Olivia: Alright Jackson, I've got a book for you. It's called 'This Book Will Teach You How to Write Better.' What's your gut reaction to a title that bold? Jackson: My gut reaction? It sounds like it was written by the same guy who sells 'Get Rich Quick' seminars from a rented Lamborghini. Is it any good, or just full of itself? Olivia: That's the perfect reaction, because it captures the whole vibe! The author, Neville Medhora, is this self-taught copywriter and entrepreneur. The book is famously short, direct, and as he puts it, 'somewhat offensive.' It's become a cult classic for marketers precisely because it throws out the traditional writing rulebook. Jackson: Okay, 'somewhat offensive' has my attention. Some readers have called his style a bit 'slimy' or unprofessional, so I'm intrigued. What's the big, offensive secret to writing better? Olivia: The secret is a single, brutal sentence that underpins the entire book: "Nobody cares about you. They only care about themselves." Jackson: Whoa. That is harsh. And definitely a little offensive. But is it true?

Olivia: Medhora argues it's the most fundamental truth of communication. We're all tuned into our own radio station, WIIFM: 'What's In It For Me?' He says that until you accept this, your writing will always miss the mark. You'll talk about your company's history, your product's features, your own journey... and your reader's eyes will just glaze over. Jackson: I can see that. My eyes are glazing over just thinking about most 'About Us' pages on websites. But it still feels so cynical. Olivia: It does, until you see the power it unlocks. He demonstrates this with a really intense thought experiment he calls 'The Envelope Exercise.' He asks you to imagine you have two envelopes, both addressed to your mother. Jackson: Okay, a wholesome start. I'm with you. Olivia: In the first envelope, you write a beautiful, heartfelt letter. You tell her how much you love her, how you appreciate everything she’s ever done for you, how her support shaped your life. You pour all your genuine love onto the page, seal it, and imagine her opening it. You can picture her smile, maybe a few happy tears. It’s a wonderful moment. Jackson: Aww. That's lovely. What's in the second envelope? Something tells me it's not a gift card. Olivia: Not exactly. In the second letter, you write the opposite. You tell her you hate her. You list every resentment, every perceived slight. You write that you wish she were dead and that your life would be better without her. It's the most vile, hateful thing you can possibly conjure. Jackson: Oh my god. That's… that's genuinely horrible. Why would anyone do that? Olivia: It's a thought experiment, remember! But here's his point. The only difference between your mom having the best day of her life and the worst day of her life—the only thing that separates pure joy from absolute devastation—is the collection of words on a piece of paper. The ink. That's it. That's the power we're wielding every time we write. Jackson: Wow. Okay, when you put it like that, it's staggering. The stakes feel incredibly high. It’s not just about selling a product; it’s about the real, tangible impact words have on another human being. Olivia: Precisely. And once you understand that emotional weight, the 'nobody cares about you' principle starts to look different. It's not about being a cynical manipulator; it's about respecting the reader's emotional world. It’s about realizing you have to earn their attention by speaking to their needs, their problems, their desires. Jackson: That makes sense. Can you give me a more down-to-earth example? Like, how does this apply to a business that isn't writing life-or-death letters to their mom? Olivia: Absolutely. He uses the example of a fictional business, 'Ace Tennis Coaching.' Their website probably starts with something like: "Here at Ace Tennis Coaching, we are dedicated to providing the highest quality service. Our experienced staff has been committed to excellence for over a decade." Jackson: My brain just went into standby mode. That sounds like every generic business website ever created. Olivia: Exactly. It's all about 'we,' 'our,' 'us.' It's boring because it's self-centered. Now, what if they used the 'selfish reader' principle? They know their customer, an amateur player, probably has a weak backhand or a slow serve. So they change the headline to: "Is your elbow bent incorrectly on your serve? That simple mistake is costing you 20 mph. We can fix it in one lesson." Jackson: Huh. Now that I would read. Because that's about me. It identifies my problem and offers a direct benefit. It's not about Ace Tennis Coaching's 'decade of excellence' anymore. Olivia: You got it. The first version is talking at you. The second version is talking to you, about you. It’s a profound shift. He tells another quick story about a pregnant woman searching online. She doesn't care who the author is, what their credentials are, or what company they work for. All she cares about is finding an article titled 'How to avoid stretch marks when you’re pregnant.' The headline that speaks directly to her problem wins her attention, period. Jackson: It's so simple it's almost insulting. But that's the point, isn't it? We overcomplicate things by trying to sound important, when we should just be trying to be helpful. Olivia: That's the entire foundation. And once you've got their attention by focusing on them, you need a way to guide them from just being interested to actually taking action. Jackson: Okay, so I'm convinced. I need to focus on the reader's selfish needs. But how? It's easy to say, but hard to do. Where do you even start?

