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.” — George Orwell, 1984

In Orwell’s dystopia, the Party maintained power not only through surveillance and fear, but by continuously rewriting history. Archives were edited, photographs altered, newspapers rewritten. The past was whatever those in power said it was.

Sound far-fetched? Consider this: In a courtroom, the transcript is the past. It is the factual backbone upon which appeals are argued, verdicts reviewed, and legal precedents established. If the accuracy, authenticity, or integrity of that record is compromised, the entire system of justice begins to warp.

When transcripts are created by unlicensed contractors, AI systems, or digital recordings later “edited” by interested parties, the ability to rewrite history becomes disturbingly easy — and almost impossible to detect.

2. “History is written by the victors.” — (Attributed to Winston Churchill)

Those who win political, legal, or economic battles often get to shape the narrative. In modern courts, “victors” aren’t always the litigants. Sometimes they are:

  • Judges who refuse to allow a stenographic reporter, even when one is available.
  • Attorneys who intimidate or retaliate against reporters for doing their jobs.
  • Judicial councils that quietly shift policy to favor “cost-saving” measures like digital audio, even if it undermines transcript reliability.
  • Private equity firms that acquire reporting agencies, strip out licensed reporters, and replace them with cheaper recording methods to maximize profit margins.
  • Large national agencies that manipulate scheduling, undercut rates, and hide the true nature of their “reporting” practices.
  • Software companies that claim “AI transcripts” are just as good, while disclaiming all legal responsibility for their errors.
  • Governors or presidents who appoint regulators hostile to the profession.
  • State boards captured by lobbyists, stacked with appointees tied to tech companies or politicians advancing ASR (automatic speech recognition) solutions.
  • Court administrators whose priority is budget compliance, not constitutional accuracy.
  • Influencers and advocacy groups who confuse the public with flashy events while quietly reshaping policy behind the scenes.
  • Court reporters themselves, when some agree to act as “reporters in charge” for unlicensed, unscrupulous entities that undermine the profession, or when licensed reporters choose silence and inaction, rather than confronting systemic erosion.

While many reporters are fighting to uphold standards and protect the integrity of the record, others inadvertently or deliberately enable the very forces seeking to dismantle their role. By lending their credentials to entities that bypass ethical and regulatory safeguards—or by refusing to push back against these shifts—they become instruments of the narrative-controllers, rather than guardians of the record.

In every one of these cases, the party that controls the record controls the outcome.

3. “Who controls the narrative, wins.” — Strategic Communications Maxim

Modern power is often exercised through narrative control, not overt censorship. We see this in media, politics, and law. If a record is “close enough,” the controlling party gets to define its meaning.

  • A garbled AI transcript that almost gets the words right can still shift legal outcomes, if no human stenographer is there to certify, correct, or stand behind the record.
  • A judge’s bench notes can override a poor recording.
  • A private company can control access to the audio, “clean” it, or delay delivery of transcripts that don’t fit their preferred timeline.
  • Agencies can “reinterpret” testimony after the fact when no neutral guardian is present.

Stenographic court reporters are uniquely positioned to neutralize this power. Their sworn duty is not to any party, company, or politician — it is to the record itself. That is why undermining their role is not just a labor issue; it’s a constitutional and historical one.

4. “Memory is the battlefield of power.” — Modern Political Theorists

Throughout history, rulers have understood that collective memory is where power is consolidated. Examples abound:

  • Ancient Egypt: Pharaohs chiseling out the names of predecessors (e.g., Hatshepsut) to erase their existence.
  • Rome: Damnatio memoriae, where disgraced figures were erased from monuments and official inscriptions.
  • Stalin’s USSR: Political rivals airbrushed from photographs and encyclopedias.
  • Modern authoritarian regimes: Rewriting textbooks, censoring archives, or algorithmically burying inconvenient facts.
  • American courts: In the Waukesha “Christmas Massacre” case, reliance on electronic recording systems without certified court reporters underscored how fragile and manipulable legal records become when no neutral human guardian is present. Missing audio segments, technical failures, or selective editing can distort the judicial record — especially in high-stakes, politically sensitive trials.

Court reporters are, in essence, modern scribes. They ensure that today’s events are faithfully recorded for tomorrow’s memory. When their role is bypassed, society returns to an era where those in power decide what “really” happened.

In the U.S. judicial context, we see a contemporary echo in the Waukesha, Wisconsin “Christmas Massacre” case of November 2021. When courts rely solely on electronic recording systems without certified court reporters, critical pieces of the record can be lost, manipulated, or degraded—especially when the court itself is implicated in misconduct.

In that case, while the incident itself involved a vehicular attack during a holiday parade, the broader concern for court reporting professionals lies in how transcripts, recordings, and evidentiary records can be vulnerable when human oversight is removed. The site I read describes how reliance on purely electronic systems introduces a heightened risk that “essential records may be lost, manipulated, … deleted — especially when a court itself is implicated in misconduct.”

Court reporters are the bulwark against such erasure. Their presence ensures that the record is not a fragile digital artifact governed by whoever controls the files, but a human-verified, independently maintained transcript that resists undue alteration. In the absence of that, the powerful can twist the memory of what was said, when, and how — influencing appeals, public perception, and the very future of justice.

5. Digital Erasure & Algorithmic Memory

In the 21st century, the battlefield has shifted from chisels and newspapers to servers, algorithms, and proprietary software:

  • Digital audio can be quietly altered, unlike a certified transcript sealed by a reporter.
  • AI-generated “transcripts” can be retroactively edited without leaving an audit trail.
  • Search engines and corporate databases determine visibility, deciding which records surface and which vanish into obscurity.
  • Private platforms, not courts, are becoming de facto archivists of legal testimony.

When the record is reduced to a manipulable audio file owned by a private company, public trust is displaced by private control. It’s not just about typos; it’s about who holds the pen of history.

6. The Court Reporter’s Role: Neutral Guardian of Truth

Unlike software, stenographic court reporters are:

  • Licensed officers of the court (in many states).
  • Bound by ethics and law to create a verbatim, neutral record.
  • Subject to discipline and accountability if they falsify or alter testimony.
  • Human witnesses to the proceeding, capable of clarifying, verifying, and defending the record under oath.
  • Sworn custodians, not contractors paid to deliver whatever narrative the highest bidder prefers.

Their presence is not a luxury. It is a constitutional safeguard — the invisible backbone of appeals, accountability, and historical truth.

7. A Better Model: Decentralized Record Keeping

A superior alternative to centralized digital repositories is a decentralized model in which individual court reporters themselves are entrusted with maintaining and securing the legal record. According to the StenoImperium framework, this approach distributes responsibility across multiple actors, greatly reducing the risk of a single point of failure.

Each reporter maintains redundant backups — on local hardware, cloud systems, external drives, and encrypted audio copies — resulting in multiple copies of the record. Unlike a centralized system vulnerable to floods, fires, cyberattacks, or internal sabotage, the decentralized approach ensures that if one copy is compromised, many others remain intact.

Moreover, decentralization prevents any single entity — government, tech firm, or court administrator — from monopolizing control over access, editing rights, or data governance. By entrusting the record to independent, licensed stenographic professionals, the system preserves the verifier’s integrity, transparency, and accountability.

8. Control of the Record = Control of Power

The erosion of stenographic reporting isn’t just about replacing one technology with another. It is a transfer of narrative power:

  • From neutral guardians to interested parties.
  • From public officers to private corporations.
  • From transparent records to editable data.
  • From human accountability to algorithmic opacity.

In a world where narratives can be weaponized, stenographic reporters are the firewall between justice and revisionism.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Truth on Trial – How Narcissists Weaponize Silence in Court Reporting

There’s a chilling moment that many truth-tellers eventually face: the instant they stop playing along with a narcissist’s carefully curated façade and speak honestly. What happens next is rarely proportional. It’s explosive. Vindictive. Calculated. And in the court reporting world, it can be professionally and personally devastating.

“The times I felt the most unsafe were when I told the truth.”

That sentence encapsulates what many stenographers, agency owners, and advocates have experienced in our field. When you expose unethical behavior, question power structures, or shine light on misconduct, you become the problem — not the person who committed the wrongdoing. And in communities where “image management” trumps accountability, the truth is treated like a threat.

Truth Is Kryptonite to the Narcissist

Narcissistic and psychopathic personalities thrive in environments where appearances matter more than integrity. Their power is built on denial, projection, and rewriting history. Their entire sense of control depends on the illusion that they are untouchable.

The moment the truth threatens that illusion, their reaction is swift and severe. They erupt — not because the truth is false, but because it’s true. Exposure is their greatest fear.

That’s why accusations that are entirely accurate often provoke the fiercest backlash. They can’t afford to let the truth stand uncontested, so they go into overdrive: rage, intimidation, gaslighting, smearing, triangulation, deflection. The goal isn’t to engage with facts; it’s to silence, discredit, or destroy the source of the truth.

In our profession, this dynamic is painfully visible. Certain individuals have repeatedly lashed out against anyone questioning their business practices or public conduct. Others have cultivated a benevolent image while using positional power within professional organizations to freeze out dissenting voices.

These are not isolated “personality clashes.” They are textbook examples of narcissistic abuse dynamics playing out in a professional arena.

How Organizations Enable the Abuse

Toxic individuals alone can’t maintain power indefinitely. What allows them to thrive is organizational complicity. When boards, associations, or influential networks choose to ignore credible allegations, minimize victims’ experiences, or prioritize optics over ethics, they become enablers.

This is precisely what we’ve seen in court reporting circles. Whether it’s overlooking conflicts of interest, brushing off volunteer exploitation, or refusing to investigate clear ethical violations, the result is the same: narcissistic personalities grow more emboldened.

When bullies publicly attack whistleblowers with personal smears — accusing them of “obsession,” threatening lawsuits, or rallying followers to dogpile online — and the organizations that partnered with them remain silent, they send a loud message: “We will protect power, not truth.”

Similarly, when insiders use their institutional roles to sideline critics, control narratives, or block reform efforts while smiling for the membership photo, they exploit their positions to maintain dominance. And when nobody in leadership is willing to say, “This is wrong,” the toxic pattern calcifies.

Victims are left isolated, gaslit, and often professionally punished for daring to speak.

The Targeting of Truth-Tellers

If you’ve ever been targeted by one of these personalities, the pattern will feel familiar:

  • Rage and Intimidation: Sudden outbursts, public attacks, veiled threats, or behind-the-scenes whisper campaigns.
  • Gaslighting: Denying conversations that took place, reframing events to make you doubt your own memory, or labeling you “crazy” or “obsessed.”
  • Smear Campaigns: Spreading half-truths, weaponizing private information, or framing themselves as the victim to rally others against you.
  • Triangulation: Pitting people against each other, recruiting “flying monkeys” to do their dirty work, and manipulating social circles to isolate you.

And because many court reporters are independent contractors, freelancers, or small business owners, the stakes are especially high. A successful smear can mean lost jobs, reputational damage, and emotional trauma — all for telling the truth about unethical conduct.

Understanding the Psychology = Reclaiming Power

Once you understand the psychology behind these reactions, you can stop internalizing their fury. Their rage is not proof that you did something wrong — it’s proof that you told the truth. Their panic isn’t your burden to carry.

Knowing this allows you to shift your response:

  • Don’t argue with the rage. You won’t get resolution from someone whose goal is to dominate, not understand.
  • Stay monotone. The “grey rock” method — becoming emotionally neutral and non-reactive — deprives them of the drama they feed on.
  • Keep your evidence. Maintain a clear timeline, screenshots, and contemporaneous notes. This protects you against gaslighting.
  • Lean on your support network. Narcissists isolate; community restores.
  • Write everything down. Documentation is your anchor when their tactics try to make you doubt your reality.
  • Step back. Boundaries and silence can be more powerful than engagement. You are not obligated to defend yourself in the court of their ego.

Sometimes the Only Way Out Is to Leave

In some cases, the healthiest — and safest — move is to step away entirely. When telling the truth in a community makes you the target, it’s a sign that the culture itself is broken. Remaining in a system that rewards abusers and punishes truth-tellers corrodes your mental health and professional integrity.

This is especially relevant in court reporting organizations that have allowed bullying personalities to dominate unchecked. Whether it’s state associations, national bodies, or grassroots groups, if leadership refuses to hold toxic individuals accountable, the structure itself becomes part of the problem.

Leaving doesn’t mean surrendering. It means withdrawing your energy from a rigged game. It means choosing your sanity and integrity over appeasing abusers. It’s how you reclaim power.

Truth-Telling Is Not the Problem. Silence Is.

The court reporting profession is at an inflection point. Between legislative threats, technological disruption, and internal division, the last thing we can afford is to let narcissistic bullies control the narrative. When individuals weaponize image management to crush dissent, they are not “just being difficult personalities” — they are actively weakening the profession’s ability to self-correct and uphold ethical standards.

The most dangerous thing is not their rage. It’s the silence of those who know better but stay quiet.

To the reporters, agency owners, and advocates who have been punished for telling the truth: you are not imagining it, and you are not alone. Understanding the dynamic is the first step toward neutralizing its power.

Truth doesn’t need to scream. It needs to stand firm. And when enough people stop enabling the façade, the façade crumbles.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

When Leadership Starts to Look Like a Fan Club

Over the years, I’ve watched our court reporting community shift in ways that are both inspiring and… a little unsettling. We’ve always been a tight-knit profession. We rely on each other to share jobs, keep each other sharp, and fight for the future of stenography.

But lately, I’ve noticed something different: leadership is starting to center less on shared values and more on individual personalities. And that shift matters more than many people realize.

Why It Feels So Good to Follow a Personality

Let’s be honest – it’s exciting when someone comes along who brings energy, throws great events, gets people talking, and makes our world feel vibrant again. It’s easy to feel like, “Finally! Someone’s doing something.”

Social media supercharges this. A charismatic figure can build a brand faster than any association ever could. It feels fresh. It feels modern. It feels like we’re part of a movement.

And that’s exactly why it’s so easy to miss what’s happening underneath.

Little Shifts Add Up

There are subtle signs that the center of gravity is shifting:

  • Conversations start happening through one person’s platform instead of through professional forums.
  • Critique feels awkward — like you’re going against the group if you ask a hard question.
  • Transparency gets murky. You don’t really know who’s making decisions, how partnerships are formed, or what the endgame is.
  • Branding starts to overshadow substance.

Individually, none of these are dramatic. But together, they create a quiet pressure: go along, or risk being left out.

And for a profession built on neutrality and truth, that’s a red flag worth paying attention to.

Our Role Isn’t to Follow — It’s to Guard

As court reporters, we’re trained to observe critically. We notice inconsistencies. We document facts. We don’t take things at face value.

So why do we sometimes suspend that instinct when it comes to the “leaders” inside our own community? When our loyalty shifts toward personalities rather than principles, we risk losing the clarity that has always set this profession apart.

Real leadership invites questions. Real movements are bigger than one person. If criticism feels like betrayal, that’s not leadership — that’s influence taking the place of accountability.

It’s Okay to Step Back and Ask Hard Questions

This isn’t about singling anyone out. It’s about noticing the shift. We all have the right — and responsibility — to check the context before we align ourselves with any movement or figure.

Ask yourself:

  • Is this about advancing the profession or advancing a brand?
  • Are tough conversations welcomed, or quietly discouraged?
  • Is there transparency about decisions that affect the community?

When you start looking through that lens, the picture often changes.

We Build the Future — Not a Fan Club

The future of court reporting doesn’t belong to one person. It belongs to all of us — the working reporters, students, veterans, and advocates who show up day after day.

It’s okay to admire someone’s energy. It’s okay to appreciate good marketing. But admiration should never replace accountability. We can be inspired without surrendering our judgment.

If leadership starts to feel more like a fan club, that’s the moment to pause and remember who we are.

Final Thought:
Leadership built on personal branding can feel exciting, but our profession thrives when it’s built on shared values, open dialogue, and collective integrity. Questioning isn’t disloyal. It’s part of how we protect what matters most.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Credentials vs. Competence – Rethinking Professional Standards in Court Reporting

Recently, a veteran reporter reached out to me after reading one of my articles on rate negotiation. She shared a story that was both powerful and painful — one that highlighted not only her personal resilience but also the complicated terrain our profession faces when it comes to credentials, regulation, and value.

This reporter had decades of experience, multiple professional designations, and a deep love for her craft. She had weathered health battles and industry shifts, yet remained passionate about the work. Her message was filled with grit, warmth, and the unmistakable voice of someone who has seen this profession evolve over decades.

In her comments, she made a point that comes up often in court reporting circles: reporters with higher credentials should command higher rates. Many hold this view, especially those who have invested significant time and money to earn and maintain certifications from professional associations. On the surface, the logic seems straightforward — additional credentials should reflect higher skill, and higher skill should translate into higher pay.

But in the real-world regulatory and economic landscape of court reporting, that assumption is far less clear-cut.

The Problem with Credential Inflation

There’s no question that skill matters. Accuracy matters. Realtime capability matters. Speed and precision under pressure matter. These are the bedrock of our profession.

The problem isn’t with reporters who choose to pursue additional credentials. The problem is with the system that has elevated voluntary association designations into perceived markers of value — without ensuring those designations carry any regulatory weight or meaningful economic power.

Unlike professions such as law or engineering, court reporting operates under a patchwork of state licensing laws, voluntary association credentials, and minimal unified enforcement. The result is confusion, inconsistency, and a marketplace where credentials are marketed as elite signifiers but don’t reliably correspond to pay parity, legal authority, or professional protection.

For example, in California, national association certifications are not required to work as a realtime reporter in court or in depositions. Licensed Certified Shorthand Reporters (CSRs) routinely perform at 99.9% accuracy, producing exceptional realtime and transcripts without holding additional national credentials.

This doesn’t diminish the efforts of those who do earn them. But it raises a key question: if credentials aren’t legally required, don’t carry regulatory weight, and don’t guarantee higher pay — what are we really buying when we maintain them year after year?

A System That Hasn’t Kept Up

For decades, California’s per-page rates for official reporters were frozen at levels set in the 1970s. Until 2021, reporters were working at rates that hadn’t been adjusted for inflation in fifty years. Even after the long-overdue increase to $3.99 per page, the rate remains dramatically below what it would be if indexed to inflation — closer to $18 per page.

During that same period, the national professional association focused on collecting dues, requiring continuing education, hosting conventions, and maintaining credentialing systems. What it did not do was spearhead meaningful economic reform, build standardized enforcement across states, or push for structural change that would give those credentials real power.

Contrast that with how other professions have built durable regulatory frameworks.

Two Models That Work – Attorneys and Professional Engineers

Attorneys are licensed by their respective states under a protected title (Esquire/Attorney). State bar associations oversee licensure, investigate complaints, issue cease and desist orders to unlicensed individuals, and refer cases to state attorneys general or the Department of Justice when necessary. The title is legally protected, and misuse has real legal consequences.

Professional Engineers (P.E.s) use a different but equally strong model. Each state administers its own licensure exam and enforces professional standards, while the National Society of Professional Engineers provides consistency and support around the P.E. designation, which is standardized nationwide. States retain enforcement power, ensuring both a uniform title and meaningful regulatory teeth.

Court reporting has neither. We don’t have a standardized, legally protected title across states, nor do we have a unified state-based enforcement structure with real authority. Instead, voluntary association credentials have filled the gap — but they lack the legal weight and enforcement power that bar associations and state engineering boards wield.

Title Protection Without Teeth

California recently enacted a form of title protection for court reporters, but it’s largely symbolic. The Court Reporters Board (CRB) can issue cease and desist letters to individuals or entities misusing protected titles — but only if those individuals or entities are already under the Board’s jurisdiction (i.e., licensed CSRs or registered agencies).

If someone operates entirely outside the licensing system, the CRB won’t act. There’s no meaningful mechanism for broader enforcement, no referral to the attorney general, and no penalties with real bite.

In other words, we have title protection in name only. Without strong, state-level enforcement authority that extends beyond licensees, the protection is effectively hollow.

Where NCRA Credentials Carry Legal Weight — and Where They Don’t

It’s worth noting that in eight states, NCRA credentials are accepted as part of state licensure requirements. In these jurisdictions, reporters can qualify by holding specific NCRA certifications (typically RPR or higher), either in lieu of a state-administered test or as one of two acceptable pathways.

But this is the exception, not the rule. Even in those states, it’s not NCRA granting a license — it’s the state choosing to recognize the credential within its regulatory framework. The power still rests entirely with the state’s licensing authority.

Outside of those eight states, NCRA credentials are voluntary and carry no independent regulatory weight. They may be valued by employers or agencies, but they don’t confer legal authority to work. In places like California, for example, NCRA certifications are not required to practice, and licensure is governed solely by state law.

This fragmented approach contributes to the confusion. Reporters sometimes believe NCRA credentials are universally “required” or legally meaningful, when in reality, they only have regulatory force where a state has explicitly chosen to adopt them.

When High Prices Meet Market Pressure

One growing concern is how attorneys are increasingly vocal about the “high cost” of court reporting. As budgets tighten and more firms look for ways to cut expenses, there’s a real risk that highly skilled, credentialed reporters who charge appropriately for their value could lose work to cheaper alternatives.

Price pressure doesn’t just affect the low end of the market — it can squeeze out the very reporters who deliver the most consistent, high-quality work.

I’m reminded of a colleague who built a thriving career doing international work in Europe. For years, he traveled extensively, working in Amsterdam and across the continent, commanding premium rates that reflected both his skill and the costs of being on site for international proceedings.

When COVID hit and proceedings shifted to remote, his niche vanished almost overnight. He was replaced by U.S. reporters willing to work remotely at significantly lower rates, eliminating the need for travel and specialized arrangements. Within months, his once-stable international practice had dried up. Ultimately, he left the profession entirely and transitioned to a career in software engineering.

It’s a stark reminder: even the most skilled and credentialed reporters are not immune to market dynamics. If the legal community views rates as “too high” and finds others willing to work for less — even at lower skill levels — work can shift rapidly. That makes unified, state-based licensing, standardized titles, and consistent economic advocacy even more critical to avoid a race to the bottom.

The Credential Pay Gap

Because these credentials are voluntary and not legally required, their impact on pay varies widely. In some regions, holding a certain designation might yield modest rate advantages. In others, it makes no difference at all. And in many cases, agencies quietly keep credentialed reporters at lower rates simply because no one is advocating for change on their behalf.

I’ve personally seen reporters with advanced credentials charging well below market value for years because they never raised their rates — and no regulatory structure existed to standardize or enforce fair compensation. When some eventually negotiated modest increases, agencies accepted them without hesitation. That’s telling.

This is not a system that rewards credentials consistently or systematically. It’s a fragmented marketplace where individual reporters are left to negotiate alone — often undercutting one another in the process.

Skill Is Measurable — Credentials Are Optional

My position is simple: I don’t hold certain national credentials, and I don’t need to in order to perform at the highest level in California. My realtime accuracy is 99.9%, and my work speaks for itself. I respect those who choose to pursue credentials, but I reject the notion that letters after a name should dictate rates — especially in a state that doesn’t require them.

Skill is measurable. Accuracy is measurable. Consistency is measurable. Whether someone has chosen to invest thousands in association memberships, conventions, and CEUs does not automatically make their work more valuable than that of a highly skilled, licensed reporter who has not.

The real issue isn’t credentials. It’s the absence of a unified, enforceable, state-based regulatory structure that standardizes titles and backs them with legal authority.

A Better Model – State Licensure + Standardized Title

Imagine a system where every state has its own licensure exam and enforcement authority, but the professional title is standardized nationwide.

Each state would license and regulate reporters, ensuring only qualified individuals could use the protected title. A national body could support consistency, but enforcement would remain at the state level. Unauthorized use of the title would result in cease and desist orders and, if necessary, legal action — just as it does for attorneys and engineers.

