Editor's note: This post is the first in a series about nonfiction writer and teacher William Zinsser. In upcoming posts, we'll cover his books Writing Places: The Life Journey of a Writer and Teacher, Inventing the Truth: The Art and Craft of Memoir, and Writing About Your Life: A Journey into the Past.

After packing the lunches, filling the backpacks, and watching the yellow bus carry your children off to a new year, what do you see in the mirror?

“When the student is ready, the teacher appears,” according to a Buddhist proverb. Yes, you. There you are. In your reflection you might discover a student and teacher of nonfiction writing, with a master as your guide if you wisely pick up a copy of William Zinsser’s classic On Writing Well.

First published in 1976, the indispensable manual now in its seventh edition contains a new introduction and a new chapter on how to write family history and memoir.

The book, born out of a course in nonfiction writing Zinsser taught at Yale, is most notable for its tone: stern and clear yet warm, like the voice of a teacher who believes in you and pushes you to produce your best work. Its 90-year-old author, a fourth generation New Yorker who still offers writing lessons from his apartment (his own seven-decade writing career has tapered off because of declining vision), has also taught at Columbia University’s School of Journalism and The New School in Greenwich Village.

“Simplify, simplify,” he instructs, citing Thoreau’s maxim, with a reminder that the Transcendentalist philosopher achieved such clarity in his masterpiece Walden only after seven revisions. Zinsser urges writers to “prune ruthlessly” during the process of rewriting, with this insight into the power of brevity: “Of the 701 words in Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address, a marvel of economy in itself, 505 are words of one syllable and 122 are words of two syllables.”

In the chapter “A Writer’s Decisions,” he zeroes in on what to include and what to omit in terms of structure:

“At such moments I ask myself one very helpful question: ‘What is the piece really about? ‘ (Not just ‘What is the piece about?’) Fondness for material you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to gather isn’t a good enough reason to include it if it’s not central to the story you’ve chosen to tell. Self-discipline bordering on masochism is required.”

His emphasis on self-discipline extends from the level of the sentence and paragraph to a professional writer’s daily routine. Writing is a craft, not an art, he insists, and one must be relentlessly devoted to its practice. Given that discipline comes directly from the Latin disciplina -- “instruction given, teaching, learning, knowledge" -- and a disciple is one who learns at the foot of a teacher, the self-discipline he teaches by example grants permission to be your own writing teacher.

“You know more than you think you do,” he quotes from Dr. Benjamin Spock’s Baby and Child Care in highlighting the first sentence of seven memorable nonfiction books. While acknowledging the fear of writing that gets planted in most Americans at an early age, he also keeps things accessible and light, urging writers at all stages to think small (“Melville wrote about one man pursuing one whale”), relax, be yourself, and “Never say anything in writing that you wouldn’t say comfortably in conversation.”

Could it be that easy? Yes and no. The only way to find out is by reading masters of the craft (he peppers the book with allusions to his favorite memoirs, including Pete Hamill’s A Drinking Life and Mary Karr’s The Liars’ Club) and sitting down to write. Following Zinsser’s lead, give yourself an interesting life and a continuing education through the act of writing.