Write Like Nobody’s Watching (Except Maybe David Ogilvy)

Forget everything you thought you knew about writing. Torch those dusty rules and unlearn the dogma.

Because when it comes to penning words that resonate — prose that lingers in your soul like a perfect melody — there’s one name that matters, one voice I deeply admire:

David Ogilvy.

The godfather of advertising knew a thing or two about writing copy that sold. But his principles transcend just crafting catchy slogans. Ogilvy understood the human heart and how to write to it.

In 1982, he penned a memo to employees that became the stuff of legend. In just two pages, Ogilvy delivered a masterclass on writing with passion, clarity and purpose.

His words are a blueprint for the digital age. A rallying cry for any writer ready to change the world. A reminder that, even amidst the din of modern life, the written word still wields tremendous power.

Ogilvy wasn’t merely talking about business or ads. He was talking about writing that matters — words with heart, words with soul. Whether it’s a love letter, blog post, or call to action.

So let’s unpack Ogilvy’s timeless wisdom and reignite our prose once more. The world is waiting for our stories, our voices, our fire.

Our words can move mountains — but only if we dare to write as boldly as Ogilvy urged: “Like nobody’s watching…”

You don’t need to be scared to write. I once was, but not anymore.

You don’t need fancy degrees or a trust fund for a thesaurus. You don’t need to write like Hemingway or Faulkner or whoever the latest flavour-of-the-month literary idol is.

You just need to write like you talk.

That’s it. That’s the secret sauce, the magic elixir, the writer’s equivalent of a one-way ticket to Paris. Because let me tell you something: the best writing isn’t perfect. It’s not polished. It’s not airbrushed and filtered and stuffed into a corset of grammar rules.

The best writing is real. It’s raw. It’s the sound of your voice bouncing off the page, the echo of your thoughts crackling in the reader’s ear.

It’s the kind of writing that makes you forget you’re reading and throws you right into the middle of the story, the essay, the poem, the whatever-it-is you’re trying to create.

So, how do you do it?

How do you write like you talk, without sounding like you’re just rambling on at the bus stop?

Here are some rules, straight from the Ogilvy memo on writing, that’ll have you scribbling like a caffeinated Shakespeare in no time:

Read the damn book (and then read it again).

There’s a reason why the greats are called greats.

They’ve honed their craft, they’ve learned from the masters, they’ve filled their heads with stories and words and rhythms.

So go ahead, crack open a classic, devour a contemporary, inhale a poem. Let the words wash over you, soak in the styles, the structures, and the way they play with language like a kid in a sandbox.

Ditch the jargon, the pretension, the BS.

Nobody wants to read your academic thesis on the semiotics of cat videos. They want to hear your unique take, your unfiltered opinion, your voice, unadulterated and unsullied by the need to sound smart or sophisticated. So ditch the five-dollar words, the SAT vocabulary, the jargon that makes you sound like you’re trying to impress your English professor. Talk to your reader like you’d talk to a friend, with honesty, with humor, with passion.

Short is good. Short is better. Short is best.

Attention spans are shorter than goldfish these days. So keep your sentences tight, your paragraphs punchy, your whole damn thing concise. Don’t meander, don’t ramble, don’t bury your point under a mountain of adverbs. Get to the good stuff, the meat, the heart of the matter, and then get out.

Be clear. Be clear. Be so clear you could explain astrophysics to a toddler.

Your writing is not a game of hide-and-seek. Don’t make your reader play detective, piecing together your meaning from cryptic clues and ambiguous sentences.

Be direct, be straightforward, be so clear that your message hits them like a well-placed punch to the gut.

Read it out loud. Then read it again. Then cringe, edit, repeat.

This is your secret weapon. Read your work aloud, and listen. Does it sound clunky? Does it trip over its own tongue? Does it put you to sleep? If it does, it’ll do the same to your reader. So edit ruthlessly, slash the fat, tighten the screws. Make your words sing, dance, sizzle. Make them beg to be read aloud.

Don’t be afraid to be you.

The world has enough cookie-cutter writers churning out the same tired tropes and predictable plots. What it needs is you. Your weirdness, your quirks, your unique way of seeing the world. Don’t try to fit into someone else’s mold.

Embrace your own voice, your own style, your own brand of crazy.

Write for one person. Just one.

Forget the masses, the millions, the nebulous “target audience.”

Write for one person.

Your best friend, your worst enemy, your dream lover, whoever.

Write to them, talk to them, make them laugh, cry, think, feel.

If you can touch that one person, you’ve touched the world.

Write to them, and they’ll spread the word.

They’ll tell their friends, their family, their followers, and suddenly, you’re not just talking to one person anymore. You’re a whisper in the wind, growing into a hurricane of connection.

Find your rhythm, your cadence, your groove.

Writing isn’t just about stringing words together. It’s about music, about flow, about the way your sentences dance on the page. Find your rhythm, your unique beat, the way your words move like a hummingbird’s wings or a freight train barreling down the tracks.

Don’t be afraid to break the rules.

Sometimes, the most beautiful things come from smashing the mould.

So go ahead, bend the grammar, experiment with punctuation, and play with structure.

Just remember, rules are guidelines, not chains. Use them, break them, bend them, but never let them stifle your voice.

Write because you love it.

Write because it makes you feel alive. Write because you have to.

Forget the fame, the fortune, the follower count.

Write because the blank page calls to you like a siren, because words bubble up inside you like a geyser, because the act of creation fills you with a spark you can’t ignore.

If you don’t love it, the reader will smell it a mile away. So write for the love of the game, for the joy of the journey, for the thrill of making words dance and sing.

And remember, you don’t have to be a Hemingway or a Faulkner to write something great.

You just have to be you.

You have to find your voice, embrace your weirdness, and let your words spill onto the page like paint onto a canvas.

So go forth, my friend, and write like you talk. The world needs to hear what you have to say.

I am cheering you on. I did it, you can too.

© Buzzedison

Get step-by-step game plans to secure funding, build efficient systems, and scale your business the smart way delivered to your inbox weekly.