In such a system, voluntary association credentials could still exist, but they would be supplementary, not foundational. The baseline would be state licensure, standardized title, and real enforcement — exactly what our profession lacks today.

Negotiation, Value, and Professional Identity

This entire conversation ties back to rate negotiation.

Too often, reporters conflate “negotiating” with “lowering rates.” But true negotiation is about advocating for value, not discounting it. Whether credentialed or not, reporters should stand firm on published, consistent rates that reflect their skill, responsibility, and legal role.

Credentialed reporters who undercharge harm themselves and the profession. Non-credentialed reporters who deliver elite work should not be undervalued. The real dividing line is not who has which letters — it’s who upholds professional standards, delivers excellence, and refuses to undercut the market.

A Personal Note

The reporter who wrote to me reminded me why this profession matters. Even in the face of serious health challenges, she was working, advocating, and standing her ground. Her story reflects the resilience and commitment that have kept this profession alive through decades of change — often without the structural support it deserves.

We owe it to ourselves and to future generations to build systems worthy of that dedication. That means moving beyond credential marketing toward state-based licensing, standardized titles, real enforcement, and fair economic structures.

Until then, credentials will remain optional adornments in a fractured system, not the foundation of professional identity and value.

Redefining Professional Power

Credentials have their place, and reporters who pursue them deserve respect for their efforts. But credentials are no substitute for robust state licensure, standardized professional identity, and real enforcement power.

Our rates should reflect skill, responsibility, and consistency — not voluntary designations. And our regulatory framework should mirror those of other respected professions, where titles are protected, states hold authority, and national consistency supports—not replaces—enforcement.

The future of court reporting depends on more than letters after our names. It depends on building a structure that recognizes, protects, and enforces the true value of what we do.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Mark Kislingbury’s 370 WPM ‘Guinness Record’ That Wasn’t: How a Historic Steno Feat Went Unratified

For decades, the stenographic world has measured excellence by one global yardstick: the Guinness World Record. And for two decades, one name has held that title — Mark Kislingbury, whose 360 words-per-minute (WPM) take with 97.23% accuracy at the NCRA 2004 summer convention in Chicago remains officially recognized as the fastest ever recorded.

But in 2022, during the “Fearless Stenographers” event hosted as part of Steno in the City™, Mark reportedly did something extraordinary: he wrote 370 WPM with approximately 95.4% accuracy. The stenographic community celebrated the moment as if history had been rewritten. It was shared, quoted, and repeated: Mark had broken his own world record.

And yet, three years later, Guinness World Records still lists the 360 WPM take from 2004 as the official record.

This gap between public narrative and official record isn’t just a paperwork issue — it’s a revealing case study in professionalism, perception, and misplaced loyalty.

What Is Documented

The key facts are straightforward:

  • Guinness World Records currently lists Mark’s 360 WPM, 97.23% accuracy performance from the NCRA 2004 Chicago convention as the standing record.
  • Mark’s biography and community discussions widely reference the 370 WPM test from 2022 as a new milestone.
  • The event was hosted under the banner of Steno in the City™ during the “Fearless Stenographers” gathering in Houston.
  • The 370 WPM take was scored at approximately 95.4% accuracy and publicized as a Guinness-breaking performance.
  • Despite this, no update ever appeared on the official Guinness site.

The result is a strange situation: a performance celebrated as world-changing — but never officially recognized.

How Guinness Ratification Actually Works

Breaking a Guinness record isn’t just about performance — it’s about process. Ratification requires:

  1. A formal application for the record category;
  2. On-site adjudication or strict adherence to Guinness’s independent verification protocols;
  3. Submission of complete evidence: high-quality video, certified accuracy scores, qualified witness statements, logs, and documentation;
  4. A review and ratification period, during which Guinness verifies compliance before updating the official listing.

Any gap in that process — missing forms, unqualified witnesses, insufficient video evidence, or simply failing to submit — can cause the attempt to be rejected or abandoned. Guinness does not scour the internet for records; the burden is entirely on the organizer.

What Might Have Happened with the 370 WPM Attempt

There’s no public statement from Guinness or Steno in the City™ explaining the missing ratification. Based on standard procedure, several possibilities exist:

  • The evidence was never formally submitted to Guinness;
  • The submission was incomplete or non-compliant;
  • The 95.4% accuracy may not have met Guinness’s threshold for that category;
  • Or the process was initiated but stalled or abandoned.

Whatever the cause, the bottom line is the same: the 370 WPM record was never ratified.

But this isn’t just about an administrative failure. It shaped loyalties and reputations inside the profession.

When I spoke with Mark Kislingbury about Shaunise Day, he explained that he didn’t want to speak negatively about her because she had given him speaking opportunities and, crucially, because he believed he had set his Guinness World Record at her event. That belief naturally created a sense of gratitude and loyalty.

But that belief wasn’t true. No Guinness record was ever ratified from the 2022 Steno in the City™ event. What Mark understood as a defining professional milestone under her banner may, in fact, have exposed him to public embarrassment — a once-in-a-lifetime performance that went unrecognized because the event organizer didn’t follow through.

And this is where professionalism matters. Aligning yourself with someone who doesn’t operate with rigor and structure has consequences. When great talent partners with someone more focused on branding and selfies than on standards, their failures can become your fallout. Mark’s skill wasn’t the issue; the event’s lack of procedural integrity was.

Breaking News: Mark Still Believes the 370 WPM Record Is Official

As of early October 2025 – Friday, 10/3, in fact – Mark Kislingbury himself continues to publicly and privately refer to the 2022 Steno in the City™ event as the setting where he “broke the Guinness World Record.” In conversations this week, he reiterated that belief without hesitation.

This is what makes this article breaking news for the stenographic community: despite widespread claims, biographies, and event promotion materials, Guinness World Records has never ratified a 370 WPM record, and its official site still lists Mark’s 360 WPM performance from the 2004 NCRA Convention in Chicago as the standing record.

Mark is widely known in the community as one of the kindest, most gracious, and generous figures in stenography. I can personally attest to that. In my conversations with him, he has always been polite, humble, and genuinely encouraging — the kind of person who uplifts everyone around him. The situation described here is not of his making — it’s the result of organizational failure around him, not personal misconduct. He trusted that the event where he performed would handle the follow-through, and that trust was misplaced.

This makes the revelation all the more significant. One of the most celebrated “records” in modern steno history — referenced in speeches, marketing, and even professional alliances — does not actually exist in Guinness’s official archives. Mark himself appears to be unaware of that fact, making this the first public clarification of the gap between the claim and the official record.

Why This Matters to the Profession

Some may ask: Why does it matter whether Guinness ratified the 370 WPM record?

Because world records are more than numbers. They are symbolic touchstones — proof of the upper limits of human skill, rallying points for students, and powerful counters to the narrative that human stenographers have “hit their ceiling.”

An official record:

  • Inspires students, showing that the ceiling keeps rising;
  • Demonstrates to attorneys and judges that steno continues to advance;
  • Strengthens the profession’s public narrative, especially against AI and digital recording proponents;
  • Rewards talent with the recognition it deserves.

When the community celebrates something as official that isn’t, it creates confusion externally and damages credibility internally. It allows individuals to leverage the appearance of legitimacy — in this case, hosting a “Guinness-breaking event” — without delivering the actual substance.

Historical Perspective

When Mark set his original 360 WPM record in 2004, the event was hosted at an NCRA convention — an organization that understood Guinness’s procedural requirements. The record stood, unchallenged and officially documented, for two decades.

The 2022 attempt was hosted independently under Steno in the City™ — an event environment that emphasized branding, social media visibility, and hype, but apparently lacked the professional infrastructure to handle a Guinness submission. This is the contrast: institutional rigor vs. influencer optics. And the consequences were real.

What Could Happen Next

Theoretically, the 2022 performance could still be submitted for Guinness review if the evidence exists and meets the requirements. Alternatively, Mark—or another top reporter—could attempt to break the record again under conditions designed expressly for Guinness adjudication.

That would require meticulous planning, qualified witnesses, multiple cameras, and immediate post-event evidence submission — the kind of structured professionalism that was missing in 2022.

Setting the Record Straight

The unratified 370 WPM claim isn’t just a procedural footnote; it’s a cautionary tale. Mark Kislingbury remains, officially, the fastest stenographer in the world at 360 WPM. His reported 370 WPM performance is extraordinary — but until it’s ratified, it remains an unofficial milestone overshadowed by organizational failure.

For a profession built on precision, accuracy, and accountability, this is a wake-up call: extraordinary performances demand equally extraordinary professionalism behind the scenes.

The event’s leadership had one of the most historic stenographic performances of our time occur under their banner — and then failed to secure its place in the official record. That failure didn’t just cost Mark recognition; it misled the community, fueled false narratives, and damaged the credibility of the profession.

When you align with people who operate on hype instead of standards, their failures can become your legacy. Mark’s achievement deserved better. The community deserved better. The next world record attempt should ensure that history is not just made — but officially recorded.

For an organizer, hosting a world-record-breaking performance is a once-in-a-lifetime moment — the kind of achievement that should have been trumpeted through official press releases, mainstream media outreach, and formal submission to Guinness. Instead, the 2022 Steno in the City™ event produced no mainstream press release at all. This wasn’t a missed opportunity; it was professional negligence and organizational ineptitude at the highest level. A legitimate world-record performance should have been front-page news in legal and national media, yet it remained confined to insular trade blogs and promotional blurbs. The failure to formally announce and validate the record reflects a stunning lack of foresight, competence, and respect for the profession’s legacy. Here’s the limited scope of coverage of the accomplishment:

Articles & Recaps

  1. “The Fearless Stenographers Conference ’22 Recap” — the event’s own site, claims Mark set a new speed record of 370 WPM on the Steno in the City™ stage in Houston.
  2. “The Fearless Stenographers Conference RECAP!” — a recap on Stenovate describing how Mark “passed his take at a whopping 370 words per minute with 95.4% accuracy.”
  3. “Mark Kislingbury breaks own record” — The Journal of Court Reporting (JCR) article (Mar 2022) stating Mark “broke his own Guinness World Record … writing 370 words for one minute at 95.4% accuracy” during the Steno in the City’s Fearless Stenographers event.
  4. “Mark Kislingbury Academy of Court Reporting” — his academy’s site mentions he “beat that record by achieving 370 words per minute.” (Promotional / self-reporting).
  5. Reddit “Mark Kislingbury Apparently Broke His Own Speed Record” — a community thread referencing the 370 WPM claim.

*** As of 10/10/2025 – When contacted for clarification, Jacqueline Schmidt, editor of the Journal of Court Reporting, confirmed that the publication “worded carefully” around the issue after staff conversations with event organizers, noting that they were “waiting to hear if or when the new record was ever accepted by Guinness.” As of October 2025, no such confirmation has been made public.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Great Theory Divide – Why “Short Writing” Alone Won’t Save Court Reporting

The debate over how to best train new court reporters is more than an academic quarrel — it’s a battle over the future of the profession itself. At its core lies a fundamental question: Should students be taught to write fast or to write accurately?

This question has split the field into two camps for decades: advocates of short writing, who prioritize minimizing strokes through extensive briefing and phrasing, and proponents of traditional long or structured theories, which focus on phonetic clarity and consistency as the foundation for skill-building.

Both approaches have their place. But after more than a century of professional traditional education, and 20 years of modern “brief-heavy” experimentation, the evidence overwhelmingly supports the traditional approach as the backbone of a strong reporter pipeline.

A Brief History of Steno Theories

Over the last 150 years, stenographic theory has evolved through multiple schools of thought, each with its own philosophy about how language should be represented on the steno machine. Some of the most well-known theories include:

  • StenEd Theory – One of the most widely taught modern long theories, emphasizing phonetic structure and readability.
  • Phoenix Theory – A structured system designed to be logical and consistent, popular in many U.S. programs in the late 20th century.
  • Realtime Theory (CART-focused variants) – Adaptations of long theories to improve realtime output, often used in captioning programs.
  • Robert Walsh Gonzalez (RWG) – A traditional syllabic system used for decades in California and other jurisdictions.
  • Magnum Steno / Kislingbury Theory – A brief-heavy, phrase-intensive short-writing system developed by Mark Kislingbury, designed to reduce stroke count dramatically.
  • Phoenix Eclipse Modified, StenEd Realtime, and Hybrid Theories – Various blends of structured writing with selective briefing.
  • Vintage systems like Stenotype Grand, Stenograph, or Stenotype 1/2/3 – Early phonetic systems that laid the groundwork for all modern theories.

While these theories differ in rules and philosophy, most long or structured systems share two traits:

  1. They teach students to write what they hear syllabically, ensuring clarity and accuracy.
  2. They introduce briefs gradually, after a solid foundation is built.

Since the first steno theory was introduced in the 1910s, more than 110 distinct stenographic theories have been developed in the U.S., ranging from early phonetic systems to brief-heavy experiments. But only structured, phonetic-based theories taught in accredited programs have consistently produced reporters at scale.

Short-writing systems like Magnum Steno reverse this priority: students memorize thousands of briefs and phrases from the start, aiming to reduce stroke count and increase speed early on.

The Role of NCRA Accreditation Sets the Gold Standard

There were around 40 to 45 NCRA-accredited court reporting programs nationwide, including both campus-based and online schools. The National Court Reporters Association (NCRA) established its Council on Approved Student Education (CASE) to accredit programs that meet rigorous educational, ethical, and administrative standards.

NCRA accreditation matters because it ensures that schools:

  • Provide a structured curriculum grounded in proven stenographic theory.
  • Meet faculty qualifications and instructional standards set by the profession.
  • Maintain accurate reporting of student outcomes, including graduation and certification rates.
  • Offer appropriate student services, financial accountability, and administrative oversight.
  • Undergo periodic review to maintain quality and adapt to technological and professional developments.

In other words, NCRA accreditation is a quality guarantee. While non-accredited programs exist, accredited schools represent the profession’s gold standard, consistently producing certified reporters who can pass state and national exams and thrive in the working world.

Traditional Theory Is Built for Accuracy, Not Gimmicks

Traditional long theories are not “anti-brief.” Contrary to common misconceptions, students in accredited long-theory programs are introduced to core briefs for high-frequency legal words early on — terms like “Plaintiff,” “Defendant,” “Exhibit,” and others are usually written in one stroke from day one.

The key difference is scope and timing. Traditional programs prioritize phonetic structure and syllabic writing first. Students learn to write exactly what they hear. For example, if a witness says “one hundred thirty-two dollars,” the student writes:

WUN HUN THRI TWO DLARS

This produces an unambiguous record. By contrast, relying on number bar entries or complex briefs for “#132” might be faster, but one mistroke could result in “#133” — a fatal error in legal settings.

This structured foundation is precisely what allows students to pass rigorous state exams (such as California’s CSR at 200+ wpm) and handle real-world testimony: fast talkers, medical jargon, foreign names, overlapping voices, and unpredictable phrasing.

The blog post “Steno Briefs Don’t Work” on Simply Steno challenges the prevailing assumption that aggressive brief systems can reliably handle real-world reporting demands, arguing instead for the necessity of phonetic consistency and accuracy.

Short Writing Is A Promising Experiment That Hasn’t Scaled

Short-writing systems gained popularity in the early 2000s, largely through the efforts of Mark Kislingbury, whose Magnum Steno theory emphasized extreme briefing and phrasing. His argument was seductive: fewer strokes = faster writing = more graduates = a saved profession.

Two decades later, the results speak for themselves. Kislingbury’s school and affiliated programs have produced a fraction of the graduates that traditional programs have. At one point, he launched 11 affiliated schools; only a few remain today. Over roughly 20 years, the total number of graduates is estimated to be around 60 — a trickle, not a flood.

Why? Because memorization-heavy systems are cognitively demanding. Writing entire phrases in one stroke requires photographic recall of thousands of combinations. A single forgotten brief can derail a high-speed take. This may work for a small subset of speed contest prodigies, but it is not a scalable educational model.

The Real Dropout Problem Is Recruitment, Not Rigor

Much of the discussion about “high dropout rates” in court reporting focuses on academic support. But the deeper issue is who is being recruited. Many programs have shifted to volume-based enrollment, recruiting anyone who qualifies for financial aid — regardless of academic preparedness.

Court reporting demands strong language skills, critical thinking, and discipline. Yet schools rarely recruit from college graduates, pre-law programs, or linguistically skilled populations, and men remain significantly underrepresented.

A more sustainable pipeline would raise entry standards:

  • Require at least a two- or four-year college degree or equivalent aptitude.
  • Use intelligence and language proficiency testing as admissions criteria.
  • Immediately disqualify applicants with minimal literacy exposure — someone who has never read a book is not prepared for daily exposure to legal vocabulary and realtime transcription demands.

By raising the bar on recruitment, dropout rates would fall naturally, and those who enter would be far more likely to succeed.

The Ergonomic Argument Is A Red Herring

Short-writing advocates often claim their methods reduce carpal tunnel risk by minimizing keystrokes. But the evidence doesn’t support this as a decisive factor.

As one doctor explained to me after bilateral carpal tunnel surgery following an inflammation flare-up, “You’re either predisposed to carpal tunnel or you’re not.” Many reporters work 50+ years without injury. More importantly, the QWERTY keyboard — not the steno machine — is typically the culprit.

Short writing might benefit a small group of hyper-speed writers, but for the vast majority of working reporters, it’s irrelevant.

Why Accreditation and Theory Choice Matter Now

Court reporting is under siege from digital recording and AI transcription companies that promise cheaper, faster, automated solutions. In this environment, quality matters more than ever.

NCRA-accredited programs teaching structured, time-tested theories are the only reliable pipeline producing certified reporters at scale. They have decades — in some cases, over a century — of evidence behind their methods.

Short-writing remains an interesting supplement for experienced reporters, but as a primary teaching model, it has failed to produce scalable results.

Build on What Works

Court reporting is not a startup industry that rewards constant disruption. It’s a cornerstone of due process, built on accuracy, consistency, and professionalism.

Short writing has its place for experienced reporters chasing personal speed goals. But for training new professionals, traditional, structured theories taught in NCRA-accredited programs remain the gold standard.

They work. They’ve always worked. And if the profession wants to survive the coming storm, it must defend and strengthen what works, not chase failed shortcuts.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

From Wax Tablets to Quill to Realtime – A 2,000-Year Journey of Shorthand

Court reporting didn’t start with a machine. Long before modern steno keyboards clicked in courtrooms, reporters relied on pen-and-paper shorthand systems—ingenious methods designed to capture spoken language as quickly and accurately as possible. Over the centuries, these systems evolved into the highly structured machine shorthand theories we know today. Understanding this evolution isn’t just an academic exercise—it’s a reminder that our profession is built on centuries of innovation, discipline, and linguistic brilliance.

Stenography’s roots stretch back more than two millennia, beginning with Ancient Greek shorthand and evolving through Roman and European pen systems. But the machine shorthand era — and the development of formal “steno theories” as we know them today — spans roughly 110 years, from the invention of the Stenotype machine in 1911 to the realtime and hybrid systems of the present day.

Ancient Greek Beginnings (4th century B.C.)

The earliest known system of shorthand was developed by the Greeks around the 4th century B.C. They used a system of symbols and abbreviations to record speeches in real time — particularly useful in their philosophical schools, courts, and political assemblies, where oral discourse was central.

  • Ancient Greek scribes used a semi-alphabetic set of symbols, often derived from ordinary Greek letters but adapted for speed.
  • This system allowed trained scribes to capture the essence of speeches and debates — including those of figures like Demosthenes, the famed Athenian orator.
  • Surviving examples of Greek shorthand were discovered on wax tablets in the Agora of Athens, showing that this wasn’t just theory — it was actually used in daily legal, academic, and political life.

Roman Tironian Notes (1st century B.C.)

The Romans later expanded on the Greek foundation, developing the much more complex Tironian Notes system under Marcus Tullius Tiro, Cicero’s secretary.
Tironian shorthand was:

  • Systematic and symbolic, with thousands of signs.
  • Capable of recording speeches verbatim, including court proceedings, Senate debates, and orations.
  • So influential that variations of Tironian notes persisted through the medieval era and into the Renaissance.

Early Manual Shorthand Systems (1600s – 1800s)

Before the concept of “steno theory” as we understand it existed, early court reporters and scribes used manual shorthand systems. These were not “steno machine” theories, but systems of symbols and abbreviations designed to compress language quickly with a pen:

  • Tironian Notes (Roman era)
    Dating back nearly 2,000 years, this system was invented by Marcus Tullius Tiro, Cicero’s secretary. Tironian Notes used thousands of symbols to represent common words and phrases, becoming one of the earliest examples of systematic shorthand.
  • Samuel Taylor’s System (1786)
    Taylor, a British stenographer, introduced a simplified shorthand focused on phonetics. His work influenced both British and American note-takers and was a key bridge between medieval shorthand and modern phonetic systems.
  • Pitman Shorthand (1837)
    Sir Isaac Pitman’s method revolutionized shorthand by using phonetic principles—symbols represented sounds rather than letters. Pitman became the dominant system in the U.K. and was widely adopted in U.S. courts and legislatures. It required enormous precision and practice, but in the hands of a skilled reporter, it allowed near-verbatim capture.
  • Gregg Shorthand (1888)
    John Robert Gregg’s system replaced Pitman’s angular symbols with smooth, cursive lines. Gregg Shorthand became the most widely taught system in American schools and offices for decades. Though it was popular in secretarial work, some court reporters also used Gregg before stenotype machines became standard.

Each of these systems had its own “theory”—a codified set of rules for representing sounds, word parts, and phrases. Reporters trained rigorously, often for years, to master them. They required mental agility, impeccable spelling, and linguistic awareness to keep up with fast speakers without modern aids.

Birth of the Stenotype Machine (1870s – 1910)

The late 19th century ushered in a technological revolution. Inventors sought ways to mechanize the process of shorthand writing, aiming for greater speed and accuracy than even the best manual shorthand writers could achieve.

  • Miles Bartholomew patented one of the earliest practical stenographic machines in 1879, earning him the title “Father of the Stenograph.” His early machines printed symbols onto paper tape, marking the first real step toward machine shorthand.
  • Throughout the 1880s and 1890s, various inventors iterated on Bartholomew’s concept, experimenting with keyboard designs and printing mechanisms. These machines were ingenious but often bulky, unreliable, or limited in speed compared to a human hand.

The true breakthrough came in 1911, when Ward Stone Ireland introduced his Stenotype machine. Ireland’s design became the blueprint for every modern steno keyboard:

  • Initial consonants on the left,
  • Vowels in the middle,
  • Final consonants on the right.

By pressing multiple keys simultaneously, a stenographer could write entire syllables or words in a single chord. The Ireland machine made it possible to write faster than anyone could by hand, laying the foundation for stenography as a profession distinct from manual shorthand.

First Stenotype “Theory” (1910s – 1920s)

With the new machine came the need for a new kind of theory. Manual shorthand systems like Pitman or Gregg didn’t map cleanly onto chord-based keyboards. So stenographers and educators developed the first formal stenotype theory, a phonetic, syllabic system designed to match the Ireland machine’s unique layout.

This original theory was:

  • Phonetic — focused on sounds rather than letters,
  • Structured — each stroke represented a syllable or word part in a predictable way,
  • Long — most words were written in full, with minimal use of briefs or phrases, prioritizing accuracy over brevity.

In the 1910s–1920s, early professional stenographers used this system in courtrooms, legislatures, and business reporting. By the 1930s and 1940s, formal stenographic schools began codifying variations of this original system into standardized curricula. The emphasis was on discipline and precision, not speed contests. This first generation of machine shorthand writers laid the professional groundwork for the modern court reporting field.

