Every now and then I like to read through The Hagakure, which for those unfamiliar with the name, is a book of the samurai and cultural maxims of Yamamoto Tsumetomo collected sometime after 1719.

You might not think that a book of samurai aphorisms would offer much in the way of useful information, but for a writer, inspiration is usually as important as information and with a little thought, the Hagakure is loaded with inspiration. For example,

Throughout your life advance daily, becoming more skillful than yesterday, more skillful than today. This is never-ending.

See, I feel inspired already! Like the samurai, as writers we should be constantly practicing and perfecting our craft.

And there aren't just "general interest" nuggets of inspiration in there either, some of the maxims and aphorisms apply directly to writing.

When delivering something like an important letter or other written materials, grasp it firmly in your hand as you go and do not release it once, but hand it over directly to the recipient

Okay, so the advent of e-mail (not to mention, you know, the postal service) has rendered the literal side of this one moot, but the spirit of this maxim is still very much alive. When we submit manuscripts to magazine editors or acquisition editors at publishing houses we have to do so deliberately. Even, gasp, fearlessly. And that means courageously writing the best, most effective cover or query letter possible, slavishly formatting the manuscript to the market's specifications, and pounding out a half dozen different synopsis of different lengths and outlines of varying detail level, so we are always ready for an editorial request.

But this spirit of deliberation and confidence isn't relegated solely to submitting material. No. It's directly related to how we write that material we are submitting.

Let me give you a real-world example.

I was first-reading a friend's opening novel chapters last week and found myself perplexed by the first chapter in which he describes the assassination of President McKinley. But, unlike the meat of his story in the chapters to follow, this first bit read very differently.

It read as if he was really worried about making a factual error, which in and of itself is a reasonable concern.

But, this fear translated into a slow moving and timid narrative such that it was impossible to believe that the writer trusted himself. And if you can't get a reader to buy into your narrative for that reason, you've failed.

I sent back my critique and ended with the salutation – write fearlessly.

There is a time and place for your so-called "inner critic" to pipe up and make you rethink your work. That's called "editing time". When you're actively writing an inner critic should be vocal enough to call out when you misspell something, or make a basic grammar mistake, AND NOTHING ELSE.

I know aspiring writers that never get beyond their first thousand words of any project because their inner critic convinces them that they don't have a good handle on their topic, or that their writing is too flat, or too expository, or too action adventure.

I say, tell your inner critic to shut the hell up. They'll be plenty of time for worrying about that stuff when you're preparing to hand the FINISHED story over to your readers.

Or, as said in The Hagakure –

In the judgment of the elders, a samurai's obstinacy should be excessive. A thing done with moderation may later be judged to be insufficient. I have heard that when one thinks he has gone too far, he will not have erred. This sort of rule should not be forgotten.

Write like you only have one story to tell and it's the most important story in the world.

And finally, if you're afraid to write because you'll never be as good as "insert famous writer name," The Hagakure has some words of advice.

It is spiritless to think that you cannot attain to that which you have seen and heard the masters attain. The masters are men. You are also a man. If you think that you will be inferior in doing something, you will be on that road very soon

So, unsheath your prose daily, practice ardently, and remember:

Once when Lord Mitsushige was a little boy and was supposed to recite from a copybook for the priest Kaion, he called the other children and acolytes and said, "Please come here and listen. It's difficult to read if there are hardly any people listening." The priest was impressed and said to the acolytes, "That's the spirit in which to do everything."

Touche' Hagakure, touche'.

(c) 2007 Jeffrey R. DeRego