I know many people who call themselves authors, but they’ve never sold a book. I have, and now I know that it wasn’t that hard. The book took three months. Or maybe they have sold a book, and three years later they’re still writing it even though the topic isn’t a difficult one. Not that they’re Robert Caro struggling with an epic, they enjoy living the life of a writer more than writing, or you know, doing things. I know PhD students years deep into grad school and no closer to graduating. I know people talk about entrepreneurship but they aren’t one. They’re just regular guys. Same goes for “experts” “marketers” and “thinkers.” Mostly posers or dilettantes.

I don’t mean people who try to be cool or anything like that, but people who give themselves credit for accomplishments that haven’t happened yet. It’s not that they aren’t working on their book or start-up or whatever. They are. They just can’t close the deal. They aren’t in control of their own lives.

You know who doesn’t go around calling themselves “The Boss?” Bosses. Why? Because real authority is implicit, not explicit. The same goes for superlatives and occupation titles. You leave those for the people who follow you, who buy your work, who write about you, who introduce you. These meaningless words mean something to some people because it helps them definer their relationship to the world. That’s the wrong way to do it. You, the writer, don’t relate to the world as a writer—you relate to the world as you. The world relates to you and your writing. For [writer], plug in entrepreneur, expert, student, athlete or whatever. The leader is the leader because he leads.

Live a life of standards, not descriptors. Wake up each morning and live like a boss.

This isn’t just a power tactic, though it is a good one. It is a life tactic. It’s how you prevent yourself from becoming a clueless asshole (or a delusional never-been). From thinking that things that don’t matter, matter. It’s so easy on the internet to present an idealized version of yourself, and in the process, forget which is the real and which is the fake. It’s easier to cede control than have control. Don’t fake it until you make it. Shut up until you make it. And then when you make it, you’ll be so used to being that way that you still won’t feel all that inclined to talk about it.

One of Ambrose Bierce’s best stories about the Civil War is “Parker Adderson, Philosopher.” In it, a Union spy is caught behind Confederate lines at night. He is taken to the Confederate general who questions him. In their interview, the soldier shows his wit and disdain for death (and fear), which intriques the general. The conversation is marked by one theme, the condemned soldier outsmarting the general’s compassionate but stern regard for the seriousness of the sentence he is obligated to hand down.

“Good God man! do you mean to go to your death with nothing but jokes upon your lips? Do you know that this is a serious matter?

“How can I know that? I have never been dead in all my life. I have heard that death is a serious matter, but never from any of those who have experienced it.”

The general quietly listens, considers the man’s points but still finds them terrifying.

“Death is horrible!”

“It was horrible to our savage ancestors because they had not enough intelligence to dissociate the idea of consciousness from the idea of the physical forms in which it is manifested–as even a lower order of intelligence, that of the monkey, for example, may be unable to imagine a house without inhabitants and seeing a ruined hut fancies a suffering occupent.”

Just then the stormy weather outside abates, and the general orders that the sentence be imposed that night, by firing squad, rather than waiting for the gallows to be built in the morning. The solider, unprepared for this turn of events, breaks down. “But General, I beg–I implore you, I am to hang!…Spies are hanged; I have rights under military law!” It’s no use. So he struggles, grabs an unguarded knife, and mortally wounds the general before being led away.

At the end the soldier meets his death whimpering before the firing squad, begging to be spared. The general, dying a few hours later, dies solemnly, saying only “I suppose this must be death.”

I like this story because of the twist. As you read it, you mark down the wise words of the soldier–finding them perfect reminders about the smallness of life and an example for how to think about death. The words may as well have come from Cato or Socrates. Parker Adderson truly is, as the title states, a philosopher.

Only like most “philosophers” he soon let’s us down when it comes to practice. He may not have been a coward in the face of grave threats–and that’s admirable and rare–but when those threats become realities his edifice crumbled. At the same time, the General, who was honest with the solider about not wanting to die and urged him to make things right before his sentence was imposed, was, when he himself faced with the same sentence, clearheaded and calm.

Behind laconic wit lies one of two things: compensatory horseshit or profound confidence and bravery. It is important to know which. Remember, all the preparation and philosophy and clever sayings in the world are no guarantee strength under duress. In fact, it may foreshadow the opposite. Why? Because they lead us to think it will not be so hard. That armed with logic or facts, we will not be afraid and regress. And this is true for things a lot less terrifying than death. (We feel proud and smart telling kids “it get’s better,” but how do you handle bullies in your adult life? Your heart races, you get flustered, you feel like quitting your job and running away.)

It’s important to remember that the Spartans, (the Lacedaemonians who the laconic style is named after) hated philosophers. They hated how easily they could say one thing and do another. To them, quips weren’t quips. They meant something. It was the expression of years of training, tradition and obligation. They were efficient, not condescending. Words were never a substitute for action. It was never about making a rhetorical point. For every Spartan whose rejoinder was passed down through history, there were a thousand more who simply performed, making even less of a show than the general in the story.

We must keep that in mind as we do our reading and make our way. That the real show is never the words–no matter how impressive or true or clever they are–and it’s no shame to be mocked and laughed at by those who are skilled at wordplay, so long as you best them when it comes time to face your own test.

I was going to keep this writing separate but the posts have turned out to be pretty good so I decided to linking to them here. I’m writing for Forbes now and you can subscribe to my posts via RSS here or you can just follow it on Twitter for links. Initially, writing on Forbes it was a bit of an experiment but it seems to have stuck and I have enjoyed doing it.

H.L Mencken & Jack London: How to Pitch Editors, Agents and Book Publishers
9 Timeless Leadership Lessons from Cyrus the Great
Why Wouldn’t Planned Parenthood Take $500,000? (this controversy was awesome and got picked up everywhere)
The Marketer’s Dirty Secret: Exploiting Perception vs Reality
What the Failed $1M Netflix Prize Says About Business Advice

It’s a different kind of writing for me but still good practice and I write there more often. The weightier material is all going to stay on this site and I’ll be posting on Forbes just the stuff that I couldn’t make work for this format. It’s also not a bad seque into my book, which is a mix of both. Stay tuned for that announcement next month.

Anyway, read them or don’t. Either way, stay tuned for regularly scheduled programming.