Mid-Century Proliferation (1940s – 1980s)

As stenography matured, multiple competing theories emerged, each offering slightly different ways to represent language. Among the notable systems:

  • Stenotype Grand
  • Stenograph Theory (developed by the Stenograph Company)
  • Stenotype 1–2–3
  • Early precursors to StenEd, Phoenix, and others

Each theory tweaked how reporters handled briefs, phrasing, vowel representations, and conflict resolution. Some systems emphasized ease of learning; others aimed for more efficient writing once mastered. Yet all remained grounded in the original phonetic, structured principles established in the early 1900s.

This was the golden age of stenographic education. Thousands of students enrolled in accredited schools, often sponsored or regulated by court systems. Professional associations like NCRA grew in influence, setting standards for speed tests and certification. Theory choice became a matter of pedagogy and personal preference, not ideology.

By the mid-20th century, theory development had exploded. What began as a handful of foundational systems evolved into a vast ecosystem of theories — each reflecting different pedagogical philosophies, regional accents, and realtime ambitions.

While there isn’t a single universally agreed-upon “official” count (because many theories have been created, modified, and re-branded over time), historical records, stenographic textbooks, NCRA archives, and state school catalogs collectively document well over 100 distinct steno theories developed since the early 20th century — with some estimates in the 110–120+ range.

Here’s a breakdown to give you a more precise picture:

1. Foundational “Original” Theories (≈ 5–10)

These are the earliest systems developed between the 1910s and 1930s, following Ward Stone Ireland’s machine invention.
Examples include:

  • The Original Ireland Theory (c. 1911)
  • Stenotype Grand
  • Stenotype 1/2/3 Series
  • Stenograph Company Theory (early editions)
  • Charles Lee Swem theory and similar early phonetic structures

These early theories were long, highly phonetic, and structured — designed to match the new stenotype keyboard exactly.

2. Mid-Century Professional & Proprietary School Theories (≈ 40–50)

From the 1940s through the 1980s, steno schools proliferated across the U.S., and many developed their own branded or proprietary theories — sometimes only taught locally.

This explosion of variation happened because:

  • Schools wanted to differentiate themselves and protect intellectual property.
  • Different instructors had slightly different interpretations of phonetic representation.
  • Regional accents and local legal terminology influenced adjustments.

Examples:

  • Stenotype Grand variants
  • Stenograph College Theory (different from early Stenograph Co.)
  • Roberts Walsh Gonzalez (RWG)
  • Stenotype Centennial Theory
  • “New Century” theories introduced mid-century
  • Dozens of school-specific systems in New York, Chicago, and California

👉 Some state archives list 30–40 unique accredited program theories in California alone during the peak era of the 1950s–1970s.

3. Realtime & CAT-Era Theories (≈ 20–30)

In the 1980s–1990s, with the rise of realtime reporting and computer-aided transcription, theories were revised to optimize for realtime translation accuracy, minimize conflicts, and streamline output for software.

Examples:

  • StenEd Theory (and its later realtime editions)
  • Phoenix Theory & Phoenix Realtime
  • Stenotype Realtime Theory (various adaptations)
  • DigitalCAT Theory
  • Eclipse Theory (and Eclipse Realtime variants)
  • RPR Theory adaptations for testing
  • Customized hybrid systems blending StenEd, Phoenix, or other bases

Many of these were revisions of older long theories, with tweaks to briefs, phrasing, or conflict resolution.

4. “Short Writing” & Experimental Theories (≈ 10–15)

Starting in the late 1990s and early 2000s, a new generation of theories appeared that emphasized aggressive briefing and phrasing to minimize stroke count.

The most famous example is:

  • Magnum Steno (Mark Kislingbury) — early 2000s

But there were others:

  • “One Stroke” experimental systems
  • Personalized ultra-briefing hybrids shared through seminars and independent schools
  • Short-writing captioning theories developed for CART writers (some undocumented formally)

These systems were far fewer in number but generated a lot of debate — which is the controversy we’re unpacking in your article.

5. Modern Hybrids, Self-Taught, and Boutique Theories (≈ 20+)

Today, there’s a wave of personalized “hybrid” theories, often created by veteran reporters who blended elements of StenEd, Phoenix, Magnum Steno, and legacy systems to suit their style.

Because these are often informal or self-published, the exact number is hard to pin down — but industry surveys, NCRA teacher reports, and CAT software vendor data suggest dozens of such hybrids are in use in classrooms, online teaching groups, and mentorship programs.

Total Estimated Theories: 110–120+

When you combine:

  • Foundational (≈ 5–10)
  • Mid-century school theories (≈ 40–50)
  • Realtime/CAT-era theories (≈ 20–30)
  • Short-writing & experimental (≈ 10–15)
  • Modern hybrids (≈ 20+)

👉 You land in the 112–125 range, depending on how you classify minor variations and boutique systems.

This aligns with what veteran instructors and NCRA historians often cite when they say “there have been more than 100 stenographic theories taught in the U.S. since the early 1900s.”

Why This Matters

This historical abundance of theories proves something important:
👉 The existence of “new theories” doesn’t automatically make them better.
👉 The only theories that have produced large numbers of certified reporters consistently over time are the structured, phonetic, long or hybrid systems taught in accredited programs.

Short-writing theories are one small subset of this broader history — and their track record, after 20+ years, is dwarfed by the century-long success of traditional theories.

Realtime & Short-Writing Era (1990s – 2000s)

The 1990s brought another technological leap: Computer-Aided Transcription (CAT) and realtime translation. Suddenly, reporters weren’t just producing transcripts after the fact—they were expected to deliver instantaneous translation on screen, often in front of judges, attorneys, and juries.

This demanded cleaner writing, fewer conflicts, and theories optimized for realtime output. Many traditional theories were retrofitted:

  • StenEd Realtime,
  • Phoenix Realtime,
  • Various hybrids combining structured theory with realtime-friendly modifications.

Then came a radical shift. In the early 2000s, Mark Kislingbury introduced Magnum Steno, a theory built around aggressive briefing and phrasing to drastically reduce stroke counts. His system broke from decades of conservative, long-theory tradition and sparked the first major short-writing revolution. Thousands of reporters adopted elements of Magnum to boost speed and efficiency, and many modern realtime theories incorporate some of its concepts today.

The Legacy of Theory

Why does all this matter? Because every modern stenographic theory traces its lineage back to the original 1910s Stenotype Theory, which itself grew out of centuries of manual shorthand innovation.

  • Pitman (1837) was the earliest phonetic shorthand “theory.”
  • Ward Stone Ireland’s machine (1911) provided the mechanical foundation.
  • The first formal steno theory emerged soon after—a long, phonetic, structured system built for accuracy.
  • Mid-century proliferation refined these ideas, while the realtime era demanded adaptations for digital translation.
  • Modern short-writing theories represent the latest iteration in a long evolutionary chain.

For students, understanding this history can provide a deeper respect for the craft. For working reporters, it’s a reminder that our tools may evolve, but the core linguistic discipline remains unchanged. The shorthand “theories” we use today are not random; they are the product of centuries of experimentation, refinement, and professional practice.

Summary Timeline

EraKey DevelopmentSignificance
1600s–1800sManual shorthand (Taylor, Pitman, Gregg)Pen-based systems codify phonetic representation
1870s–1910Invention of stenotype machine (Bartholomew → Ireland)Mechanical shorthand emerges
1910s–1920sFirst Stenotype TheoryPhonetic, structured, long theory born
1940s–1980sProliferation of machine theoriesStandardization and professionalization
1990s–2000sRealtime + short-writing revolutionCAT, realtime, Magnum Steno reshape theory

Honoring the Past, Shaping the Future

Court reporting is often framed as a profession “under threat” from automation, but history tells a different story: it’s a profession that has continually adapted to new technologies while preserving the core skill of human language mastery.

From Roman scribes scratching Tironian symbols to modern reporters writing 280+ words per minute on steno machines, the heartbeat of the profession is theory—the structured linguistic system that makes verbatim capture possible.

As we look toward the future—whether that involves AI integration, blockchain transcript storage, or new forms of hybrid reporting—it’s worth remembering: today’s innovations stand on 400 years of shorthand evolution. And that history belongs to court reporters.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

“No Such Thing as a Job Nobody Wants” – Debunking a Convenient Myth in the Court Reporting Industry

For years, digital-centric agencies have repeated a familiar refrain to justify their growing use of non-stenographic methods: “We only use digital reporters for the jobs no one else wants.”

On the surface, the statement sounds harmless—even practical. But look closer, and you’ll find that this narrative is less about operational necessity and more about economic convenience. It’s a myth designed to normalize a shift away from trained professionals while obscuring the reality that there is no such thing as a deposition “no one wants.”

1. “Undesirable” Jobs Are a Matter of Perspective, Not Fact

What agencies often label as “undesirable” are typically shorter workers’ compensation or personal injury matters—the half-day or one-hour depositions that may not generate the same revenue as a multi-day expert arbitration. But for many reporters, those jobs are the golden tickets of work-life balance.

Some seasoned reporters prefer short assignments at the end of their careers to avoid the grueling pace of technical litigation. Parents may select short jobs that allow them to be home in time for after-school activities. Others strategically fill their schedules with two or three half-day assignments, earning solid income without the fatigue of marathon sessions.

In other words, “undesirable” depends entirely on who you ask. The work is out there—and it’s wanted.

2. Flexibility Has Always Been a Core Selling Point of Stenography

One of the defining appeals of a stenographic career has always been flexibility: work when you want, how you want, and as much (or as little) as you choose. Reporters build careers that fit their lifestyles.

Agencies that claim certain jobs “go uncovered” because reporters aren’t interested are often overlooking a simpler reality: they may need to pay slightly more to attract talent. A rush PI depo on two hours’ notice isn’t undesirable—it just may require a premium to respect the reporter’s time, preparation, and schedule. That’s not scarcity; that’s basic market economics.

3. Short Jobs Play a Critical Role in Reporter Development

No reporter starts their career on a 10-day patent infringement trial. Shorter, lower-complexity jobs are essential training grounds for newer stenographers and voice reporters. These assignments build speed, confidence, and transcript turnaround habits. They are where rookies learn to fly before they handle high-stakes proceedings.

When agencies siphon these “starter” jobs to digital recorders under the guise of filling gaps, they’re not just shifting work—they’re eroding the pipeline of future stenographic talent. If new reporters can’t get a foothold on short depositions, how will they ever develop into the experts agencies claim they can’t find?

4. The “Emergency Coverage” Problem Is Self-Inflicted

Many digital-first firms point to uncovered jobs as evidence of a stenographer shortage. But often, these “emergencies” are manufactured by their own scheduling practices.

Take, for example, a firm sending out job blasts at 8:38 a.m. for 10:00 a.m. starts—with nine uncovered jobs. That’s not proof reporters don’t want the work; that’s proof the firm overextended its capacity and is now relying on digital recorders as a patch.

Stenographers thrive on preparation and communication. Agencies that plan properly rarely encounter these “nobody wants it” scenarios. Those that don’t? They’re not exposing a shortage—they’re exposing their own mismanagement.

5. Profit Motives Are Driving the Digital Push

Behind the rhetoric lies a less flattering truth: digital recording gives certain agencies greater financial control.

By using digital recorders, some firms retain the bulk of copy sales, realtime feeds, and rough ASCII revenue—compensation that would otherwise go directly to the stenographer who produced the record. These firms aren’t handing over “undesirable” jobs. They’re redirecting profitable opportunities into their own bank accounts while minimizing payouts to the people actually doing the work.

It’s not about filling coverage gaps. It’s about retaining margin.

6. Real Clients Want Real Expertise

Ironically, many of the jobs being diverted to digital recorders are realtime proceedings—the very kind that demand the precision and responsiveness only a trained stenographer can deliver.

Some digital-centric firms have even declined to work with high-caliber reporters simply because they’ve criticized the firm’s business model. Instead of prioritizing client experience, they’ve opted to send less-qualified coverage, hoping attorneys won’t notice the difference. That decision says far more about the firm’s values than about reporter availability.

7. Undervaluing “Small Jobs” Undermines the Profession

Short PI depos, workers’ compensation hearings, and other so-called “less desirable” proceedings keep the wheels of justice turning every day. They are where injured workers testify, where liability is determined, where real people’s lives are affected. Treating these jobs as disposable or second-class devalues not just the work—but the people who depend on it.

When agencies divert this work to digital methods, they are effectively saying: accuracy and accountability matter less when the case is smaller. That’s a dangerous precedent in a legal system that depends on the integrity of the record at every level.

8. A Profession, Not a Patch

The idea that digital reporting fills only the jobs “no one wants” is a convenient fiction. It allows agencies to quietly expand digital coverage while avoiding scrutiny from attorneys, reporters, and regulators. But the reality is clear:

  • Those jobs are wanted.
  • They’re essential for training and career longevity.
  • They represent meaningful legal proceedings deserving of professional coverage.
  • And they reveal more about agency priorities than reporter availability.

Stenographers have always been adaptable. The profession doesn’t need “patches”; it needs fair practices, honest communication, and respect for the work at every level—from the one-hour PI to the ten-day arbitration.

Final Thoughts

Calling short or lower-complexity jobs “undesirable” is not just misleading—it’s corrosive. It dismisses the preferences of working reporters, undermines the development of new talent, and masks profit-driven decisions behind a veil of necessity.

There is no such thing as a job nobody wants. There is only work that needs to be fairly valued, fairly distributed, and professionally covered.

And that’s exactly what stenographic court reporters have been doing for over a century.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Time to Man Up – Court Reporting Is at War — Start Acting Like It

There are moments in history when incrementalism is a death sentence. When polite silence is complicity. When waiting for permission is the same as surrendering the field.

The court reporting profession is in exactly that moment right now.

For too long, we’ve operated under a culture of politeness, deference, and “not rocking the boat.” We’ve tolerated leaders who built their reputations, careers, and bank accounts under an old order — one that rewarded complacency, not courage. We’ve tiptoed around hard conversations, let agencies set the narrative, and watched regulators be captured by the very interests they’re supposed to oversee.

That era ends now.

We are at war for the future of this profession. And wars are not won by committees, caution, or courtesy. Wars are won by clarity, courage, and leadership willing to do what others won’t.

The Culture That Got Us Here Can’t Get Us Out

One of the most powerful lines I’ve ever heard is this: “It’s hard to change a culture with people who benefited from that previous culture.”

Let that sink in.

The current status quo — the same associations, boards, and entrenched players who oversaw the rise of digital recording, the notary loophole, and the quiet erosion of stenographic dominance — cannot be the ones we trust to lead us out of this. They built this house. They profited while it burned.

They were at the table when digital firms maneuvered around licensing rules. They nodded while state boards let AI transcription products creep in under “pilot programs.” They remained silent when agencies started assigning “responsible charge” titles to reporters who never even touched the audio.

And when reporters finally began to push back, what did these leaders do? Most deflected. Some gaslit. Others smiled and told us to “work together.”

No more.

We need new leaders who are not beholden to the structures that failed us. We need leadership that isn’t afraid to challenge agency money, confront regulatory capture, and defend our license and our role as guardians of the record.

No More Soft Leadership

This profession has, for too long, confused kindness with weakness. We’ve allowed fear — of losing work, of being blacklisted, of being “divisive” — to muzzle truth.

Meanwhile, digital recording companies have moved like special forces: coordinated, well-funded, strategic. Their lobbyists have walked into statehouses while we were too busy arguing over association titles and bylaws. Their technology teams have pitched their products to judges and legislators while too many of our leaders were still debating whether to send a sternly worded letter.

It’s not enough to “raise awareness.” It’s not enough to host luncheons. It’s not enough to pat ourselves on the back for issuing a press release two months too late.

We need a wartime mindset. We need leaders who will call out regulatory malpractice when they see it. We need associations that act like special operations teams, not garden clubs. We need reporters willing to be loud, strategic, disciplined, and unflinching.

Leadership Matters — And So Does Accountability

When the notary loophole was quietly opened in California, enabling digital recording firms to bypass reporter licensing laws, Cheryl Haab was president of the DRA. That is not conjecture — it is fact. Her leadership coincided with a critical turning point for the profession, one that fundamentally altered the legal terrain for stenographers statewide.

Years later, when I publicly began holding her accountable for that failure in Facebook groups, she did not engage with the substance of my criticism. Instead, she launched a sustained personal campaign to discredit me — gaslighting, shifting blame to others, spreading falsehoods to turn colleagues against me, and publicly threatening me with “cancel culture” while calling me a “snake in the grass” and a liar.

This isn’t just a personal dispute; it’s emblematic of a leadership culture that punishes whistleblowers, instead of confronting its own history. Rather than acknowledging the strategic failures that helped usher in the current crisis, the old guard resorts to character attacks, and gatekeeping to silence dissent. Based on my direct experiences and documented communications, I believe she engaged in a sustained effort to discredit me and silence my criticism. Behind the scenes, she engaged in whisper campaigns, professional isolation, and intimidation designed to make me back down and silence my criticism. This is a real-world example of how leadership power is weaponized socially to discourage dissent. That’s not leadership. That’s intimidation, plain and simple — wielded to silence dissent and shield themselves from accountability.

True leadership demands accountability, not cancel culture. It requires humility about past decisions and the courage to support new strategies — not personal attacks on those who challenge entrenched power.

National Leadership Vacuum

While state-level missteps like the notary loophole opened the door for digital encroachment, the National Court Reporters Association (NCRA) has failed to step into the role of a true national leader. At a time when the profession desperately needs unified strategy, aggressive lobbying, and public education campaigns, the NCRA has largely retreated into the role of a CEU vendor — focused on selling seminars, certifications, and convention tickets, rather than leading a coordinated national defense of the profession.

Instead of setting the agenda and marshaling resources to confront legislative threats, regulatory capture, and the rapid expansion of AI transcription, NCRA has behaved more like a trade show operator than a strategic command center. Reporters look to their national organization for bold leadership, but what they get are webinars and continuing education credits — a transactional relationship, not a visionary one.

This failure has been so profound that an outsider — not even a licensed reporter — was able to infiltrate the profession simply by volunteering at a few NCRA conventions, then positioning herself as someone who could offer “better,” more glamorous events. Rather than upholding their own standards, NCRA bent its own CEU rules to grant her credit approvals, despite the fact that she does not meet the published qualifications required for CEU presenters or providers.

When the national association responsible for safeguarding standards starts lowering the bar for opportunists while ignoring its strategic role, it signals a dangerous leadership void. This is not just negligence — it’s how industries get co-opted. NCRA’s unwillingness to hold the line has created space for outsiders to shape the narrative, monetize the profession, and position themselves as leaders in the absence of real ones.

This vacuum at the top has opened the door for agencies, tech companies, and opportunistic lobbyists to control the narrative state by state, advancing their interests while NCRA passively observes from the sidelines. In the absence of strong national leadership, others have filled the void — writing the laws, shaping policy conversations, and courting the judiciary, often with little to no pushback from the very organization that should be leading that charge.

In a time of existential threat, selling CEUs is not leadership. Leadership is setting the agenda, not reacting to it. It’s anticipating threats, not playing catch-up years later. It’s mobilizing the profession, defending the record, and shaping the legislative and cultural landscape with authority and vision. NCRA’s failure to do so has left reporters scattered, agencies emboldened, and policymakers misinformed — a dangerous mix in a time when the survival of our profession depends on unified, strategic action.

Raise the Standards — For Everyone

Part of the problem is internal. Let’s be honest: our standards have slipped.

There are reporters who’ve become complacent, who rely on agencies to spoon-feed them jobs and then gripe about rates without ever learning to negotiate. There are associations that exist more to protect board seats than to protect the profession. There are committees that spend more time planning cocktail hours than legislative campaigns.

If we are to win this war, we must hold ourselves to a higher standard — individually and collectively.

  • Professionalism must be non-negotiable. That means showing up sharp, prepared, tech-competent, and ready to own the record.
  • Advocacy must become part of the job, not a side hobby. If you don’t know your state’s relevant statutes, if you can’t articulate why digital reporting fails due-process standards, then you’re unprepared for the battle we’re in.
  • Leadership roles must be earned through performance, not tenure or popularity. If you’ve sat on a board and presided over decline, step aside. If you want to lead, show results, not résumés.

The truth is simple: either we’re ready to win, or we’re not. There is no middle ground.

Clear Out the Deadwood

It’s time to challenge and, if necessary, oust leaders who are unwilling to adapt. That means hard conversations. That means voting differently. That means refusing to support organizations that have proven unwilling to fight.

Some people will say, “But that sounds divisive.”

You know what’s more divisive? Watching the profession split in two — half under agencies using uncertified digital recorders and half clinging to the idea that “it will all work out.”

The only way to rebuild a strong, unified culture is to clear out the deadwood. We cannot build a winning strategy on a foundation of compromise and cowardice.

No More Excuses

Every time a reporter says, “Well, that’s just how it is now,” the digital firms win. Every time an association says, “We can’t afford to make waves,” the agencies win. Every time a board member says, “Our hands are tied,” the regulators win.

This is not a time for excuses.

This is a time for strategy, accountability, and courage.

  • Agencies exploiting the notary loophole? Expose it publicly and file complaints.
  • Boards captured by ASR lobbyists? Demand resignations and replacements.
  • Associations asleep at the wheel? Mobilize members to vote them out.
  • Reporters sitting on the sidelines? Recruit them, educate them, light the fire.

We either lead this fight, or we watch it happen without us.

A New Ethos – The Guardian’s Mindset

Court reporters are not stenographers for hire. We are guardians of the record. We are officers of the court. We are the last line of defense between justice and chaos.

Our mindset must reflect that.

That means discipline. That means moral courage. That means calling out unethical behavior even when it’s uncomfortable. That means showing up in legislative chambers and courtrooms not as supplicants, but as professionals with authority and knowledge.

We cannot afford to play defense anymore. We must seize the initiative — in law, in technology, in culture.

The Call

If reading this makes your heart sink because you prefer the old comfort of silence, step aside.

If this fires you up — good. That’s the beginning of a movement.

The future of this profession will not be decided by agencies, regulators, or tech companies. It will be decided by reporters who refuse to accept decline as destiny.

This is not a time for soft leadership. This is not a time for nostalgia. This is a time to man up, gear up, and speak up.

The warrior ethos of our profession isn’t about bravado. It’s about discipline, clarity, and courage in the face of overwhelming odds.

History will remember whether we stood our ground or surrendered politely.

The choice is ours.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Fool’s Gold – Why Courts Cannot Turn Depositions Into a “Profit Center”

The recent JD Supra article suggesting courts are “sitting on a gold mine” by taking over deposition services and monetizing transcripts reflects a profound misunderstanding of the Constitution, statutory law, and the ethical architecture of litigation. Far from a gold mine, this idea is a constitutional sinkhole.

Below, I address the proposal through four lenses: (1) statutory authority, (2) constitutional due process, (3) ethical obligations, and (4) institutional integrity.

1. Statutory Authority: Courts Cannot Re-Write Civil Discovery Rules

Civil discovery is governed by statute. In California, Code of Civil Procedure § 2025.320 requires depositions to be conducted before an officer authorized to administer oaths and independent of the parties. At the federal level, Fed. R. Civ. P. 30(b)(5) mirrors this structure. Neither regime authorizes courts themselves to become vendors of deposition services.

The author’s premise — that courts can generate revenue by selling deposition services — ignores Gov. Code §§ 69941.1 and 69942, which strictly define when and how courts may charge for transcripts. Judicial Council rules and legislative appropriations set fee schedules; courts cannot invent new revenue streams. To do so would usurp legislative authority and expose courts to challenge for exceeding jurisdiction.

In other words: courts cannot simultaneously be referee, scorekeeper, and paid vendor.

2. Constitutional Due Process: Neutral Recordkeeping Is Not Optional

The proposal collapses under the weight of the Constitution. Due process demands neutral and independent recordkeeping. When courts become the custodian, seller, and profit-maker of transcripts, neutrality vanishes.

Consider the Fourteenth Amendment’s due process guarantees and the separation of powers doctrine: courts exist to adjudicate fairly, not to generate side-revenue by taxing litigants’ discovery. Any scheme that forces parties to purchase transcripts from the very tribunal deciding their case risks structural bias and conflicts of interest.

Further, the notion that AI + “light human editing” can replace sworn stenographers ignores the constitutional significance of verbatim record preservation. A mistranscribed objection or omitted word can determine admissibility, sanctions, or appellate outcomes. Courts cannot delegate that role to software without violating litigants’ rights to a full and fair record.

3. Ethical Obligations: Lawyers and Judges Cannot Endorse Inferior Records

The ABA Model Rules of Professional Conduct impose duties that this proposal would shred:

  • Rule 1.1 (Competence): Lawyers cannot rely on unvetted AI transcripts in lieu of sworn verbatim records without risking malpractice.
  • Rule 1.3 (Diligence): Delegating accuracy to automation undercuts zealous advocacy.
  • Rule 1.6 (Confidentiality): Cloud-based AI transcription exposes sensitive testimony to unauthorized access.

The ABA has already flagged these dangers. Formal Opinion 498 (on virtual practice) and Formal Opinion 512 (on AI use) warn against blind reliance on technology. Both make clear: the lawyer remains responsible for accuracy, security, and competence.

The same applies to judges. Canon 3 of the Code of Judicial Ethics requires courts to preserve public confidence in integrity and impartiality. Selling transcripts created by AI, “certified” by staff, undermines both.

4. Institutional Integrity: Undermining Public Trust

Finally, the article’s suggestion that courts are “protecting stenographers” mischaracterizes the entire profession. Court reporters — both stenographic and voice writers — are not lobbyists protecting turf. They are sworn officers ensuring the chain of custody, verbatim integrity, and appellate reliability of transcripts.

To dismiss them as obstructionist is to ignore history. Courts have reversed judgments because of incomplete or inaccurate transcripts. See, e.g., People v. Pinholster (1 Cal. 4th 865, 1992), where transcript accuracy was pivotal. Reporters are not a luxury — they are the infrastructure of due process.

By contrast, a court that monetizes transcripts risks public perception of bias. Litigants will rightly question whether adverse rulings are colored by the judiciary’s financial interest in transcript sales. The “appearance of impropriety” alone erodes confidence in the judiciary — a violation of Canon 2A of the Code of Judicial Ethics.

The “Notary Loophole” Parallel

This scheme is no different from the “digital deposition” loopholes that agencies have exploited by placing unsworn notaries in charge of depositions. Regulators, including the California Court Reporters Board, have repeatedly warned: a notary cannot certify a record under § 2025.320 because they are not impartial guardians of the transcript.

The same principle applies here. Courts cannot invent a “reporter-in-charge” model that reduces sworn oversight to rubber-stamping AI drafts. Certification requires responsibility for the entire proceeding, not retroactive approval of machine output. Anything less is fraud on the record.

Real Reform Strengthens, Not Weakens, the Record

The “gold mine” the attorney touts is fool’s gold. Courts cannot — and must not — convert themselves into deposition factories. To do so would:

  • Exceed statutory authority.
  • Violate constitutional due process.
  • Breach attorney and judicial ethics.
  • Undermine public trust in judicial neutrality.

If reform is the goal, let it be real reform: investment in recruitment of stenographers and voice writers, fair compensation (see Nevada’s 2025 SB 191 increasing reporter pay), and secure transcript repositories controlled by reporters themselves — not AI vendors or revenue-hungry bureaucracies.

In the end, the Constitution is clear: justice must not only be done, it must be seen to be done. And no one sees to it better than the sworn guardians of the record.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Gen Z Makes Stenography Cool Again

The TikTok & Instagram Revolution in Court Reporting

In an unexpected twist that’s making legal veterans do double takes, Gen Z is breathing new life into the centuries-old profession of stenography—and they’re doing it with TikToks, trending audio, and a whole lot of style.

With videos racking up millions of views and influencers turning their stenographer journeys into mini docuseries, court reporting has gone from an overlooked backroom job to a new “it career” among digital natives. Whether it’s the rhythmic clatter of the steno machine or the behind-the-scenes glamor of high-stakes trials, stenography is having a moment—and Gen Z is leading the charge.

The Rise of “StenoTok” – A Digital Renaissance

It started quietly. A handful of young stenography students began posting TikToks and Instagram reels about their journey through court reporting school. They weren’t just sharing practice tips—they were documenting the hustle, the tech, and the triumphs of mastering a machine that types entire words in a fraction of a second.

With captions like:

“This machine is my superpower.”
“POV: You get to sit front row to every courtroom drama.”
“Forget law school—this is the real secret career path.”

The steno machine—a curious hybrid of keyboard and alien spaceship—became a centerpiece of fascination. People wanted to know: What is that? How does it work? Wait… you make how much per day?

It turns out the combination of mystery, money, and mastery makes for compelling content—and Gen Z knew exactly how to package it.

Breaking Stereotypes in Real Time

For years, court reporting was perceived as a dying trade or a stopgap job. But Gen Z is turning that narrative on its head. On Instagram and TikTok, they’re showing that being a stenographer isn’t just about taking notes—it’s about being at the center of real-world drama, commanding respect in the courtroom, and wielding a machine that looks like a steampunk laptop with Jedi powers.

Instead of dull lectures, Gen Z creators post:

  • Time-lapse videos of high-speed steno drills
  • “What’s in my court reporting bag?” haul videos
  • Stylized montages of courtroom days, complete with iced coffee and manicured nails
  • Memes comparing $1,000-a-day earnings to friends’ hourly gigs

This content has reframed the court reporting profession as one that is:

  • Financially rewarding
  • Flexible and freelance-friendly
  • Intellectually challenging
  • Tech-forward and empowering

And perhaps most importantly—it’s a path to independence.

Why Gen Z is Falling in Love with Steno

Let’s break it down. Gen Z, more than any generation before them, is:

  • Saddled with student debt
  • Skeptical of traditional college-to-career pipelines
  • Obsessed with side hustles, passive income, and niche careers
  • Hungry for autonomy, flexibility, and freedom

Stenography offers all that—and more.

In under three years, and often at a fraction of the cost of a four-year degree, students can become licensed reporters earning six figures. They can freelance, specialize, and work in high-stakes settings without ever climbing a corporate ladder.

Plus, there’s no boss breathing down your neck in a cubicle. You’re the official guardian of the record. The Responsible Charge. It’s a badge of authority, and Gen Z is proudly claiming it.

The Visual Allure of the Steno Life

Let’s be real: the aesthetic matters. And stenography is surprisingly photogenic.

From close-up shots of manicured fingers flying over curved steno keys to moody courtroom lighting, TikTok and Instagram have transformed what once seemed invisible into something mysterious, stylish, and satisfying.

Creators have built large followings by posting:

  • Real-time steno captions of movie scenes
  • Split screens of steno input and English output
  • Motivational montages titled “From zero to real-time” or “How I got certified in 18 months”

What used to be a niche trade skill is now a lifestyle brand—and Gen Z has made it aspirational.

The New Face of the Movement: Natalie (@nat.the.studious.steno)

Among the latest and most visible leaders of the modern “StenoTok” wave is Natalie (@nat.the.studious.steno). With over 21,000 TikTok followers and a growing archive of engaging, honest, and highly motivating content, Natalie has become a true ambassador of the next-gen stenographer.

She started like many others: filming her journey through court reporting school. What made her different was her consistency, clarity, and authenticity. She shared:

  • Machine tours
  • Certification prep
  • Study sessions
  • Honest reflections on burnout
  • Milestones and motivational tips

And then came the big one: she passed her exam and got a courtroom job. Her audience witnessed the transition from student to certified professional in real time. And with that, Natalie became a living example of what’s possible.

Her impact isn’t just social—it’s cultural. She’s showing a generation that stenography is:

  • Attainable
  • Flexible
  • Financially viable
  • Emotionally rewarding
  • Worth showing off

Other Creators Who Helped Spark the Movement

Before Natalie rose to the forefront, others helped kickstart the wave in 2020 and beyond, including:

  • Isabelle Lumsden (@isabellelumsden) – A Canadian student whose early TikToks about court reporting drew over 2.9M views
  • Stan Sakai (@stanographer) – A New York freelancer who broke down steno mechanics into bite-sized viral hits

They helped lay the groundwork. Now, creators like Natalie are taking it to the next level.

Agencies and Associations – Take Notes

Traditional agencies and national associations? Many are scrambling to catch up.

While some have leaned into the moment—reposting TikToks, sponsoring influencer giveaways, and revamping their branding—others are still stuck in 1998, wondering why no one wants to read their 30-page PDFs.

The truth is this: Gen Z is doing for court reporting what no ad campaign ever could.
They’re making it human. Relatable. Cool.

And they’re doing it for free—because they believe in the profession and want others to know what’s possible.

The best thing agencies and schools can do now is support, not stifle, this movement. That means:

  • Recognizing and amplifying student voices
  • Offering real career transparency
  • Creating more flexible, tech-forward training options
  • Partnering with digital creators to educate and recruit

Gen Z Didn’t Wait — They Made Their Own Stage

Gen Z Didn’t Wait — They Made Their Own Stage

They didn’t wait for a board to give them a title.
They didn’t wait for a legacy institution to fund their outreach.
They didn’t wait for someone to say stenography was cool.

They didn’t wait for permission. They picked up their phones, hit record, and made stenography cool again.

If you ever doubted whether court reporting could go viral, just search “steno” on TikTok. You’ll hear the rhythmic clack of keys. You’ll see a creator like Natalie light up when she hits her goal.

And you’ll realize that for a profession once seen as fading, this might just be the plot twist we’ve been waiting for.

The Future Is Viral

Gen Z has changed the game.

In a time when traditional education paths are faltering and automation is replacing human workers, they’ve found something rare: a skilled profession with high earnings, real purpose, and creative freedom.

And for an industry long thought to be fading, that might just be the plot twist we needed.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Why Court Reporters Shouldn’t Negotiate Down — But Must Negotiate for Their Value

Every court reporter has faced this scenario: you get a job alert email about a trial, your heart leaps because you want the job, and then you see the “agency rates.” Maybe they’re close to yours, maybe they’re lower, but the implication is the same: will you match?

Some reporters hesitate. Some cave. Some rationalize. But here’s the truth: negotiating down isn’t negotiating at all. It’s selling out.

When an agency sends me a trial alert, I read it the same way I’ve read hundreds of others across my career: with excitement about the case and clarity about my role. But this time, something gave me pause. The agency’s email listed “their” rates: $750 for a half day, $1,500 for a full day.

As a realtime reporter in California, where the cost of living and regulatory framework is unique, my current published rates are $800 for a half day and $1,600 for a full day, which has remained unchanged for years and are consistent with what other reporters in my region charge. That’s not a huge difference. But here’s the problem: my rates aren’t negotiable. They never have been, and they never will be.

My rates are not negotiable down. But negotiation is still very much part of this profession. Real negotiation means advocating for the value of my skill, consistency, and availability — not cutting deals or selling myself short.

That’s the kind of negotiation court reporters must embrace if we want to protect both our livelihood and the integrity of the record.

And there’s a very good reason for that.

Rate Consistency Protects the Profession

Court reporters in California operate under strict legal and ethical frameworks. Government Code §§ 69941.1–69959 and Code of Civil Procedure § 2025.320 prohibit us from entering into “contracting” arrangements that could compromise impartiality, fairness, or public trust.

That means we cannot:

  • Offer discounted rates to certain agencies, firms, or clients.
  • Negotiate lower prices in exchange for steady work.
  • Enter into contracts that set us apart from colleagues doing the same job.

Why? Because our role is to provide a verbatim record of proceedings—an official record that must remain above reproach. If one client gets a deal and another doesn’t, impartiality is jeopardized. It’s not just about money—it’s about the appearance of favoritism, which can erode trust in the record itself.

When reporters apply their rates consistently across all clients, the system is fair, transparent, and untainted by the perception of special treatment.

The Pressure to “Match”

But let’s be honest. Reporters face tremendous pressure from agencies and firms that want to reduce their own costs. In my case, the difference between the agency’s suggested rate ($750/$1,500) and my published rate ($800/$1,600) is just $50 per half day. A relatively small number.

It would be easy to say: “Fine, I’ll match your rate this time so I don’t lose the job.”

But that’s a slippery slope. If I give one agency a discount, what happens when another finds out? What happens when a firm requests my appearance and compares their bill to someone else’s? Suddenly I’m not just adjusting a rate—I’m undermining the very principle of rate uniformity that keeps this profession ethical.

It’s not about $50. It’s about fairness, legality, and professionalism.

Rates Are Not Just Numbers

Court reporting is a highly skilled profession. Rates reflect not only the hours spent in the courtroom or deposition room but also:

  • Years of education and licensing.
  • Real-time skill that captures every word, nuance, and interruption.
  • Hours of transcript production outside of proceedings.
  • Equipment, software, and certification costs.
  • The weight of responsibility for producing an official, appeal-proof record.

When reporters discount their rates—even slightly—they devalue all of this. They send a message that the skill, the training, the impartiality, and the responsibility can be bargained down like a used car.

That’s not just a disservice to me as a reporter. It’s a disservice to the profession as a whole.

Agencies vs. Reporters – Who Sets the Rate?

Here’s another important distinction: agencies don’t set my rates. I do.

Agencies may choose to publish or circulate their own internal rate sheets, but that doesn’t override the independent reporter’s obligation to maintain consistency. My rate sheet is widely distributed and publicly available. It’s the same for every agency, every client, every case.

That consistency protects me—and it also protects the agencies I work with. If a dispute ever arises about favoritism or contracting, agencies that hire me can stand firm knowing they’re paying the same rate as everyone else. There’s no special treatment, no ethical gray area.

What Negotiation Really Means

Too often, “negotiation” in our profession gets distorted. Agencies or firms present their number, and reporters are made to feel like the only response is to come down, to bend, to undercut. But that’s not negotiation — that’s capitulation.

True negotiation is about advocating for your value. It’s saying:

  • Here are my published rates.
  • Here’s why they’re fair, consistent, and legally sound.
  • Here’s what you gain by hiring me: impartiality, accuracy, and professionalism.

When you present your rates firmly and consistently, you are negotiating from a place of strength — not weakness.

Negotiating for the Right Things

So if negotiating isn’t about dropping rates, what is it about?

  • Clarifying Scope: Half day vs. full day, realtime vs. standard, rough drafts, expedites — all of these are negotiable add-ons. You can discuss the scope of services while keeping base rates firm.
  • Asserting Value: You bring appellate-level experience, technical accuracy, and ethical integrity. That’s worth negotiating for.
  • Securing Commitments: Negotiation can mean ensuring you’re booked for the full trial, not just a day or two. That guarantees stability for you and continuity for the client.

Those are real negotiations. They strengthen your position instead of eroding it.

Reframing the Conversation

Instead of letting agencies frame negotiation as “coming down,” flip the script:

  • Agency asks: Can you match $750/$1,500?
  • Reporter responds: My published rates are $800/$1,600, consistently applied to all clients. That ensures fairness and compliance with state law. What I can do is guarantee my availability for the entire trial, and I can provide realtime, rough drafts, and expedited transcripts if needed.

You’ve now reframed the conversation. It’s not about whether you’ll sell yourself short — it’s about whether they recognize the value you bring.

Saying “No” Without Closing the Door

So what do you do when you want the job but can’t legally or ethically agree to the rate listed?

You respond with professionalism:

“Thank you for sending this trial assignment. I’d love to cover it. My published rates are $800 half day / $1,600 full day, which have been consistently applied to all agencies for years. Please let me know if you’d like me to accept this assignment at those rates.”

That’s it. Clear. Polite. Firm.

You’re not being difficult—you’re being ethical. And more often than not, agencies respect that, because they know the law requires it.

Why Consistency Builds Trust

Over the years, my consistent rates have become a calling card. Attorneys, agencies, and colleagues know that what I quote today is what I’ll quote tomorrow. There’s no guesswork, no games, no “who gets the better deal.”

That reliability builds trust. And trust is everything in this profession.

When a witness, attorney, or judge relies on the record I produce, they aren’t just relying on my machine and my fingers. They’re relying on my integrity. If I can’t maintain integrity in something as straightforward as billing, how can I expect anyone to trust me with the far greater responsibility of capturing every word spoken in a trial?

The Bigger Picture – Protecting the Market

This isn’t just about my personal rates. The entire reporting profession depends on cConsistency is everything. Every time one reporter holds the line, it strengthens us all. Every time one gives in, it weakens the whole.

When we negotiate down, we aren’t just trimming our paycheck — we’re signaling that reporters are interchangeable commodities. That perception fuels a race to the bottom, handing leverage to agencies that maximize profits at the expense of skilled professionals.

When reporters discount or negotiate rates, they:

  • Undercut their colleagues.
  • Create a race-to-the-bottom market dynamic.
  • Hand leverage to agencies looking to squeeze more profit from the profession.

We’ve seen this play out in other industries: when professionals compete on price instead of quality, quality declines. If we allow that in court reporting, the record — and justice itself — are at risk.

Consistency isn’t just ethical; it’s protective. It keeps the market stable, ensures fairness among colleagues, and preserves stenography’s role in safeguarding the record. That distinction is the difference between survival and extinction for our profession.

Holding the Line

So when I see a trial alert with rates that don’t match mine, I don’t panic. I don’t cave. I respond the same way I always have: by upholding my published rates.

It’s not about being inflexible. It’s about being consistent, professional, and ethical.

My rates are my rates—for everyone, every time. That’s how I protect my license. That’s how I protect my profession. And most importantly, that’s how I protect the record.

Holding the Line Pays Off

Minutes after I responded with my published rates, the agency sent me the job. No haggling, no drama — just a straightforward acceptance.

That’s the point. When we stand firm, we don’t lose opportunities; we gain respect. Agencies recognize professionalism, consistency, and value. Negotiating for your worth doesn’t mean lowering your price — it means refusing to sell yourself short. And when you do, the work still comes.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

When the Horse Is Dead – Lessons for the Court Reporting Profession

There’s an old satirical metaphor that packs more wisdom than most white papers: The Dead Horse Theory. It asks a painful but necessary question—are we still trying to ride a horse that has already died?

In other words, are we clinging to methods, strategies, or leadership approaches that no longer work, hoping that with enough force or wishful thinking they will somehow come back to life? For court reporters, small agencies, and our professional associations, this metaphor hits uncomfortably close to home.

The Absurdity of Denial in Court Reporting

Denial has become a quiet epidemic in our profession. Instead of facing the truth of what is and isn’t working, we double down on the very behaviors that keep us stuck. The examples from the “Dead Horse Theory” translate almost perfectly into our daily challenges.

  • Change the jockey, not the horse.
    Too often, organizations respond to crisis by shuffling leadership. A new president, a new board, a new committee chair. But if the underlying strategy is flawed—if the model is unsustainable—no jockey can ride that horse to the finish line. We’ve seen this play out as association after association cycles through officers without ever addressing the structural weaknesses that leave reporters vulnerable to legislative erosion, agency overreach, and digital encroachment.
  • Form committees and task forces.
    How many “shortage committees” have we formed in the last decade? How many “task forces” to study the impact of digital reporting? Each report recycles the same findings, and yet little changes. The energy spent producing paper could be better spent building pipelines of real reporters or lobbying for policies that actually protect the record.
  • Invest in a new saddle.
    This one stings. Agencies and associations throw money at shiny technology or glossy PR campaigns as if a polished saddle will revive the horse beneath it. We’ve seen investment in AI summaries, digital pilot programs, and expensive rebrands—when the real problem is a lack of reporters and the erosion of ethical standards around “responsible charge.”
  • Redefine what “dead” means.
    Perhaps the most dangerous behavior of all. Some leaders twist language to convince reporters that the problem isn’t a problem at all: “Digital is just another tool.” “Attorneys don’t care who takes the record.” “Shortage means opportunity.” These reframings create a false sense of security, distracting us from the reality that fundamental aspects of our profession are under attack.

Denial blinds us. It wastes time, money, and energy that could be spent on solutions. And worse, it prevents us from mourning what is truly gone—and building what must replace it.

Dead Horses in Our Profession

So what exactly are the “dead horses” we keep trying to ride?

  1. The belief that big agencies will look out for stenographers.
    Time and again, consolidation has proven the opposite. Agencies prioritize shareholder returns over reporter pay, and invest in digital models that reduce costs by sidelining stenographers. Expecting them to save our profession is like waiting for a wolf to protect the sheep.
  2. The assumption that endless volunteerism will fix systemic problems.
    Reporters give their time generously, but goodwill alone cannot sustain a profession. Burnout is rampant. Without sustainable funding, professional advocacy collapses under the weight of unpaid labor. That horse has been dead for decades.
  3. The illusion that silence is safety.
    Many reporters fear rocking the boat. They believe that staying quiet will protect their jobs or relationships with agencies. In reality, silence has enabled digital encroachment and left legislators with the impression that we don’t care. That horse is not only dead; it’s buried.
  4. The myth that “shortage” is our golden ticket.
    Some believe scarcity guarantees survival. But agencies are filling the gap with cheaper alternatives, and courts are experimenting with unproven methods. Counting on shortage as a business model is like betting your future on the lifespan of a dying horse.

The Courage to Dismount

The hardest part of the Dead Horse Theory is also the most liberating: having the courage to dismount.

Admitting a horse is dead is not weakness. It’s the first step to real problem-solving. For us, that means facing what doesn’t work—and being bold enough to try what might.

  • Stop waiting for rescue.
    No national association, no mega-agency, no legislature is coming to save us. The profession must save itself, reporter by reporter, agency by agency, state by state. That clarity is liberating once you accept it.
  • Redirect resources.
    Instead of pouring energy into endless studies, we need direct investment in schools, mentorships, and apprenticeships. We need to channel money toward litigation, lobbying, and marketing that actually moves the needle.
  • Tell the truth.
    Stop sugarcoating. Reporters must be honest with attorneys, judges, and lawmakers about the failures of digital and AI substitutes. Glossing over the facts helps no one—it only perpetuates illusions.
  • Innovate responsibly.
    Innovation isn’t the enemy. The problem is when innovation is used to dismantle us rather than empower us. Innovative reporter-first technology, transparent rate databases, and reporter-owned platforms aren’t dead horses—they’re new foals waiting to be trained.

Choosing Life Over Illusion

The Dead Horse Theory forces us to ask hard questions:

  • Are we clinging to failing strategies because we’re afraid of change?
  • Are we confusing activity with progress?
  • Are we mistaking denial for hope?

In court reporting, as in life, the principle is simple: You cannot get to a new destination by riding a dead horse.

We have to choose life over illusion. That means letting go of outdated beliefs, failed leadership models, and strategies that keep us spinning in circles. It means mourning what we’ve lost, but refusing to stay stuck beside the carcass.

What Comes After the Dead Horse

The hopeful side of this metaphor is that once you dismount, you are free to choose a new path. For reporters, that could mean:

  • Reporter-owned agencies that refuse to engage in unethical contracting.
  • Collaborative lobbying coalitions that bypass associations that have proven ineffective.
  • Direct-to-attorney education campaigns that highlight the irreplaceable value of the human reporter.
  • Technological tools that empower reporters—not replace them—such as realtime streaming, AI-assisted indexing, and new tools that protect transcripts.

New horses are out there. But we cannot mount them while clinging to the old.

Time to Choose

The Dead Horse Theory is more than a joke—it’s a mirror.

So, court reporters: What dead horses are you still riding?

  • Is it the belief that your agency will eventually pay you fairly?
  • Is it the faith that an association committee will suddenly solve the shortage?
  • Is it the hope that silence will keep you safe?

If the horse is dead, no amount of feeding, training, or saddle-polishing will change it. The time has come to dismount, grieve if you must, and then climb onto a living, breathing horse that can carry you forward.

Because the future of this profession will not be built on denial—it will be built by those who have the courage to let go of what is gone and ride forward into what is alive.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Growth in Court Reporting – Why Discomfort Is the Doorway to Your Next Level

Pain is the doorway to growth

Court reporting has never been an easy profession. From the long hours of training to the intense focus required in depositions and trials, every stage demands more than most people ever realize. Yet the truth is this: growth rarely feels good in the moment.

Progress often hides behind discomfort. Rewards are delayed, but the cost—fatigue, frustration, even fear—is immediate. For court reporters, this paradox shows up daily in the courtroom, in agencies, in student practice sessions, and in professional battles to preserve the future of stenography.

Let’s break this down, with four insights that every working reporter and student can take to heart.

1. Growth Disguises Itself as Weakness, Failure, or Fear

Think back to your first year on the machine. Every stumble, every missed stroke, every failed test felt like evidence you weren’t cut out for the job. But what you didn’t see in the moment was how your brain was rewiring itself, building muscle memory.

  • Example: A student practices jury charge and cries after failing at 180 wpm. That failure feels final—but in reality, it’s progress. The student’s brain is strengthening in the very places it feels weakest. Months later, that same jury charge speed becomes second nature.
  • Professional Example: A reporter sitting in a medical-malpractice trial listens to a cardiologist rattle off terms at lightning speed. At first, every phrase feels overwhelming. But forcing yourself to stay in the hot seat, look words up later, and push through the intimidation—those moments transform “failure” into fluency.

Weakness isn’t proof you’re failing. It’s proof growth is happening.

2. A “Bad” Feeling Doesn’t Always Mean Something Is Wrong

In depositions, attorneys sometimes rattle, bully, or attempt to intimidate reporters. That pit in your stomach can feel like a signal to retreat. But sometimes, those “bad” feelings are the disguise of transformation.

  • Example: The first time you interrupt an attorney to clarify the record, your voice may shake. It feels wrong, like you’ve overstepped. But in reality, you’ve stepped into your authority as the guardian of the record. Each time you do it, it gets easier.
  • Example from Small Agencies: Many reporter-owned firms are watching giant corporate agencies roll out AI summaries and delayed payment schemes. Fear says, You can’t compete. But the uncomfortable process of rethinking business models—specializing in niche cases, marketing ethical practices, or building direct attorney relationships—creates new opportunities. Discomfort here is not destruction; it’s reinvention.

What feels uncomfortable today is often tomorrow’s advantage.

3. Investing in Yourself Feels Costly Now

The short-term cost of growth can feel unbearable.

  • Students: Every hour spent at the keyboard instead of with friends feels like a sacrifice. But that sacrifice is an investment in a lifetime career with six-figure potential.
  • Working Reporters: Buying software upgrades, attending conventions, or hiring scopists feels expensive. You look at the invoice and wince. But those investments free up your time, sharpen your skills, and expand your earning power.
  • Agency Owners: Building websites, paying for compliance software, or joining bar association memberships can drain cashflow in the moment. Yet those very investments secure long-term survival by connecting you directly with clients who value quality over cut-rate gimmicks.

Your brain values short-term comfort. But the professionals who last in this field are those who reframe struggle as investment.

4. Courage Compounds

Each time you confront fear in this profession, you don’t just get through that one situation—you rewire your relationship with fear itself.

  • Example in Court: The first time you ask a judge to repeat a ruling, your pulse races. The second time, it’s easier. The third, you barely think about it. What once terrified you now becomes routine professionalism.
  • Example in Business: When you walk into a law firm alone to pitch your services, the fear can be paralyzing. But do it once, then again, and eventually you’re not just comfortable—you’re confident. That courage spills over into depositions, conventions, and negotiations.

Courage builds on itself, creating a compounding effect. Reporters who once felt timid in professional settings become the ones leading associations, mentoring students, and testifying at legislative hearings.

The Lens of Growth in Daily Practice

Let’s revisit the wisdom through the lens of court reporting:

  • Working out feels like weakness, but it’s strength in disguise.
    Practicing at 20 wpm higher than your comfort zone feels like constant failure—but it’s how you pass the next test.
  • Learning new things makes you feel dumb, but it’s actually building intelligence.
    Switching from one CAT system to another feels like starting over—but mastering it makes you faster, more versatile, and more employable.
  • Investing in yourself makes you feel broke, but it’s actually laying the foundation for wealth.
    That $1,500 spent on a realtime seminar seems costly—until one realtime job pays it back in a single week.
  • Facing your fears makes you feel terrified, but it’s actually training you to be braver.
    Speaking up in a room full of attorneys isn’t easy, but it’s the difference between shrinking back and standing in your role as the officer of the court.

Why This Matters for the Future of Stenography

Court reporting is under fire. Digital recording, AI transcription, and legislative maneuvering are squeezing stenographers from every side. It’s easy to feel like the discomfort means the profession is dying. But the opposite may be true.

  • Reporters standing up against unethical contracting may feel isolated now—but they are planting the seeds of a stronger, more transparent industry.
  • Small firms investing in technology and ethical practices may feel broke now—but they are building the trust that will win clients long term.
  • Students pushing through failed tests may feel like quitting—but they are tomorrow’s guardians of due process.

Growth, disguised as discomfort, is the through-line of the court reporting profession.

A Call to Action

So the next time you feel fear before a high-stakes trial, or frustration while slogging through practice, or financial strain while investing in yourself, remember this:

Those emotions are poor short-term judges of growth.

The discomfort is not the enemy. It’s the evidence.

You are getting stronger. Smarter. Richer. Braver.

The record depends on you. The profession depends on you. And your future self will thank you for every uncomfortable step you take today.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

You Can’t Call Yourself a Leader if no one Grows When You’re Around

A reality check for the court reporting profession

Leadership Isn’t About Titles or Tenure

Too often in our profession, “leadership” gets mistaken for a job title, years in the field, or control over others. Some believe because they’ve opened an agency, chaired a committee, or taken the loudest voice in a meeting, that leadership is theirs by default. But authority on paper doesn’t automatically equal impact in practice.

In court reporting—whether you’re a firm owner, a mentor, or simply the most experienced reporter in the room—true leadership is not measured by how much control you exert, but by how much growth you inspire.

If the people around you are not developing, if your colleagues are not improving, and if your profession is not moving forward because of your presence, then your “leadership” is a façade.

Growth is the Ultimate Scorecard

Real leaders in our profession leave a trail of growth. They create opportunities for new reporters to find their footing, for agency staff to rise into responsibility, and for students to bridge the intimidating gap between theory and practice.

If everyone stagnates in your orbit, your position is hollow. The mark of leadership is that others leave stronger, more confident, and more skilled than they were when they first entered your circle.

Think of the leaders you admire most in our field. Chances are, you remember them not for the size of their agency, their bank account, or the conventions they headlined, but for how they made you better: more prepared, more ethical, more determined to protect the record.

The False Faces of Leadership

There are three common misconceptions in our industry about what makes a leader:

  1. Control. Some equate leadership with micromanaging every decision, hoarding clients, or dictating terms without collaboration. That isn’t leadership—it’s insecurity.
  2. Volume. Others confuse being the loudest with being the strongest. But yelling about the “steno shortage” or complaining endlessly about agencies does little if no solutions are modeled or systems improved.
  3. Titles. Holding the position of “agency owner,” “chief reporter,” or “association president” doesn’t automatically grant leadership credibility. If the people under your title are drowning, your title is a costume.

What Real Leaders Do

Leadership in court reporting is not abstract—it shows up in daily choices. True leaders:

  • Provide clarity instead of confusion. When rules shift or legislation threatens, they educate their teams on what it means, instead of hiding behind jargon or fear.
  • Build trust instead of fear. They pay reporters fairly and on time. They don’t dangle work assignments as punishment or pit freelancers against each other.
  • Develop people instead of egos. They invest in mentoring students, introducing new technologies responsibly, and ensuring others have chances to succeed—even if it means sharing the spotlight.

This is the difference between an agency that burns out talent and one that becomes a magnet for excellence. It is also the difference between an association that shrinks year after year and one that thrives across generations.

The Cost of Poor Leadership

When leadership is shallow, the entire ecosystem suffers.

  • Agencies shrink. Reporters leave, taking their skill and loyalty with them. Clients sense the instability, and cases go elsewhere.
  • Talent leaves. New graduates, once excited about their future, burn out after a year or two. Mid-career reporters, tired of being undervalued, switch professions altogether.
  • Culture erodes. Cynicism replaces pride. Instead of fighting for our profession, reporters retreat into survival mode, convinced that no one in “leadership” truly cares about them.

Sound familiar? Many of the challenges facing us today—consolidation by mega-firms, encroachment of digital recording, unfair contracting—are compounded by the absence of strong, authentic leadership inside our own ranks.

The Power of Transformational Leadership

On the flip side, when leadership is authentic, growth multiplies.

  • Students become professionals. Mentorship pipelines help them transition into the field with confidence.
  • Reporters become advocates. Equipped with the right knowledge, they take on legislative threats head-on, writing letters, testifying, and educating attorneys.
  • Agencies become communities. When leaders pay fairly, respect boundaries, and offer transparency, they attract loyal talent and satisfied clients.

One leader inspiring ten others doesn’t just create addition—it creates multiplication. A culture of trust and growth compounds results far beyond what any one person could achieve.

Leadership as Responsibility

If you hold a position of influence in court reporting—formal or informal—you carry responsibility. Not just to yourself, but to the reporters, students, and clients around you.

  • Are you mentoring the next generation?
  • Are you transparent in your business dealings?
  • Are you modeling integrity when others look the other way?
  • Are you fighting for the profession, or simply profiting off it?

Leadership is not about what you extract from others. It’s about what you deposit into them.

A Call to Court Reporting Leaders

This profession is at an inflection point. We cannot afford leaders who are placeholders, power-holders, or pretenders.

We need leaders who create leaders.

If you’re an agency owner—invest in your reporters, not just your revenue.
If you’re an association officer—make decisions that strengthen the profession, not just your inner circle.
If you’re a senior reporter—offer a hand to the student shadowing you, not just a warning about how tough it will be.

We need leaders who cultivate growth, who protect trust, and who inspire action.

Because at the end of the day, leadership isn’t about you—it’s about what happens to everyone else because of you.

The Mirror Test

Ask yourself this:

  • Are the people around me growing?
  • Do my colleagues leave better equipped than when they came?
  • Am I planting seeds for the next generation of stenographers, or am I depleting the soil for short-term gain?

If the honest answer is no, then your leadership is an empty shell.

You can’t call yourself a leader if no one grows when you’re around.

And for a profession fighting for its future, we can’t afford empty shells anymore.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Integrity on the Record – Why Court Reporting Needs Truth, Not Intimidation

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Unleash the Power Within the Court Reporting Profession

Almost every court reporter I talk to lately feels it: pressure from every side. Agencies consolidating. Judges leaning toward cheaper, less reliable alternatives. Digital encroachment. Attorneys grumbling about costs.

It can feel like you’re being pushed to the sidelines.

But here’s the truth: your skills, your voice, and your presence are irreplaceable.

And what’s even more powerful? You are not alone. Thousands of reporters and reporter-owned agencies are waking up to the fact that this is not the end of our profession — this is the beginning of a transformation.

What It Feels Like When You Step Into the Fire

Reporters who have committed to their craft and re-committed to the profession describe it like this:

  • “I remembered why I fell in love with stenography in the first place.”
  • “It was like flipping a switch — I went from exhausted to energized.”
  • “I started believing in myself again, and the fear lifted.”
  • “For the first time in years, I felt proud to be a court reporter.”

That’s the power of immersion.

Of choosing to step out of survival mode and into growth mode.

It’s the same principle Tony Robbins teaches: when you fully immerse yourself, when you surround yourself with others who are driven, passionate, and unwilling to quit, something rewires inside you. What books and webinars can’t touch, community and action ignite.

Why Court Reporters Are Still the Gold Standard

Think about it. In the courtroom, you are the guardian of truth.

When witnesses stumble, when accents confuse, when technical jargon threatens to derail the record — you’re the one who captures it all, verbatim, flawlessly.

Machines don’t take responsibility. Apps don’t get sworn in. Digital recordings don’t stand up when challenged.

But you do.

And in a world that’s searching for shortcuts, the gold standard becomes more valuable, not less. Just like diamonds, our scarcity creates worth. The fewer trained reporters there are, the more the world realizes what it lost.

The Agency Owner’s Crossroads

Small reporter-owned agencies are at a crossroads.

Do you shrink back, sell out, or give up?

Or do you re-imagine your business model, lean into your unique advantage, and rise stronger?

Reporter-owned agencies have what the giants can’t replicate: authenticity, agility, and alignment with reporters. You know what it feels like to write through a 12-hour trial day. You know what clients really need — not just what boosts a corporate bottom line.

The big firms may dangle perks. They may throw money around. But you? You can offer what matters most: trust, integrity, and accuracy.

Breakthroughs Waiting on the Other Side

When court reporters and small agencies step fully into the fire of transformation, breakthroughs happen.

  • Financial Breakthroughs. Reporters who once accepted whatever rate was offered are now demanding — and receiving — fair compensation. Agencies that used to struggle to make payroll are renegotiating contracts and winning.
  • Confidence Breakthroughs. Reporters who felt invisible are now speaking up in court, standing tall, and reminding attorneys why a live reporter is indispensable.
  • Health and Energy Breakthroughs. Burnout doesn’t have to be your normal. By aligning with your true purpose, energy returns. The heaviness lifts.
  • Professional Breakthroughs. Agencies once on the brink are reinventing themselves with creative offerings, streamlined operations, and renewed loyalty from clients.

The Power of Immersion

One weekend event won’t save our profession. One pep talk won’t either.

But immersion can.

Immersion is choosing to put yourself in the company of like-minded professionals who refuse to quit. It’s surrounding yourself with others who believe in the future of stenography and are willing to fight for it.

It’s engaging fully, not halfway.

When you immerse, fear loses its grip. Energy multiplies. You stop feeling like a lone voice crying in the wilderness — and start feeling like part of a movement.

You Are the Movement

Every court reporter who refuses to give up is a spark.

Every agency owner who chooses ethics over easy shortcuts is a light.

Together, those sparks ignite into a blaze no corporation can extinguish.

Remember this: our profession doesn’t die unless we let it.

Stenography has survived wars, recessions, and technological fads. It has endured because truth always demands a guardian. And that guardian is you.

What You Can Do Right Now

  1. Reclaim Your Value. Stop apologizing for your rates. You carry decades of skill in your fingers. You are worth it.
  2. Strengthen Your Voice. Speak up in meetings, at bar associations, in front of legislators. Tell your story — it matters.
  3. Support Your Colleagues. The lone wolf gets devoured. The pack survives. Share jobs, share wisdom, share encouragement.
  4. Educate Attorneys. Many don’t understand what’s at stake. Show them the difference between you and a recording. Once they see, they can’t unsee.
  5. Stay Immersed. Attend conventions. Join webinars. Plug into communities that lift you higher instead of dragging you down.

The Clock Is Ticking

Just like seats at a sold-out event, time is running out. Every year we lose more ground to big box agencies who would happily replace you with a machine. Every year students drop out of court reporting schools because no one told them the profession was worth fighting for.

If you’ve been waiting for a sign, this is it.

This is your moment.

To decide: Will you settle for survival? Or will you unleash the power within you and transform not only your career but the entire profession?

A Final Word

The great leaders of history didn’t wait for permission. They didn’t wait for perfect conditions. They acted — and the world adjusted.

Court reporters, this is your call.

Step into the fire. Feel the energy. Rewire the beliefs that told you you’re finished. Because you’re not finished. You’re just beginning.

Our profession is almost sold out — but not yet. There are still seats, still chances, still opportunities to make history.

The ticket is your commitment.

And when you claim it, you don’t just change your life — you help save an entire profession.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Small Agencies in Crisis – Competing Fairly in an Unfair Market

Introduction – The Squeeze

  • Small agencies face impossible odds: Big Boxes flood the market with gifts, deferred payment schemes, digital reporters, and AI add-ons.
  • Doing nothing means extinction. Copying Big Box tactics means violating ethics and alienating reporters.
  • This article is about survival — and that may mean turning the old model on its head.

1. Compete on Ethics, Not Perks

  • Stop trying to match Big Box perks you can’t afford or legally shouldn’t do (lavish gifts, AI summaries, etc.).
  • Rebrand ethics as a competitive advantage. Market yourself to attorneys as the “ethical choice” — no conflicts, no gimmicks, no digital bait-and-switch.
  • Attorneys who’ve been burned by hidden fees or sloppy transcripts will pay for trust and integrity.

2. Shorten the Pay Cycle

  • Instead of “pay when paid,” flip the script: pay reporters faster than anyone else — 15 days, even 7.
  • Make this your marketing pitch: “Reporters first.” Word will spread, and you’ll attract top talent who want to work with you.
  • Yes, it strains cash flow — but creative solutions (see below) can cover the gap.

3. Build Direct Attorney Relationships

  • Don’t just rely on “agency brand.” Put your name, your ethics, and your promise front and center.
  • Position yourself as a boutique shop: personal service, personal accountability, personal quality control.
  • Offer CLEs and training to attorneys — not cookies. Education builds credibility and gets you in the door without violating gift rules.

4. Create Networks, Not Empires

  • You don’t need 200 reporters to compete. You need 5 other agencies you can call when you’re booked.
  • Form cooperative networks where each agency keeps its own clients but shares coverage.
  • This decentralizes the Big Box model: small firms can scale up for big cases without consolidation.

5. Flip the Financial Model

  • Think like a start-up:
    • Offer flat monthly subscription retainers to attorneys (guaranteed access to a reporter for X hours per month).
    • Create “reporter loyalty programs” — the opposite of delayed pay, where reporters get bonuses for repeat work.
    • Explore escrow-style payments so reporters know funds are secured before they ever walk into a depo.
  • Agencies that innovate financially will outmaneuver those that just shuffle paper.

6. Own the Transcript, Don’t Just Host It

  • Big Boxes profit off archives, concordances, and exhibit hosting.
  • Small agencies can differentiate by offering secure, reporter-first transcript storage that still gives clients easy access — without monetizing behind reporters’ backs.
  • Emphasize transparency: attorneys know exactly what they’re paying for, reporters know they’re not being cut out.

7. Leverage Technology on Your Terms

  • Don’t try to mimic AI summaries that violate ethics. Instead:
    • Use secure tools to speed production (dictionary building, indexing software).
    • Offer dashboards to attorneys for easy scheduling and transcript access.
    • Market the fact that your transcripts are human-verified — “AI can draft, but only humans certify.”
  • Tech isn’t the enemy — misusing it is.

8. Get Loud, Together

  • Small agencies have stayed too quiet, letting Big Boxes define the narrative.
  • Speak at bar associations. Publish white papers. Team up with reporters to educate lawyers and judges about what’s at stake.
  • The Big Boxes have PR machines. Small agencies have the truth.

9. Think Smaller to Survive Longer

  • Many agencies overextend — fancy offices, bloated staff, unsustainable overhead.
  • Cut ruthlessly: remote staff, cloud tools, smaller footprints.
  • Survive leaner and you can outlast those who collapse under their own weight.

10. Recruit the Next Generation

  • Small agencies can be the training ground for new stenographers.
  • Create apprenticeship programs, mentorship opportunities, and student discounts on transcripts.
  • Building loyalty now ensures you have future reporters when Big Boxes run out of labor.

Upside Down May Be Right Side Up

The old model — competing with Big Boxes on their terms — is dead. Small agencies can’t out-gift, out-delay, or out-digitize the conglomerates. But they can out-ethic, out-network, out-innovate, and out-survive them.

We don’t need fewer agencies. We need thousands more. If every freelance reporter claimed agency status, built a small book of business, and joined a cooperative network, we could regrow from under 1,500 agencies back to 3,500 and beyond.

The path forward isn’t extinction or consolidation. It’s a return to roots — independence, ethics, and collaboration — updated with new tools and new resolve.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Agencies Exploit Reporters Twice – Once for Their Labor, Once for Their Marketing

For decades, court reporters have carried the weight of an industry that profits from their skill while diminishing their value. Agencies were once our allies, providing scheduling support, billing services, and client coordination. But over time, the relationship shifted. Today, reporters find themselves exploited, not once, but twice — first for their labor in producing the verbatim record, and second for their unpaid role as de facto sales reps.

This exploitation is rarely acknowledged openly, yet it has warped the profession and eroded our independence. It’s time to lay the truth bare.

The First Exploitation: Labor Without Equity

At its core, a reporter’s job is to capture and certify the official record of legal proceedings. The transcript is not just another deliverable — it is the foundation of due process. Yet agencies treat it like any other product in a supply chain.

Here’s what happens:

  • Low transparency in billing. Reporters rarely see what attorneys are charged. Agencies hide the markup and keep reporters in the dark about true value.
  • Delayed payment. “Pay when paid” policies and 90-day terms shift financial risk onto reporters. We’re forced to bankroll agency operations, with no guarantee of timely compensation.

Derivative Products – Paid vs. Unpaid

Reporters are compensated for some derivative products — rough drafts, realtime feeds, and expedited transcripts. These involve extra skill and extra work, and it’s right that reporters share in that revenue.

But there’s a second category of products where agencies profit without compensating the reporter at all: word indexes, concordances, archival services, exhibits, and increasingly, deposition summaries. These are all built directly from the reporter’s work product, yet the revenue stream bypasses the reporter entirely.

This “carve-out” system allows agencies to monetize the transcript multiple times while cutting the reporter out of downstream value. The imbalance isn’t that reporters never get paid on extras — it’s that agencies keep inventing new ones they don’t share.

Copy Order Abuses

Copy orders are one area where agencies are supposed to pay reporters. By law and by contract, when an attorney orders a copy of the transcript, the reporter earns a share. But here’s where the abuse comes in:

  • “Pay when paid” schemes: For years, agencies told reporters they’d only get their copy-order share once the agency got paid. In practice, that often meant months — or never.
  • Withholding funds: Some agencies pocket the money, keeping copy orders in limbo accounts indefinitely. Reporters do the work, the agency gets paid, but the reporter never sees their cut.
  • Industry rumors and evidence: One well-known example involves HG out of Texas (since sold). According to an agency owner who spoke to a friend of HG’s former accountant, HG had an internal account holding unpaid copy-order revenues totaling over $3 million. The accountant allegedly took documentation of it when she left. While this account is double-hearsay, many in the profession find it credible — and it illustrates the scale of possible abuse.
  • California reform: Recognizing this abuse, California law now requires agencies to pay reporters within 30 days, effectively ending the “pay-when-paid” excuse in this state. While enforcement remains to be seen, the rule creates a bright-line standard that reporters can point to when agencies drag their feet.

The point is this – agencies aren’t just delaying payment; in some cases, they may be deliberately warehousing revenue that belongs to reporters. That’s not just unfair — it borders on theft.

The Second Exploitation – Reporters as Sales Reps

Not all agencies handle marketing the same way. The divide between small, reporter-owned shops and the large “Big Box” firms is telling:

  • Smaller agencies often lean on their reporters to do the bulk of marketing. Reporters are expected to bring cookies, candy, or gifts to depositions, to charm attorneys, and to “sell” the agency’s services in the room. This is unpaid labor and blurs the line between neutrality and salesmanship.
  • Larger agencies can afford sales teams. They prefer reporters not to do overt wining-and-dining — but they still conscript reporters as brand carriers. Reporters are told to hand out business cards with the agency’s name, while every transcript delivered is stamped with the agency’s logo and marketing material.

The reality is, reporters are not paid to be nice. We should be requested based on merit — skill, accuracy, and availability — not because we brown-nosed an attorney with candy or cultivated a friendship over drinks.

The Ethical Breach – When Neutrality Slips

The deeper harm goes beyond unpaid marketing. Sometimes, agency owners — and even individual reporters — cross into outright unethical territory:

  • Agency owners as “consultants.” I once sat in a trial where, during jury deliberations, attorneys pulled me aside and asked for my opinion on how the jurors would vote. They told me that the agency owner they usually worked with always shared her verdict predictions, and she was “always right.” That is a profound breach of neutrality. Reporters are not hired as consultants; we are guardians of the record.
  • Socializing during ongoing trials. I’ve witnessed reporters going out drinking with attorneys mid-trial and sharing their opinions of the case. That’s not harmless small talk — it gives one side an unfair advantage. Reporters, like jurors, experience the case in real time. Sharing our impressions before a verdict amounts to giving one party a “mock jury” edge that the other side doesn’t get. That is bias, plain and simple.
  • My own practice. When pressed, I tell attorneys I’ll share my thoughts after the verdict comes in. Almost always, they don’t follow up — which proves how frivolous and inappropriate their request was in the first place.

When reporters act as amateur consultants, whether encouraged by agencies or on their own, they compromise the very foundation of impartiality. That destroys the profession’s credibility far more than any cookie basket ever could.

The Gaslighting of “Marketing Yourself”

When agencies tell reporters to market themselves better, they’re not empowering us. They’re gaslighting us.

Because here’s the truth: when we bring in business, the client belongs to the agency, not to us. We can spend years cultivating relationships with attorneys, but the minute we part ways with the agency, those clients are locked up under contract.

Any other industry would call this what it is — exploitation. Sales reps get commissions. Business development staff get salaries and bonuses. Only in court reporting are professionals told to market, sell, and charm clients for free, all while being paid a fraction of what the agency bills.

The Client Ownership Trap

As a young reporter — and a former sales executive — I was excited to bring my first client to an agency. We had an agreement: I would get an extra cut of every job that client brought in, not just the ones I personally reported but also when other reporters covered their matters.

That never happened. I never got scheduled on my own client’s jobs again, and I never saw the promised extra cut. The agency took the client, but I was cut out.

This is the trap: agencies tell reporters to “market themselves,” but the minute a client signs on, the agency locks them up as their client. The reporter who did the work to bring them in is sidelined. In any other industry, that would be called what it is — misappropriation of business development. In court reporting, it’s treated as standard practice.

Double Extraction – The Real Business Model

When you step back, the model becomes clear:

  1. Exploit the reporter’s labor → Maximize revenue on transcripts, minimize payouts.
  2. Exploit the reporter’s relationships → Make them do unpaid marketing to grow the client base.

It’s a double extraction system — squeezing every ounce of value from the reporter’s work and their social capital, while giving little in return.

This is why reporters feel increasingly alienated from agencies. It’s not just about money. It’s about respect, boundaries, and professionalism.

What Needs to Change

If agencies want to regain credibility with reporters — and if they want to play a legitimate role in the profession’s future — they must change. That means:

  • Hire sales professionals. Stop asking reporters to do your marketing.
  • Respect neutrality. Keep reporters out of client-wooing practices that compromise impartiality.
  • Share derivative revenue. If you sell realtime, roughs, or expedited fees, reporters should receive a fair share.
  • End “pay when paid.” Reporters are not your bank. Pay within 30 days as a matter of professionalism — as California law now requires.
  • Transparency in billing. Let reporters see what attorneys are charged, so they understand the true value of their work.

Agencies that adopt these principles could rebuild trust. Those that don’t will continue to be seen as extractive middlemen standing between reporters and the attorneys who actually value their work.

Why It Matters

Some may shrug and say, “That’s just business.” But court reporting isn’t just any business. The work product is the foundation of legal rights, appeals, and justice. If the system relies on squeezing reporters dry — financially, ethically, and professionally — the quality of the record itself is at risk.

Reporters are not sales reps. We are not marketing staff. We are not vendors. We are officers of the court, guardians of the record, and professionals trained to deliver accuracy under pressure.

When agencies exploit us once for our labor and again for our marketing, they not only disrespect reporters — they undermine the very integrity of the system they claim to serve.

Not All Agencies, But One Is Too Many

It’s worth saying plainly: not every agency engages in these practices. There are agencies that pay promptly, share revenue fairly, and respect the reporter’s role as a neutral officer of the court. Those agencies deserve recognition.

But in a profession where impartiality and trust are everything, even one agency cutting corners is too many. Every time an agency delays pay, withholds copy order revenue, or asks reporters to “market” in ways that compromise neutrality, it erodes the credibility of the profession as a whole. Reporters carry the burden of those reputational costs — while agencies profit.

Commending the Exceptions

Not all agencies exploit reporters. Several stand out as models of professionalism: Robin Leonard CSR Agency, Hines Agency (owned by Jennifer Hines, CSR), and iDepo (founded by Irene Nakamura). These reporter-owned agencies set the standard — fast pay, ethical practices, and true professionalism. Robin Leonard exemplifies integrity by resolving issues directly, rather than gossiping or blacklisting. Jennifer Hines and Irene Nakamura likewise ensure fairness, transparency, and respect for reporters.

There are many others who deserve recognition too, but these names come most readily to mind. They prove that responsible, ethical agencies are not only possible, but thriving.

***Some agency owners are so uncomfortable with this conversation that they prefer to silence it, rather than confront it. After I published this piece, one Texas agency owner immediately asked to be removed from my mailing list. That, in itself, speaks volumes. That reaction tells me something important: these conversations are hitting the real pain points. If the practices I describe weren’t happening, there would be nothing to take offense at. Silence or retreat isn’t accountability. We need open dialogue and reform — not avoidance.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

“Spin to Win” for Transcripts? Why This Giveaway Likely Violates California Lottery & Professional Standards Laws

The email:

“Starting tomorrow, Wednesday, any jobs submitted before 11:59pm EST Sunday, 9/28/25, will be eligible for $2,000 in giveaways on the Magna Spin to Win Wheel… EVERY JOB ENTERED IS ANOTHER CHANCE… FOR ANY JOB… 100 PAGES OR MORE, YOU WILL RECEIVE A DOUBLE ENTRY… We only enter jobs that generate transcripts… PRIZES: $500, $250 (x2), $100 (x5), $50 (x5), $25 (x10).”

This promotion is being sent to reporters working in California. It ties entries in a prize drawing to turning in transcript-producing work, and even doubles entries for 100+ page jobs. On its face, it sounds like lighthearted gamification. Under California law and court-reporter regulations, though, it raises serious red flags.

Below, I’ll break down (1) California’s illegal lottery framework and sweepstakes rules, (2) the narrow charitable-raffle exception (and why it doesn’t apply here), and (3) the Court Reporters Board’s professional standards that restrict gifts and incentives. I’ll close with a practical compliance checklist and a short template you can adapt if you need to flag this to a regulator or to the promoter’s compliance team.

1) California’s core rule: if you have Prize + Chance + Consideration, you’re likely operating an illegal lottery

California defines a lottery as “any scheme for the disposal or distribution of property by chance, among persons who have paid or promised to pay any valuable consideration.” CA Penal Code § 319 (2024). Put more simply, when (a) there’s a prize, (b) it’s awarded by chance (e.g., spinning a wheel, random drawing), and (c) people must provide consideration (money, time, effort, or a condition with value) to enter, you’ve created an illegal lottery unless a statute says otherwise. Conducting or even proposing such a lottery is a misdemeanor.

  • Prize? Yes—cash awards ($500, $250, $100, etc.).
  • Chance? Yes—“Spin to Win”/raffle mechanics.
  • Consideration? The email conditions entries on turning in jobs that generate transcripts, and even awards double entries for longer (100+ page) work. Conditioning entry on performing revenue-generating work for the sponsor is classic consideration because the entrant must confer value to get a chance to win.

Because all three elements appear present, the promotion looks like an unlawful lottery unless it squarely qualifies as a legal sweepstakes (which requires a truly free, equal alternative means of entry) or falls into a charitable-raffle carve-out (which it does not—see §2). California’s Attorney General also educates consumers about illegal sweepstakes/raffles and invites reports of noncompliant promotions—underscoring the state’s enforcement posture.

Why “free AMOE” matters: In legitimate sweepstakes (prize + chance), promoters remove the “consideration” element by offering a No Purchase Necessary route—an Alternative Method of Entry (AMOE)—with equal odds and no extra hoops. California’s Business & Professions Code BPC § 17539.1 polices sweepstakes and contest practices and requires clear disclosures; courts and enforcers look to whether there’s a genuine free path to entry and whether the paid/effort-based path has any advantage.

The email you shared includes no AMOE—only entries earned by turning in transcript-producing jobs, and bonus entries contingent on page counts. That is consideration and likely converts the promotion from a sweepstakes into an illegal lottery under Penal Code §§319–320.

2) “But what about raffles?” California’s charitable-raffle exception is narrow and doesn’t apply to for-profit agencies

California carves out a limited space for charitable raffles—only for eligible nonprofit organizations—subject to strict conditions: annual registration with the Department of Justice, limits on how funds can be used (e.g., the well-known 90% to charitable purposes rule for standard raffles), and operational restrictions (including no sale/redemption over the internet). CA Penal Code PEN § 320.5.

The DOJ’s raffle guidance makes clear: if participants must buy a ticket (or otherwise provide consideration) for a chance to win, you’re in the raffle/lottery zone—and only eligible nonprofits can run such raffles with registration and compliance. For-profit companies do not qualify.

Because the promotion here is run by a for-profit litigation support agency and appears to require work output to enter (no free entry path), it doesn’t fit the charitable-raffle exception at all.

3) California’s Business & Professions Code: sweepstakes/contest fairness and disclosure rules

Even when a promotion avoids “lottery” status via a free AMOE, California imposes additional fair-marketing and disclosure obligations under the Business & Professions Code. Sections 17539–17539.55 prohibit unfair sweepstakes practices, require clear “no purchase necessary” disclosures, and restrict deceptive claims and mechanisms (e.g., pay-per-call entries via 900 numbers without registration). CA Bus & Prof Code § 17539 (2024)

A compliant California sweepstakes typically includes:

  • No-purchase-necessary language prominently displayed.
  • A free, equal AMOE (e.g., mail-in entry) with substantially equal odds and no extra burdens.
  • Clear start/end dates (with time zone), eligibility, prize descriptions/values, odds, winner selection, tax responsibility, sponsor identity, and void where prohibited language.
  • Equal treatment of free and paid entries in winner selection—no multipliers for paid/effort entries that undermine equal odds.

The “Spin to Win” email lacks these consumer-protection staples. As written, it strongly suggests consideration (work) is required and even rewards more work with more chances—the opposite of equal-odds AMOE design. That combination risks violating both Penal Code (illegal lottery) and B&P Code (unfair sweepstakes practices). Justia Law+2Justia Law+2

Note: California’s legislature has recently doubled down on policing sweepstakes-style gaming, moving AB 831 to curb “online sweepstakes casinos.” While that bill targets a different sector, it signals a strict enforcement climate around chance-based promotions in general. CA Penal Code § 319 (2024).

4) The Court Reporters Board’s Professional Standards: restrictions on gifts & incentives that compromise impartiality

Separately from gambling/sweepstakes law, California court reporters and reporting businesses must follow the Court Reporters Board’s Professional Standards of Practice (Title 16, CCR §2475). Violations can result in discipline—including citation, suspension, or revocation. Cal. Code Regs. Tit. 16, § 2475.

Two provisions are especially relevant:

  • §2475(b)(7): Do not “enter into, arrange, or participate in a relationship that compromises the impartiality of the certified shorthand reporter, including… a relationship in which compensation for reporting services is based upon the outcome of the proceeding.” Although a raffle isn’t outcome-based, incentive schemes tied to volume/page counts can be argued to pressure speed over accuracy, undermining the duty of neutrality and record integrity. Cal. Code Regs. Tit. 16, § 2475.
  • §2475(b)(8): “Other than the receipt of compensation for reporting services, neither directly or indirectly give nor receive any gift, incentive, reward, or anything of value to or from any person or entity associated with a proceeding being reported,” subject to narrow exceptions (e.g., small-value items up to $100 aggregate per calendar year to/from specified categories such as attorneys and clients). The rule is broad: it applies to businesses that render shorthand reporting services and to licensees, and it covers both giving and receiving.

Here, the sponsor is a litigation-support/reporting services business; the participants are reporters performing those services. Both are “persons or entities associated with a proceeding being reported.” The program then offers prizes—cash rewards—as incentives for turning in transcript-producing jobs, with extra entries for high-page-count jobs.

That structure appears to be exactly the type of “gift, incentive, [or] reward” §2475(b)(8) prohibits—because it is in addition to compensation for reporting services and tied to the work. The regulation carves out compensation for services (your actual page rates/appearance fees), but not game-of-chance bonuses that reward volume. In short: even if the promotion were somehow made sweepstakes-compliant, §2475(b)(8) would still pose a separate professional-standards problem for both the agency and any licensee who participates.

California professional groups have repeatedly warned against “gift-driven” inducements in court reporting, emphasizing neutrality and limits (e.g., the long-standing $100 per year cap on gifts to/from parties connected to proceedings). This CCRA article by Early Langley is excellent.

A Pattern Repeating – From Steno in the City™ in Long Beach to Magna’s “Spin to Win”

The Magna promotion is not the first time court reporters in California have been pitched an unlawful lottery disguised as a “giveaway.” In April 2024, Shaunise Day, founder of Steno in the City™, hosted a Long Beach event where she offered a raffle drawing. Attendees could not enter freely; eligibility was tied to sign-ups and event participation, acts that carried clear value to the sponsor. Importantly, she never filed with the California Department of Justice as required for a raffle, and there was no free, alternative method of entry (AMOE).

At the time, I wrote that this structure was unlawful under Penal Code §§319–320 because all three lottery elements were present: Prize, Chance, and Consideration. A new label could not change the substance. The problem was not the word “raffle,” it was the absence of a free entry route and the requirement that participants give value to qualify.

Since that Long Beach event, Day has shifted her marketing language. Instead of advertising “raffles,” she now promotes “giveaway prizes.” Yet the mechanics remain unchanged. Participants are still required to provide value—by registering, signing up, or otherwise engaging with her enterprise—to be entered. There is still no AMOE. As consumer-protection regulators have long made clear, the law doesn’t care what you call it. If consideration is required, you are running a lottery. And unless you are a registered nonprofit under DOJ supervision, that lottery is illegal in California.

Magna’s “Spin to Win” wheel follows the same script. Court reporters are told they can only earn entries by turning in transcript-producing jobs, with extra entries awarded for 100+ page transcripts. Just like Steno in the City™, Magna has simply substituted a different gimmick—“spin the wheel” instead of “raffle ticket”—but the underlying elements are identical. In both cases:

  • Prize: Cash payouts to winners.
  • Chance: Random drawing or wheel spin.
  • Consideration: The requirement of work, sign-ups, or participation of value to the sponsor.

This is why the continuity matters. These are not isolated missteps. They reveal a recurring tactic in our industry: disguising illegal lotteries as “giveaways,” hoping that a playful label will obscure the legal defects. But California law is explicit—what counts is the substance, not the marketing spin.

And this isn’t just a California problem. Most states apply the same three-element test—Prize, Chance, Consideration—to determine whether something is an illegal lottery. Some jurisdictions go even further:

  • New York and Florida require sweepstakes with prizes above certain thresholds to be formally registered with state regulators.
  • Texas enforces strict charitable-raffle laws, mirroring California’s DOJ registration requirements, and does not permit for-profit companies to run raffles.
  • Across the board: if there is no free alternative method of entry (AMOE), regulators treat the promotion as an illegal lottery.

If regulators were to examine Magna’s wheel in 2025 alongside Steno in the City™’s raffle in 2024, they would see the same structural violation. And if they applied the rules of New York, Florida, Texas, or nearly any other state, the outcome would be no different: Prize + Chance + Consideration = illegal lottery.

5) Practical compliance playbook (if a company truly wants to run a lawful promotion in California)

The cleanest option: Don’t tie entries to work output, job submissions, page counts, or anything of value provided by reporters. If you offer a morale-building sweepstakes, separate it completely from revenue-generating conduct.

If they insist on running a drawing:

  1. Remove consideration
    • Offer a conspicuous No Purchase Necessary route with equal odds (e.g., a simple online or mail-in entry that is not more burdensome than a work-based route). Better yet, remove the work-based route entirely to avoid “dual path” complexities. BPC § 17539.1.
  2. End the page-count multipliers
    • “Double entries for 100+ pages” weaponizes consideration. Equalize odds or (preferably) make all entries free and one-per-person/day.
  3. Publish full Official Rules compliant with the B&P Code
    • Eligibility, start/stop (with time zone), prize details/ARV, winner selection, odds, tax responsibility, privacy terms, limitations/void jurisdiction, and sponsor identity. Avoid any 900-number mechanisms unless properly registered (rare today).
  4. Run a professional-standards check
    • Ensure the promotion does not conflict with 16 CCR §2475(b)(7)-(8) (no gifts/incentives tied to the work; no structure that could compromise neutrality). When in doubt, don’t incentivize transcript volume.
  5. Avoid “raffle” terminology
    • In California, “raffle” is a legal term mostly reserved to registered nonprofits under Penal Code §320.5. For-profits should avoid “raffle” frameworks entirely.

6) Bottom line for California reporters

  • Lottery law risk: As written, Prize + Chance + Work-based Entry (and multipliers) means the promotion looks like an illegal lottery under Penal Code §§319–320.
  • Sweepstakes law risk: There’s no “No Purchase Necessary” path, no AMOE, and no required disclosures—contrary to Business & Professions Code provisions governing sweepstakes/contests.
  • CRB professional-standards risk: 16 CCR §2475(b)(8) prohibits giving/receiving incentives beyond compensation to or from any person or entity associated with a proceeding—which includes your agency. The structure here appears to violate that rule, independent of gambling law issues. Cal. Code Regs. Tit. 16, § 2475.
  • Enforcement climate: California is actively tightening laws around sweepstakes-style gaming (e.g., AB 831 for online sweepstakes casinos), reflecting a strict posture toward chance-based promotions.

Practical advice: Until (and unless) the promoter publishes compliant Official Rules with a true free AMOE and re-tools the mechanic to avoid work-based consideration—and clears §2475(b)(8)—California reporters should not participate. If you wish, you can forward the promotion to the California Attorney General’s consumer protection unit for review of sweepstakes/lottery issues, and to the Court Reporters Board for a professional-standards inquiry. California DOJ

Key Sources (California)

** 9/29/2025 – Even after publishing the article and emailing Magna with the article, they still went ahead with it:

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Incontrovertible Record – Why a Stenographer’s Notes Still Reign Supreme

With all the talk about digital recordings, automated transcripts, and even artificial intelligence, it’s easy to overlook the one thing that has always stood firm in our courts: the stenographer’s notes. Taken in realtime on a specialized machine, they are the backbone of the record. They can’t be swayed, edited, or spun. They’re the unshakable line between order and confusion in the courtroom.

What follows is a closer look at why stenographers’ notes carry such weight—why they remain the one record that cannot be challenged, and why any attempt to sideline them puts the justice system at risk.

A Record That Cannot Be Shaken

Every courtroom, deposition, or hearing is a live performance of justice. Words are exchanged rapidly, arguments are layered, and multiple speakers often overlap. Amid the flurry of voices, one professional captures it all with precision: the stenographer.

Unlike a digital recording device, stenographers create an official written record contemporaneously with the spoken word. Their shorthand notes are not an interpretation, nor a suggestion—they are a verbatim capture. And because they are taken in realtime, they provide something technology cannot: certainty.

Attorneys, judges, and juries may disagree about what was said. Audio devices may distort. ASR engines may guess. But when questions arise, the stenographer’s notes speak with clarity. They are not subject to retroactive editing or manipulation. Once written, they remain a permanent account of history.

Notes That Withstand the Test of Time

A stenographer’s notes are more than scratch marks on a page or keystrokes on a machine. They are the legal equivalent of DNA—undeniable, original, and traceable back to the source.

Court reporters archive their notes for years, often decades, as required by statute or licensing boards. If a dispute arises long after the trial concludes, the reporter can return to those very notes and regenerate the record. That kind of permanence is unmatched by digital systems, which rely on servers, software updates, or corporate storage contracts that may vanish with mergers, bankruptcies, or data corruption.

The law depends on stability. Evidence may degrade, memories may fade, but stenographic notes remain as uncontroverted proof of what transpired.

Neutrality in the Face of Controversy

The stenographer’s notes are not the attorney’s notes, not the judge’s notes, and not the clerk’s notes. They belong to the neutral officer of the court whose only duty is to the record.

Because they remain neutral, stenographers serve as a safeguard in the most heated proceedings. In trials where accusations are flying and reputations are on the line, the record has to be exact. A recorder won’t step in when two lawyers argue over each other. An algorithm won’t stop a witness to clarify. But a stenographer will.

The result is a clean, impartial record that neither favors nor undermines any party. That neutrality is why courts across the United States continue to hold stenographers to licensing standards, ethical codes, and certification exams. The integrity of the system depends on the integrity of the record.

Why Digital Alternatives Fall Short

Proponents of digital recording and automated transcription argue that technology has advanced enough to replace human stenographers. But real-world experience paints a different picture.

  • Audio distortion: Courtrooms are not sound booths. Air conditioning hums, papers rustle, and attorneys speak over one another. A microphone cannot separate voices as the human ear can.
  • Accents and dialects: Automated systems notoriously struggle with regional speech, heavy accents, or specialized terminology—precisely the kind of language that often defines expert testimony.
  • Legal vocabulary: Terms like “voir dire,” “demurrer,” or “res ipsa loquitur” can confound software, creating transcripts riddled with errors.
  • Authenticity challenges: Digital files can be altered, spliced, or corrupted. Unlike stenographic notes, they do not carry the same weight of immutability in the face of appellate scrutiny.

Attorneys know this all too well. Many have abandoned machine-generated transcripts in frustration, returning to the reporter’s version as the only trustworthy record.

The Human Factor – When Skill Meets Accountability

A stenographer’s notes are not just accurate; they are accountable. Court reporters hold licenses, swear oaths, and face disciplinary action if they compromise the record. Their reputation is on the line every time they sit down at a machine.

This accountability extends beyond accuracy. Stenographers safeguard confidentiality, manage exhibits, and deliver certified transcripts that can alter the course of litigation. Their notes are admissible in appellate courts precisely because they come from a trained, neutral, and accountable professional.

Machines, by contrast, cannot be cross-examined. They cannot testify to chain of custody. They cannot defend their errors. When accuracy is questioned, only a stenographer can step forward and say: These are my notes. They are true and correct.

Lessons From the Courtroom

Real courtroom experiences show why stenographers’ notes remain indispensable. In one recent case, a judge leaned on AI-assisted translation to interpret a witness’s statement:

“I had — for 100,000, I had the credit in my account. And for $230,000, I took over the X note.”

The AI misinterpreted it as “four hundred thousand” instead of “one hundred thousand.” That error, left unchecked, could have changed the outcome of the case. Fortunately, the court reporter’s notes provided the correct translation and set the record straight. The moment underscored what every litigator already knows: when the record matters most, it’s the stenographer—not a machine—that keeps the truth intact.

Court history has already shown why stenographers’ notes stand as the final word. One California reporter was sanctioned by the Court Reporters Board (CRB) over a dispute involving a single expletive. During testimony, an attorney claimed he heard the witness use the F-word. The videographer’s microphone, clipped directly to the witness, picked it up. But the court reporter—who was not miked to the witness—never heard it, nor did opposing counsel. Her backup audio also failed to capture the word.

Under pressure from the agency and attorney, the reporter inserted the disputed word into her final transcript. When the accuracy of the record was challenged, the CRB stepped in and demanded her raw steno notes. Those notes did not contain the word. On that basis, the Board found her in violation, sanctioned her, and fined her.

The lesson was unmistakable: the steno notes are the record. Not the audio. Not the videographer’s feed. Not the memory of an attorney who thinks he heard something. The reporter’s notes alone carried the weight of truth.

Stories like these repeat daily in courtrooms across the country. The lesson is the same: the stenographer’s notes never lie.

Notes as a Symbol of Trust

Beyond the technical aspects, stenographic notes carry symbolic weight. They embody society’s demand for fairness. In an adversarial system, where each side seeks advantage, the record must stand above reproach.

That is why attorneys rise and say, “May the record reflect…” That is why appellate courts review transcripts line by line. That is why reporters are trained to interrupt if something is inaudible. The notes are not just writing; they are trust made tangible.

Protecting the Future of the Record

As courts face budget pressures and technology vendors lobby for shortcuts, the profession of stenography stands at a crossroads. Policymakers tempted by the promise of cost savings must ask: at what price?

Replacing stenographers with machines may appear efficient in the short term, but the long-term risks—mistrials, appeals, overturned verdicts—cost far more. A flawed record is not just inconvenient; it is a constitutional crisis. The right to a fair trial rests on the right to an accurate record.

The solution is not to discard stenography, but to modernize its integration—leveraging realtime feeds, cloud-secure transcript delivery, and AI-assisted tools without ever compromising the human note at the center of it all.

What About Voice Writing?

Voice writing is a recognized and certified method of capturing the record, and skilled voice writers can produce accurate transcripts. As a second-best option, it has value, especially in jurisdictions facing shortages of stenographers. But it is not equivalent to machine shorthand. Unlike steno notes, which create a verifiable, permanent record that can be audited line by line, voice writing depends on repetition into a mask, audio clarity, and speech-to-text software. When disputes arise, there are no raw steno notes to fall back on. And that distinction is precisely why stenography remains the gold standard.

The Record That Never Lies

In an era where misinformation spreads at the speed of a click and even video can be manipulated with deepfakes, the legal system requires a bedrock it can trust. That bedrock is the stenographer’s notes.

They are not infallible because stenographers are superhuman. They are uncontroverted because stenographers are trained, accountable, and bound to truth. They capture not only the words but the meaning, ensuring that justice has a voice that cannot be silenced or distorted.

So the next time someone asks why stenographers are still essential, the answer is simple: because their notes never lie.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Saving the Profession Isn’t a Runway Walk, It’s a Battlefield

For decades, stenographic court reporters have been the invisible backbone of the justice system—quietly capturing every word in trials, hearings, depositions, and arbitrations. Yet while the public imagines a tidy, orderly courtroom, those of us in the trenches know the truth: saving this profession is not a polished runway walk where everyone claps politely as we glide down the aisle in fashionable shoes. No, it’s a battlefield. And in this fight, our reputations, our livelihoods, and the very integrity of the record are at stake.

The Illusion of Glamour

Too many within our own ranks treat this fight as if it were about appearances—posting polished photos on social media, worrying more about how they look at the deposition table than what is happening to our profession behind closed doors. But a glossy picture doesn’t preserve due process. A designer handbag won’t prevent agencies from undercutting rates, lobbying legislatures to pass damaging bills, or pushing ASR and digital recording as “equivalents.”

That mentality—the idea that keeping up appearances and staying polite will somehow protect us—is dangerous. Because while some are curating their image, others are strategically dismantling the very foundation of stenography.

When Criticism Becomes a Weapon

Not everyone applauds when uncomfortable truths are exposed. In fact, the louder we speak, the more resistance we encounter. When I raised concerns about conflicts of interest, backroom partnerships, and industry leaders protecting revenue streams instead of members, the response wasn’t thoughtful debate—it was personal attacks.

When uncomfortable truths are raised, the response is often not reasoned debate but deflection. Instead of addressing facts, critics sometimes resort to labeling or character attacks—words like “obsessed” or harsher terms meant to stigmatize. Such rhetoric does not engage with the issues; it merely seeks to discredit those who dare to expose them.

That tactic is telling. When people cannot counter the substance of an argument, they often resort to smearing the person who dared to make it.

Why Politeness Alone Won’t Work

Politeness has its place, but it has never saved a profession under siege. Playing nice while companies like For The Record install digital recording systems in courtrooms—at the request of judges and judicial councils—doesn’t stop the erosion of jobs.

Whispering about withheld copy sales, stolen orders, agencies pocketing derivative product revenue, or stagnating page rates doesn’t restore income. When transcript copies that once paid reporters a 70/30 split are now closer to 50/50—or worse—silence only ensures the erosion continues. Staying silent when legislators are fed false talking points about “shortages” doesn’t protect the record.

The battlefield requires confrontation. Not reckless attacks, but precise, fact-based truth-telling that cannot be ignored. The moment we accept that criticism—even unfair or cruel criticism—comes with the territory, we begin to fight from a position of strength.

The Battlefield Mentality

A battlefield requires strategy. It requires acknowledging that the opposition is real, organized, and relentless. Digital recording firms are not “just trying something new.” They are spending millions on lobbyists, PR campaigns, and partnerships designed to replace stenographers. State legislatures are not passing bills like AB 711 or SB 662 in a vacuum—they are being fed talking points by those who want to control transcripts and commodify the record.

If you think you can waltz through this profession as if it’s a fashion show, you will be blindsided. The battlefield requires armor, not heels. It requires us to stand shoulder to shoulder, not turn our backs because the truth makes us uncomfortable.

Honesty Is Our Weapon

The single most powerful weapon stenographers have is the truth. Our notes don’t lie. Our transcripts are certified. Our record is uncontroverted. That is the value we bring to the justice system. And yet, paradoxically, too many reporters are afraid to speak their own truth about what’s happening to the profession.

Why? Fear. Fear of retaliation. Fear of losing work. Fear of being labeled “difficult.” That fear has been weaponized against us. It’s why agencies continue to overstep. It’s why associations sometimes prioritize revenue over advocacy. It’s why individuals who raise red flags get targeted, instead of supported.

But silence is not neutral. Silence is surrender.

Turning Accusations Into Resolve

When critics accuse us of being “obsessed” for exposing conflicts of interest, they reveal more about themselves than about us. They want a quiet profession, one that doesn’t question decisions made behind closed doors. They want stenographers who walk the runway politely and avoid the mud of confrontation.

But obsession with truth is not a weakness—it is survival. In a battlefield, obsession with accuracy, transparency, and integrity is the only thing that keeps the line from breaking.

Power Circles and False Leadership

One of the most dangerous dynamics in our profession is the existence of entrenched power circles. Certain individuals and associations present themselves as protectors of stenography, yet their decisions and alliances have steered us toward the very crisis we now face. These are not leaders of vision; they are guardians of the status quo.

During their presidencies or board roles, some have held reckless meetings, pursued questionable alliances, and funneled member money toward lobbyists without meaningful results. Even worse, agency owners have been allowed to self-deal—using member dollars and association platforms to push legislation that benefits agencies at the expense of reporters. A prime example was the move to add agencies to the Certified Reporters Board registration system, with a “reporter in charge” provision. The original intent, we were told, was to give the CRB authority to hold agencies—especially out-of-state firms—accountable when they broke California laws, such as exceeding gift-giving limits. But instead of protecting reporters, this provision legitimized agencies within the regulatory framework and elevated their standing above individual license-holders. By being formally recognized and “on the list,” agencies gained a seat at the table that was never meant for them.

The original intent, we were told, was to give the CRB authority to hold agencies—especially out-of-state firms—accountable when they broke California laws, such as exceeding gift-giving limits. But instead of protecting reporters, this provision legitimized agencies within the regulatory framework and elevated their standing above individual license-holders. By being formally recognized and “on the list,” agencies gained a seat at the table that was never meant for them.

What followed was not accountability, but opportunity for exploitation. Agencies could designate a single “reporter in charge” to check a compliance box, while continuing business practices that suppressed reporter pay, diverted copy sales, and controlled transcript distribution. This blurred the line between professional licensure and business interests—weakening the independence of reporters and giving agencies new leverage to shape the rules of the game.

Separately, decisions around a widely attended town hall on July 21, 2018 helped give traction to a misreading of CCP §2093(a)—the so-called “notary loophole”—by treating a notary’s oath as a substitute for a CSR’s authority to take testimony and certify the record. The result was confusion and reporter-free depositions gaining legitimacy. When concerns were raised afterward, responsibility was deflected rather than owned, and accountability gave way to blame-shifting. Finger-pointing replaces responsibility, and those who raise legitimate concerns are smeared, sidelined, or painted as “troublemakers.”

This cycle has repeated for years. Figures are propped up at conventions as “experts” and given microphones to reinforce their own narratives, while grassroots voices are silenced. Leadership that is motivated by ego or image rather than service is not leadership at all—it is one of the primary reasons we find ourselves on this battlefield today.

If stenography is to survive, these power circles must be shaken. Real leadership means putting the reporter and the record above revenue and reputation. It means protecting the frontline, not cozying up to the very forces dismantling it.

Case Study – Agencies on Court Forms and Erosion of Accountability

Recently, the L.A. Superior Court unveiled a revised “Order Appointing Court Approved Reporter as Official Reporter Pro Tempore” form that now requires agency information, even when the reporter is already on the court’s approved list.

This seemingly small procedural tweak carries outsized implications. By asking for agency details on a form directly tied to the responsibility for the record, the court is implicitly granting agencies a role they were never intended to hold. It blurs the line between the reporter’s legal duty to maintain accuracy, certification, timeliness, and the agency’s purely administrative role (scheduling, billing, copy work).

That blurring is dangerous. It sows confusion over who is accountable when issues arise. An attorney or party might route a question to the agency rather than the reporter, delaying response or causing miscommunication. In appellate review, the chain of custody and responsibility could be contested—did the reporter certify? Did the agency play a role? Courts are not built for that ambiguity.

If a court is genuinely worried about accessibility or communication, the solution lies in improving how reporters are reached: direct phone or email entries in approved-reporter lists, up-to-date directories, or a court-managed messaging system—not folding agencies into official legal forms.

This case proves how the battlefield extends beyond salary and contracts: the battleground now includes procedural legitimacy and the definition of who legally “owns” the record. and contracts. The battleground now includes procedural legitimacy and the definition of who legally “owns” the record.

What Real Leadership Looks Like

Leadership in this battlefield is not about being liked. It’s about being willing to take the hits so that the truth has a voice. That doesn’t mean everyone must become a public crusader. But it does mean everyone must recognize the reality of the fight and contribute.

Some may educate attorneys about the risks of ASR transcripts. Others may refuse jobs with firms that substitute digital recorders. Still others may share articles, testimonies, or firsthand experiences that chip away at the false narratives. Leadership isn’t always on a stage—it’s in the daily choices that either strengthen or weaken our collective defense.

A Call to Courage

Saving the profession means choosing courage over comfort. It means recognizing that while you may want to avoid conflict, the conflict is already here. Agencies have declared it. Legislators are debating it. Tech companies are capitalizing on it. Pretending the battlefield isn’t real doesn’t make it disappear.

When you’re standing in a war zone, the person adjusting their outfit while the enemy advances is not helping. The one who digs in, who calls out warnings, who rallies the troops—whether popular or not—that’s the one who gives the rest of us a fighting chance.

The Battlefield Is Worth It

This fight is exhausting. It takes a toll. But it’s worth it. Because what’s at stake isn’t just a profession—it’s the integrity of the judicial record. It’s the rights of litigants who deserve accuracy, impartiality, and protection from manipulated transcripts. It’s the future of students entering our schools with hope. It’s the livelihood of thousands of skilled professionals who have dedicated their lives to a craft that cannot be replicated by machines.

So no, saving stenography isn’t a runway walk. It’s a battlefield. And the only way we win is if more of us accept that reality, strap on our armor, and fight together.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Martyrs and Pretenders – The Cost of False Narratives in Court Reporting

Martyrdom has always carried a deep weight in history. A true martyr does not choose their role; it is thrust upon them. They are targeted, silenced, or even killed because of what they represent — and in that sacrifice, they become larger than themselves.

The recent outpouring of grief for Charlie Kirk showed the unmistakable power of true martyrdom. “He was killed because his words made a difference, because he was showing people the light, and he was killed by the dark,” said Elon Musk. His assassination sent shockwaves through political movements worldwide. Millions filled the streets, crowds so massive that aerial shots looked like seas of humanity flowing through London. The grief was authentic, the loss undeniable, the story unshakable. A true martyr doesn’t need to build their own narrative — it is written by the people left behind.

Contrast that with what we are seeing in our profession today. Instead of authentic sacrifice, we see individuals attempting to manufacture martyrdom — positioning themselves as victims of “attacks” whenever they are questioned, hiding profit-seeking ventures behind the language of service, and framing criticism as harassment.

** Some readers reacted strongly to my mention of Charlie Kirk. To be clear: I don’t have personal views about him — I didn’t even know who he was until the news of his assassination. The point isn’t about Charlie himself. The point is about the difference between true martyrdom — where someone gives everything for a cause — and the performance of martyrdom, where people claim persecution to elevate themselves.

In case you don’t like that reference, here’s a list of historical and modern figures widely regarded as true martyrs (religious, political, and social justice), any of whom could be substituted to make the point: Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Joan of Arc, Socrates, Oscar Romero, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Malcolm X, Abraham Lincoln.

The example is interchangeable; the message is the same: true martyrdom cannot be faked.

Religious & Classical Martyrs

  • Jesus of Nazareth – executed for his teachings, seen as the central Christian martyr.
  • Joan of Arc – burned at the stake for her visions and role in the French resistance to English rule.
  • Socrates – executed in Athens for challenging authority and corrupting the youth with philosophical inquiry.

Political & Social Martyrs

  • Mahatma Gandhi – assassinated for his nonviolent resistance against British colonial rule.
  • Martin Luther King Jr. – assassinated for leading the Civil Rights Movement in the U.S.
  • Malcolm X – assassinated for his activism and evolving positions on race and justice.
  • Abraham Lincoln – assassinated after leading the U.S. through the Civil War and ending slavery.

Human Rights & Resistance Martyrs

  • Oscar Romero – Archbishop of El Salvador, assassinated while saying Mass for condemning government violence.
  • Dietrich Bonhoeffer – executed by the Nazis for resisting Hitler’s regime.
  • Berta Cáceres – Honduran environmental activist assassinated for defending Indigenous land rights.

The takeaway: We don’t need Charlie Kirk’s name to make the point. If you don’t like the CK reference, then you could drop in MLK, Joan of Arc, Gandhi, or Socrates and the analogy would still stand — because the real contrast is between those who give their lives for a cause, versus those who play the victim for personal gain.

Manufactured Martyrdom

An outsider to the profession, for example, has cultivated an image of being persecuted, misunderstood, or unfairly targeted. But let’s be clear: she is not a reporter. She is not laying down her career or sacrificing her livelihood for the profession. Instead, her platform is built on monetizing the goodwill of working reporters. Sponsorships, donations, “giveaways,” and events are branded as if they were non-profit, but the benefit flows to her business.

When legitimate questions are raised about financial transparency, organizational filings, or the use of volunteer labor, the response is not accountability — it’s performance. It’s reframing oversight as an “attack.” It’s cultivating sympathy by casting herself as the lone underdog standing against bullies. In other words: a false martyrdom narrative.

Why It Matters

The danger here isn’t just optics. Manufactured martyrdom draws energy, money, and attention away from real problems and real solutions. Instead of accountability, we get personality politics. Instead of supporting students, associations, and schools directly, we see resources funneled into vanity projects.

And worse — reporters who raise concerns are labeled as “harassers” or “liars.” Legitimate whistleblowing becomes distorted as cruelty. The focus shifts from what’s true to who’s loudest. That’s not just unhelpful — it’s corrosive to the profession.

The Real Martyrs in Reporting

Our real martyrs don’t hold raffles or sell sponsorship packages. They don’t manufacture victimhood. They are the working reporters who sit in courtrooms every day under crushing shortages, delivering transcripts at 2:00 a.m. They are the students writing through tears, clawing their way toward licensure while balancing jobs and debt. They are the small schools keeping their doors open against impossible odds, only to see their students lured away.

These are the people sacrificing. These are the people shouldering the burden of our profession’s survival.

Learning the Difference

When Charlie Kirk was assassinated, the world knew it immediately because the people themselves proclaimed it. No PR campaign was needed. No reframing of criticism was required. The grief was real, and the story told itself.

When someone has to constantly remind you they are a victim, when they have to brand themselves as a martyr to hold onto power or credibility, it’s a sign that the opposite is true. False martyrs demand recognition; true martyrs are recognized without asking.

A Call to Our Profession

Court reporters must learn to hear the difference. We cannot afford to be distracted by personality cults or manipulated into propping up false narratives. Our associations must hold speakers and leaders accountable. Our schools must protect their students. And our reporters must stand with each other — not against each other — when the record is at stake.

True martyrdom is tragic. False martyrdom is corrosive. Let’s not confuse the two.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

AI Transcripts vs. Human Court Reporters & Why the Record Still Needs a Person

Every few years, a new wave of technology sweeps through the legal profession and a chorus of optimists predict the end of stenography. I’ve heard it for two decades in courtrooms from San Diego to Sacramento. First it was digital recorders. Then came automated speech recognition (ASR). Today the buzzword is “AI.”

The argument is always the same – machines are faster, cheaper, and soon will be good enough to replace trained reporters. But what I have seen in courtrooms across California tells a very different story. And what the data shows from Stanford and the National Court Reporters Association (NCRA) backs it up – replacing certified reporters with software is not just risky — it undermines accuracy, fairness, and public trust.

What the Data Says

In 2020, Stanford researchers (Koenecke et al.) tested five major ASR platforms from Amazon, Apple, Google, IBM, and Microsoft. The results were alarming: these systems made twice as many errors transcribing Black speakers as white speakers, with error rates averaging 35% compared to 19%. Those aren’t harmless typos. In a courtroom, “I did not do it” rendered as “I did do it” changes the trajectory of a case.

The NCRA, in its 2023 white paper “Emerging Ethical and Legal Issues Related to the Use of Artificial Intelligence (AI), Automatic Speech Recognition (ASR), Voice Cloning, and Digital Audio Recording of Legal Proceedings,” issued clear warnings. ASR fails most visibly in multi-speaker environments, with cross-talk, overlapping testimony, and technical terminology. The paper highlights risks including bias, misattribution of speakers, privacy concerns, and the absence of any clear chain of custody for digital records.

Taken together, the Stanford data and NCRA’s analysis confirm what reporters already know: ASR isn’t courtroom-ready for official records.

What I’ve Seen in Courtrooms

In one trial, a judge asked me to read back a disputed exchange after her courtroom ASR system produced something entirely different from what was actually said. My stenographic notes matched the attorneys’ memory word for word. The machine’s transcript didn’t. It was confident — and it was wrong.

In depositions, especially on Zoom, I’ve seen a new trend emerge. Attorneys sometimes run ASR software in the background, hoping to generate their own transcript. Reporters often catch them and stop it, but some slip through. In those cases, the reporter has been replaced by a videographer or a notary — neither authorized as a deposition officer. The Moment the Notary Loophole Was Unleashed in a Firestorm documents how many of these “reporter-free” depositions have proliferated under a legal interpretation that substitutes oath-administering notaries for stenographers, putting the admissibility and reliability of these transcripts at risk. The result is an uncertified record that’s vulnerable to hearsay objections and ethical challenges.

These are not minor glitches. They are structural failures that show why legal proceedings require certified human oversight.

What To Tell the AI Doomsayers

The legal world has no shortage of AI evangelists. They argue that reporters are expensive, that machines never call in sick, and that the public wants efficiency above all else.

Here is what to tell the AI doomsayers:

  • Look at the data. Stanford proved racial bias persists in every major ASR system.
  • Listen to the profession. The NCRA’s national white paper warns of accuracy, custody, and ethics failures.
  • Watch the courtroom. Judges and attorneys turn to certified transcripts when the stakes are high.

Court reporters — whether machine or voice stenographers — are trained professionals who stop proceedings to clarify, who ask speakers to repeat, and who certify the transcript under penalty of perjury. No software program takes an oath.

The Hawk’s Eye

I tell my students that a reporter is like a hawk circling above the courtroom. We see every movement, every shift in tone, every layered interruption. A microphone, whether attached to an ASR engine or a digital recorder, only collects noise. Hawks hunt meaning. Microphones don’t.

That difference matters. In appeals, in cross-examination, in the record that outlives the trial itself, accuracy is not negotiable.

The Hearsay Problem

Under the rules of evidence, an uncertified transcript produced by ASR or digital recording is not admissible in court. It is hearsay: an out-of-court “statement” generated by a machine, with no human declarant to swear to its accuracy.

By contrast, a certified transcript produced by a licensed stenographer is not hearsay. The reporter is present in the proceeding, is an officer of the court, and signs under penalty of perjury that the transcript is a true and correct record. That certification converts the transcript from hearsay into admissible evidence.

I’ve seen this play out in practice. Attorneys have tried to use “raw” ASR output to impeach a witness. The judge rejected it outright: it was hearsay, unreliable, and unsigned. But when I produced the certified transcript, it was admitted without hesitation.

This is a distinction no software company can erase. Until AI can stand as a legal declarant — which it cannot — uncertified transcripts remain inadmissible.

The Legal Stakes

Consider how transcripts are used. They form the backbone of appellate review. They are quoted back to witnesses in deposition impeachment. They anchor motions for summary judgment. A mistranscribed word isn’t just an error — it can shift the course of litigation.

Judges know this. In California, I’ve had judges explicitly ask for my read-back after their ASR feed displayed something entirely different from what was spoken. They may be intrigued by the promise of automation, but when accuracy is questioned, they fall back on the human reporter. Every time.

Why It Matters

The debate is not “AI versus humans.” It is about standards. Trained stenographers, whether working on a machine or by voice, undergo years of study, thousands of practice hours, and licensing examinations. We are regulated professionals. We understand the difference between “I know” and “I no.”

ASR cannot yet deliver that level of contextual understanding. And until it can — without bias, without error, without loss of custody — the official record belongs in human hands.

The Bottom Line

Stanford’s numbers, NCRA’s warnings, and decades of courtroom experience converge on the same point: technology is a tool, not a replacement. Reporters generate realtime feeds and rough transcripts directly from their stenographic notes — not from machine output. Accuracy flows from the reporter’s own record, which is then refined and certified. That’s why attorneys and judges continue to rely on human reporters: the transcript originates with a trained officer of the court, not with a fallible algorithm. Judges may experiment with AI summaries. But the certified transcript, the one that carries the weight of law, still requires a reporter’s signature.

Until a machine can raise its right hand and swear to accuracy under penalty of perjury, court reporters remain indispensable.

That’s what to tell the AI doomsayers.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

The Stars That Sing – Hearing the Truth in Court Reporting

In the mid-20th century, Laurens van der Post sat with Bushmen around a fire in the Kalahari Desert. In conversation, he admitted he could not hear the stars. At first, they laughed, assuming he was joking. How could someone fail to hear the stars, which to them sang as clearly as birds at dawn or the rush of wind? But when they realized he was serious, their laughter fell away. Their faces turned solemn. To them, this was no eccentricity—it was a grave affliction, a disconnection from the heartbeat of existence itself.

For the Bushmen, nature was never silent. It was alive, filled with voices. To be deaf to those voices was a true poverty, a deeper loss than lacking material possessions. For van der Post, raised in modern Europe, the cosmos was distant, mechanized, stripped of its voices by industrial progress and scientific detachment.

That story lingers because it forces us to ask: what have we traded away? The Bushmen’s sorrow was not ridicule, but compassion. They pitied van der Post’s inability to hear the music of creation. It made them realize how impoverished a person could be, not from hunger or thirst, but from losing the connection to truth itself.

Our Profession’s Deafness to the Stars

I often feel this way when I look at my fellow court reporters and our profession at large. The stars sing clearly to me—the truth rings out with undeniable clarity. I see the ways our leaders have steered us astray, how they have cloaked failure in spin, and how accountability has been traded for ego, for careerism, for alliances that serve individuals, rather than the profession.

And yet, when I try to voice these truths, the reaction is not recognition, but dismissal. Laughter, even ridicule. My colleagues treat the warnings as exaggerations or personal grievances. Like van der Post among the Bushmen, I admit what I see—that the record is endangered, that our pipeline of students is compromised, that our associations enable exploitation—and others look at me as if I were imagining it.

But the sorrow is real. Just as the Bushmen pitied van der Post for not hearing the stars, I pity a profession that cannot, or will not, hear the voices calling out around us: the schools who report losing students, the courts shifting toward digital systems, the legislators stripping away protections, the public growing unaware of what stenography even means.

What We Lose When We Stop Listening

When we lose our ability to hear the stars—the truths that guide us—we lose more than professional standing. We lose the heartbeat of what makes us who we are. We stop being guardians of the record and become passive employees, waiting for others to define our worth.

The Bushmen never doubted the stars sang. Their culture preserved that connection. But in our profession, too many accept the silence. They accept that “progress” means outsourcing accuracy to machines, that leadership means backroom deals and polished press releases, that truth is optional if it’s inconvenient.

This is the illness that afflicts us—not a lack of skill, but a deafness to the truth. And unlike the Bushmen, who grieved when one man could not hear, in our profession the majority seem unable—or unwilling—to listen.

When Associations Go Deaf

The Bushmen pitied van der Post for being unable to hear the stars. I pity our profession for associations that refuse to hear the truth even when it is placed right in front of them.

The notary loophole was the first breach — a failure so profound it handed away one of our profession’s greatest protections. That was not an accident; it was a collapse of duty.

And yet it didn’t stop there. The same associations invited a wolf into the henhouse by giving a platform to individuals who would later exploit that trust. What followed was not inspiration but exploitation: students drawn away, confidence in schools undermined, and professional spaces used for purposes that served private interests rather than the collective good.

And this isn’t limited to one state or one association. Across the country, we’ve seen partnerships and events that blur the line between professional advocacy and private gain, raising real questions about transparency, compliance, and whose interests are truly being served.

At its core, this isn’t about personalities or programs. It’s about whether associations safeguard their members or expose them to harm. When trust is compromised, the entire profession suffers. But perhaps the greater betrayal is silence. Associations that refuse to admit what happened, that take no accountability when schools themselves report the harm, are not protecting students or reporters. They are protecting themselves.

The Bushmen knew that to lose the song of the stars was to lose one’s connection to truth itself. Our associations risk that same affliction. The tragedy is not only in what was done, but in the refusal to acknowledge it. Until accountability is demanded and delivered, the stars will keep singing — but our leaders will remain deaf.

Hearing Again

The question is, can we learn to hear again? Can we strip away the noise of politics and ego and tune ourselves back to the truth? It is not complicated. The stars sing through every trial transcript where accuracy changes lives, through every judge who depends on our readbacks, through every student who fights their way to licensure.

If we listen, we will recognize that leadership without accountability is hollow, that associations without transparency are dangerous, that progress without preservation is not progress at all.

The Bushmen knew that to lose the song of the stars was to lose one’s connection to truth itself. Our associations risk that same affliction. The real tragedy is not only in what was done — the notary loophole, the poaching of students, the silence that followed — but in the refusal to acknowledge it. It is time for our associations to hear the stars, and to be held accountable.

The true poverty in our profession will not be the loss of money, or status, or even jobs. The true poverty will come if we lose our ability to hear the truth — if we let ourselves become deaf to the song that has always guided us: the sacred duty of protecting the record.

And yet, there is hope. The StenoImperium blog now reaches over 5,300 subscribers, with the list growing every day. Messages of appreciation flow in, reminding me that there are truth-seekers everywhere. One reporter, Renée Bencich, wrote: “I don’t know who you are, but I want to tell you I appreciate every single one of your very thorough emails… You are doing the entire profession a service by not sugarcoating anything.”

Others echo the same: “Excellent article. Every reporter should have a copy of this” (Karla Rocha). “I love your column” (Tara Sandford). “I am enjoying your articles immensely. This was one of your best” (Randi Strumlauf), referring to the Notary Loophole article.

I write for all of you — the reporters who still hear the stars, who refuse to accept silence, who know that truth is our profession’s lifeblood. And as long as we listen together, there is still a chance to protect it.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

This article reflects my perspective and analysis as a court reporter and eyewitness. It is not legal advice, nor is it intended to substitute for the advice of an attorney.

This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

When Recruitment Crosses the Line – Court Reporting Schools Push Back After DRA Event

Court reporting students have long benefited from attending professional association events like those hosted by the Deposition Reporters Association (DRA) and the California Court Reporters Association (CCRA). These gatherings connect students with mentors, provide industry insight, and cultivate professional identity. But recent developments have caused several California schools to rethink whether their students should be attending.

The Trigger – Recruitment Masquerading as Mentorship

At a recent DRA event (CalDRA’s Annual Convention in Ventura, CA, from May 2nd to May 4th, 2025), Allie Hall — who has been active in various training programs, and is a licensed California CSR, No. 14556, on 9/19/2023, under Allison Hall, but with an address in Oklahoma — was invited as a keynote speaker. According to multiple schools, what should have been an educational opportunity quickly turned into a recruitment drive. Students were reportedly approached directly, encouraged to abandon their programs, and solicited to enroll in Hall’s offerings instead.

One school confirmed that a student—already writing at 200 words per minute and on the cusp of sitting for the CSR exam—was persuaded to walk away from their program. In the view of that school, this was not mentorship; it was poaching.

Digital Overreach – Accessing Student Networks

The concerns didn’t stop there. In a June 10, 2025 text message, a school president told me:

“She actually recruited in our Teams. She had two students at 180 wpm create a list of our students and is still trying to recruit them with lies.”

That same president added:

“After losing students to Allie Hall after the DRA conference, I am not excited about our students going to any conventions!”

These educators told me that Allie Hall allegedly gained access to a school-managed Teams account through students and used it to identify and solicit other students. Educators I’ve spoken to view this as crossing an ethical line.

The Fallout – Schools Drawing the Line

The immediate effect has been schools closing ranks. Two schools with strong ties to DRA and CCRA say they lost multiple students directly after the event. Both have since agreed: their students will no longer be permitted to attend these association gatherings.

This is not a decision made lightly. Associations rely on student attendance for vitality and future membership. But when a professional space becomes an open market for recruitment, schools feel they must prioritize protecting their students.

A Troubled Track Record

Hall’s professional record has also raised questions. She has taught at multiple programs, many of which ultimately closed. To date, I have not seen evidence that a student has completed her program from start to finish and then passed the CSR. If a student has reached licensure, it has typically been after beginning at another school.

One student who had started in Hall’s program later reported that when she left, Hall allegedly confronted her and said:

“You will never make it as a CSR if you leave my program.”

That student, according to a prominent court reporter guiding the student, later went on to thrive under different instruction.

The Larger Concern – Associations Caught in the Middle

The fallout has put DRA and CCRA in an uncomfortable position. These organizations depend on volunteer speakers and diverse programming, but they also bear responsibility for ensuring students are not targeted as sales leads. Schools, meanwhile, have the power to deny access—leaving students stuck between professional isolation and potential exploitation.

The situation has sparked a broader debate: Should associations more carefully vet who is given a platform? And at what point does recruitment at professional events become predatory rather than opportunistic?

On September 19, CCRA even announced with pride that they now have 500 student members. That figure shows just how much associations rely on student participation for their vitality and future membership. But if schools begin pulling their students out of these spaces, those numbers will quickly shrink — and with them, the associations’ credibility as student advocates.

Protecting Students, Protecting the Profession

Court reporting students represent the fragile future of the profession. They invest years of training, financial resources, and mental grit to chase the elusive CSR license. To have that journey disrupted by recruitment tactics or questionable encouragement does lasting damage—not only to the student but to the schools and the profession’s pipeline as a whole.

For schools, the decision to shield students from association events may feel drastic, but many see it as necessary. For associations, the message is clear: if you want students in the room, you must make sure the room is safe for them.

~ The truth is the best defense.

* Editor’s Note (Sept. 19, 2025, 8:44 a.m.): An earlier version of this article incorrectly stated that Allie Hall is not a licensed California CSR. She is licensed (CSR No. 14556, issued Sept. 19, 2023, under Allison Hall, with an address in Oklahoma). This article was corrected within 23 minutes of posting. In addition, an earlier version mistakenly mixed up the names of Kimberly D’Urso and Kelly Bryce Shainline. We regret these errors. These corrections do not change the substance of the article, which reflects concerns raised by schools about student recruitment at professional events. The correction does not change the concerns raised by schools about recruitment practices.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

How Zoom Depositions, Consent Laws, and Competing Recordings Are a Growing Dilemma for Court Reporters

The modern legal landscape has been reshaped by remote technology. Zoom depositions (affectionately called “Zepos” by court reporters) are now routine, saving attorneys time and money. Yet with convenience comes complication, particularly when it comes to recording. A recent real-world scenario highlights the clash between technology, ethics, and state law — and why court reporters are often caught in the middle.

The Incident – Two Recordings, One Deposition

A court reporter logged into Zoom, ready to cover a deposition. Before swearing in the witness, opposing counsel asked: “You’re making a recording too, right?” The reporter clarified: “Yes, but it is strictly work product. I will not release it, unless ordered by the court.”

Then came the surprise: opposing counsel announced that he was also recording the deposition “for note-taking purposes.” Immediately, tensions rose.

The attending attorney objected: “I do not consent to that.” Florida is a two-party consent state, meaning both parties must agree before recording any private communication. Opposing counsel responded that if everyone consents to the reporter’s recording, that consent extends to his own. The reporter disagreed, explaining that multiple recordings undermine the integrity of the record. Ultimately, the deposition was cancelled.

The question left lingering: Who was right?

The Role of the Court Reporter’s Backup Recording

Court reporters frequently create their own audio backup. It is not the official record but a tool — a safeguard to double-check testimony against steno notes. In most states, that audio is considered the reporter’s work product, protected from disclosure unless a judge orders otherwise.

Why is this so important? Because the reporter’s recording exists solely to protect transcript accuracy. It is deleted after the transcript is certified and delivered, unlike recordings made by attorneys or third parties that could be copied, stored, or even run through artificial intelligence tools without any safeguard.

When a lawyer records a deposition independently, they often justify it as “note-taking.” But that secondary file introduces risks:

  • Data security – Was the recording made over unsecured Wi-Fi? Could confidential testimony leak?
  • AI use – Will it be uploaded into transcription or summarization software that keeps voiceprints indefinitely?
  • Record integrity – If multiple recordings exist, disputes may arise about which is accurate.

The reporter, as the neutral officer of the court, is charged with protecting the integrity of the record. Competing recordings blur that line.

Consent Laws – Whose Rules Apply?

Another wrinkle in this scenario is consent. The United States has a patchwork of recording laws. Florida, for example, is indeed a two-party consent state. Both participants must agree before recording any private communication. Other states, like New York, require only one party’s consent.

But what happens when a deposition is remote? Imagine a witness in New York, an attorney in Florida, and a reporter in California. Which law governs? Courts have wrestled with this question, and answers vary. Some argue the law of the witness’s physical location controls. Others contend that any participant’s state laws could apply. The safest course? Assume the strictest consent rules apply and obtain agreement from all parties on the record.

Professional Boundaries and the Reporter’s Obligation

Court reporters often feel pressure to “go along” with attorneys to avoid confrontation. But our duty is not to please one side; it is to protect the integrity of the record and the process.

By halting the deposition when objections were raised, the reporter in this case demonstrated sound judgment. Proceeding would have risked creating a transcript vulnerable to later challenge — or worse, ethical scrutiny of the reporter’s role.

That decision undoubtedly wasted time and money for the attorneys involved, but the long-term consequences of proceeding under objection could have been far more costly.

Ethical and Practical Concerns for Attorneys

Attorneys also face risks when allowing extra recordings:

  • Admissibility: A secondary recording could later be introduced in court, raising chain-of-custody issues.
  • Confidentiality: Sensitive testimony could be compromised if recordings are not safeguarded.
  • Professional responsibility: Attorneys are bound by ethical duties of client confidentiality. Storing raw audio on unsecured devices or uploading it to consumer transcription software could breach those duties.

It is not uncommon to hear attorneys say, “Don’t worry, I’m still ordering the transcript.” But purchasing the transcript does not erase the ethical or security problems created by an unauthorized recording.

Common Misconceptions

Several misconceptions came to light in the discussion surrounding this scenario:

  1. “If you consent to the reporter’s recording, you’ve consented to mine.”
    False. Consent is specific, not transferable. Agreeing to one recording does not equal agreeing to another, especially when controlled by different people.
  2. “Everyone knows Zoom is recording anyway.”
    Not true. Zoom only notifies participants if the host enables its recording function. Court reporters often use separate software that does not trigger the Zoom notification. Attorneys should never assume.
  3. “Florida has no rules; people record all the time.”
    This reflects the reality that violations are frequent, not that the law doesn’t exist. Consent laws remain enforceable regardless of how often they are ignored.
  4. “Canceling wastes money; you should just go forward.”
    That reasoning overlooks the long-term risks. A transcript tainted by unauthorized recording could end up unusable, forcing even greater expense.

Best Practices Going Forward

This incident highlights the need for clearer rules of the road. Until the profession or courts establish uniform standards, here are best practices for court reporters and attorneys alike:

  1. Set expectations in advance. Before the deposition, circulate a notice addressing whether the proceeding will be recorded and by whom.
  2. Clarify on the record. Begin every deposition with a statement identifying the reporter as the official recordkeeper and confirming that no other recordings will be made without consent.
  3. Understand state law. When in doubt, follow the strictest consent standard. If even one participant objects, halt the deposition until the issue is resolved.
  4. Protect work product. Reporters should treat backup audio as confidential and disclose only if compelled by law.
  5. Encourage attorney education. Many lawyers are unaware of these nuances. Professional associations and CLE courses should cover the ethics of remote depositions and recording.

When parties ask to make their own recordings during a deposition or court proceeding, it creates confusion and potential conflict. The court reporter’s role as the sole guardian of the record is well established, yet remote technology and accessibility requests have blurred those boundaries. The key question becomes: who, if anyone, has the authority to permit a secondary recording, and under what circumstances?

1. The Default Rule: Only the Reporter Is the Record

  • By law and by protocol, the court reporter is the sole creator and custodian of the official record.
  • Your backup audio, if you make one, is considered confidential work product and not a substitute for the transcript.
  • Parties (including attorneys) do not have the right to record proceedings for their own “note-taking.” Doing so without consent can violate state wiretap/consent laws, professional rules, and court protocols.

2. The Exception: Judicial Permission

  • A judge does have the authority to make orders that override the general prohibition, usually to accommodate a disability or an ADA request.
  • In those situations, it is the judge’s order, not the attorney’s choice, that authorizes the secondary recording.
  • This is a key protection for you as the reporter: it makes clear you are not “allowing” or “agreeing” to a second record — the court is ordering it.

3. Why Judicial Permission Is Essential

  • Legality: Without the judge’s explicit order, a party’s unilateral recording could run afoul of two-party consent laws in states like Florida, Pennsylvania, or California.
  • Protocol: Rules of court (and many state reporter boards) specify that no electronic recording may occur when a stenographer is present, except by order of the court.
  • Ethics & Neutrality: Allowing it without judicial authority could place the reporter in an adversarial position or expose you to a complaint.

4. Best Practice for Reporters

When a party requests permission to record:

  • Do not agree or refuse yourself. Instead, say: “As the court reporter, I cannot authorize another recording. If you wish to make your own record, that decision must come from the judge.”
  • If the judge orders it, note the order on the record: “Pursuant to the Court’s order, counsel will be permitted to make a secondary recording for note-taking purposes.”

5. Secondary Recordings Require Judicial Permission

When a party asks to make their own recording, the reporter cannot authorize it — that authority rests solely with the judge. By default, unauthorized recordings violate both protocol and, in many jurisdictions, state consent laws. The only legitimate exception occurs when the court expressly orders it, often as an accommodation. This ensures responsibility rests with the judge, while the reporter remains the neutral officer safeguarding the record.

Why This Matters

Depositions are not casual conversations; they are formal proceedings that may determine the outcome of a case. The integrity of the record is paramount. Introducing multiple recordings risks confusion, ethical breaches, and even violations of state law.

Court reporters, as officers of the court, must sometimes make unpopular calls — even to the point of halting proceedings. Doing so is not obstruction; it is professional duty. Attorneys, too, should recognize that convenience does not outweigh the legal and ethical frameworks that govern our work.

Remote technology has made depositions more efficient, but it has also blurred lines that were once clear. Until there is a definitive body of law or procedural rule, the safest course is caution, transparency, and deference to the reporter as the sole guardian of the record.

The Zoom deposition that never happened may feel like a waste of time, but it was actually a cautionary tale. The court reporter avoided the greater danger of producing a transcript vulnerable to challenge. Attorneys were reminded that consent laws matter, even online. And the profession was given yet another reason to push for clear, uniform standards on remote deposition recording.

The lesson? In the age of Zoom, integrity still trumps convenience. The record — and the role of the court reporter in protecting it — must remain sacrosanct.

Here’s a professional but firm script reporters can use when faced with attorneys or parties attempting to make their own recordings in Zoom depositions. It balances neutrality, authority, and professionalism.

Court Reporter Script for Unauthorized Recording in Zoom Depositions

Opening Clarification (before going on the record):

“Before we begin, I want to make clear that I am the official court reporter for this proceeding. I may make an audio backup, but that is strictly my confidential work product, used only to ensure transcript accuracy, and it will not be released except by court order.”

If an Attorney Announces They’re Recording:

“Counsel, I need to note for the record that only the court reporter is authorized to capture the record. Any additional recording requires the consent of all parties and may be restricted by state or federal law, depending on where participants are located. I cannot proceed if there are multiple recordings.”

If One Side Objects to the Recording:

“Since there is an objection, I cannot proceed under these circumstances. For the integrity of the record and to protect all parties, we must resolve this issue before moving forward. I recommend you confer off the record and, if necessary, seek a ruling or stipulation.”

If Pressed to Continue Anyway:

“As the neutral officer of the court, my duty is to protect the record. Proceeding while there is a dispute over unauthorized recording could compromise both the transcript and the admissibility of this proceeding. Unless all parties agree, I will need to suspend the deposition until the issue is resolved.”

If Asked About Legal Authority:

“My role is not to interpret the law, but to ensure the integrity of the official record. Consent laws vary by jurisdiction, and multiple recordings can create ethical and confidentiality concerns. I must abide by professional standards and board regulations, which direct me to suspend if there is a dispute.”

Closing Statement (if cancelling):

“For the record, this deposition is being suspended due to a disagreement over recording. I will await further instruction or court order before resuming.”

This script ensures you remain neutral, professional, and protective of the record, while putting the responsibility back on the attorneys to resolve the dispute.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

The content of this post is intended for informational and discussion purposes only. All opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are based on publicly available information, industry standards, and good-faith concerns about nonprofit governance and professional ethics. No part of this article is intended to defame, accuse, or misrepresent any individual or organization. Readers are encouraged to verify facts independently and to engage constructively in dialogue about leadership, transparency, and accountability in the court reporting profession.

  • The content on this blog represents the personal opinions, observations, and commentary of the author. It is intended for editorial and journalistic purposes and is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.
  • Nothing here constitutes legal advice. Readers are encouraged to review the facts and form independent conclusions.

***To unsubscribe, just smash that UNSUBSCRIBE button below — yes, the one that’s universally glued to the bottom of every newsletter ever created. It’s basically the “Exit” sign of the email world. You can’t miss it. It looks like this (brace yourself for the excitement):

Technology and Workplace Efficiency – The Court Reporter’s Competitive Edge

When the NCRA recently polled its members on which professional issues matter most, the clear leader was technology and workplace efficiency—garnering 37.2% of the vote. That number shouldn’t surprise anyone. Court reporters today are navigating an environment that demands speed, accuracy, adaptability, and resilience. At the center of that balancing act is technology: how we use it, how it supports (or hinders) our work, and how it secures the future of our profession.

Why Technology Matters More Than Ever

For decades, stenographers have been the living embodiment of real-time technology. Our machines, dictionaries, and translation software have been the gold standard for accuracy and speed. But the landscape has shifted. Courts, agencies, and law firms are increasingly experimenting with digital recording, automatic speech recognition (ASR), and AI-driven tools.

If court reporters don’t lead the conversation on technology, others will define it for us. The real question isn’t whether technology belongs in our profession—it already does. The question is whether we, as trained professionals, will leverage it to strengthen our position or allow it to erode our relevance.

Five Ways Technology Can Boost Efficiency

  1. Realtime Integration
    Realtime is no longer a novelty; it’s an expectation in many litigation settings. Reporters who provide clean, accurate realtime feeds directly into counsel’s laptops or trial presentation software elevate their value instantly. Investing in advanced CAT features, robust dictionaries, and customized macros pays dividends in both speed and reputation.
  2. Cloud-Based Storage and Backup
    Lost notes or corrupted hard drives used to be nightmare scenarios. With secure, encrypted cloud platforms, reporters can back up jobs instantly. This protects transcripts and work product while ensuring that no attorney has to hear the words, “I can’t deliver the record.”
  3. Productivity Apps and Shortcuts
    Efficiency is often found in small changes. Using task managers like Trello or Notion, automating invoice reminders, or creating templates for cover pages and certificates reduces wasted time. Even simple keyboard shortcuts for formatting in CAT software can cut hours from monthly workloads.
  4. Digital Collaboration
    Remote depositions and hybrid proceedings are here to stay. Mastering videoconference platforms, integrating realtime over Zoom or Teams, and managing exhibits through secure online tools makes a reporter indispensable. Attorneys often hire the person who makes their job easier—technology can help you be that person.
  5. AI: Supportive, Secure, and Reporter-Controlled
    Court reporters must never rely on outside voice-to-text engines for official recordmaking. Accuracy, confidentiality, and certification cannot be delegated. That said, Eclipse Boost is an exception because it runs locally on the reporter’s computer without using the live internet, ensuring security and control. Boost can quietly enhance realtime by assisting with translation, but always under the reporter’s direction. The reporter remains the arbiter of the verbatim record.

The Efficiency Dividend – More Time, More Money, Less Stress

Reporters who integrate technology into their daily practice report fewer late nights, lower stress, and stronger client loyalty. Efficiency means more transcripts delivered on time, fewer billing disputes, and the ability to take on more work without burning out.

And let’s not forget—time saved is time earned. Whether that translates into more billable hours, more personal time, or simply more peace of mind, efficiency is a direct investment in quality of life.

The Leadership Opportunity

The 37.2% poll result is a call to action: court reporters are hungry for guidance, training, and leadership on how to use technology without losing our professional identity. This is the NCRA’s opportunity—and ours individually—to push for:

  • Continuing education on new tools and workflows.
  • Standards for ethical, secure technology use.
  • Collective advocacy to remind attorneys and judges that human stenographers with the right tech tools are the only way to ensure an accurate, verifiable, and timely record.

Technology isn’t the enemy—it’s the amplifier. Used wisely, it makes us faster, sharper, and more irreplaceable than ever. Court reporters have always been at the forefront of innovation, from shorthand machines to realtime to digital exhibit handling. The next chapter is ours to write. Efficiency is not just about saving keystrokes; it’s about protecting our profession’s future while giving ourselves room to thrive.

StenoImperium
Court Reporting. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

Disclaimer

“This article includes analysis and commentary based on observed events, public records, and legal statutes.”

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