Olivia: This is where Medhora gets super practical. He says once you've accepted the 'why'—that people are self-interested—you need a 'how.' And his 'how' is a classic, time-tested marketing framework called AIDA. Jackson: AIDA? Sounds like an opera. Olivia: It can be just as dramatic. It stands for Attention, Interest, Desire, and Action. It's a four-step blueprint for persuasion. And he argues that almost every successful piece of writing, whether it's a sales page or an email, follows this pattern. Jackson: Okay, break it down for me. How does it work in the wild? Olivia: He gives a brilliant example of selling a "boring" product: an enterprise-grade computer system. Imagine he's at lunch with a friend who's a potential client. He doesn't start with tech specs. He starts with AIDA. Olivia: First, Attention. He doesn't say, "Let me tell you about our server architecture." He says, "You know how on the toll road, they have to process millions of license plates super fast? If their system is slow, they lose a ton of money." Jackson: I'm listening. That’s a relatable, high-stakes problem. He's got my attention. Olivia: Exactly. Next, Interest. He builds on it. "Well, the system we sell is what they use. It processes a photo, identifies the plate, and bills the account in a fraction of a second. It's so fast it actually makes them money." Now the friend isn't just listening; he's leaning in. He's interested. Jackson: Right, because it’s not about the technology, it’s about the outcome. Speed, efficiency, making money. Those are things I care about. Olivia: Then comes the crucial step: Desire. This is where you turn interest into a real want. Medhora adds a killer detail. He says, "Yeah, it's the same system NASA uses for some of their data processing." Jackson: Oh, come on. That's the knockout punch. The NASA detail. It's not just a fast system anymore; it's a world-class, genius-level piece of technology. I don't just want it; I feel like I need it to be in that league. Olivia: That's desire. It’s the emotional hook that makes the product feel aspirational. And finally, Action. The friend, now totally hooked, will naturally ask, "Wow, can you send me the specs and pricing on that?" The call to action is generated by the desire itself. Medhora didn't have to push; he pulled. Jackson: That's a fantastic breakdown. Attention, Interest, Desire, Action. It’s a storytelling structure. You're guiding someone on a journey from "I don't care" to "I have to have this." Olivia: And it works for everything. He shows how to use it to convince someone to buy a helicopter by focusing on the pain of traffic, or even in a sensitive email about convincing someone life is worth living by breaking it down into manageable steps. It's a universal pattern of persuasion. Jackson: This connects back to his other big rule: 'Write Funny. Write Informative. Just not Boring.' The AIDA structure seems like the perfect way to avoid being boring. But how do you do the 'funny' or 'casual' part without being… well, cringey? I know some readers found his style a bit much. Olivia: That is the million-dollar question, and he has a cautionary tale for it. He calls it the 'Hollywood Nightlife Email Disaster.' He was hired by a startup that sold deals for Hollywood clubs. He wrote an email for them using his casual, direct style, and it converted 65% better than anything they'd ever sent. Jackson: That's a huge win. So what went wrong? Olivia: They got into a pricing dispute, so he stopped working with them. The startup team, seeing his success, thought, "We can do that! We just need to be wacky and funny." So they tried to copy his style. Jackson: I have a bad feeling about this. Olivia: You should. They sent out an email filled with bizarre, nonsensical jokes about Prohibition and old Hollywood. It was trying so hard to be 'wacky' that it was completely incoherent. The message—the actual deal they were selling—was totally lost. Jackson: What happened? Olivia: It was a catastrophe. People unsubscribed in droves, sales plummeted, and they were confused. They had tried to be funny, but they forgot the most important part. Medhora's rule isn't just "be funny." It's "be funny, be informative, just not boring." And above all, be clear. Their email was wacky, but it wasn't informative or clear. It failed. Jackson: So the lesson is that casual copy is a tool, not the goal. The goal is communication. If the humor gets in the way of the message, you've failed. Olivia: Precisely. He says, "Stop trying to be clever. Instead be CLEAR." The humor and personality are just the sugar that helps the medicine go down. The medicine is the information, the value you're providing.

Jackson: It feels like the whole philosophy boils down to two things. First, accept the brutal, humbling truth that your reader is fundamentally selfish. And second, use a simple, human-centered structure like AIDA to serve that selfishness in a clear and interesting way. It's less about being a 'great writer' in the literary sense and more about being a 'great communicator.' Olivia: Exactly. It's about stripping away the ego and the jargon we all hide behind. And his most practical piece of advice for doing that is a technique he calls the 'Caveman Voice.' Jackson: The Caveman Voice? Please tell me more. Olivia: It's his personal editing filter. Before he publishes anything, he reads it and asks himself simple, primal questions in a caveman voice: "ME NO UNDERSTAND?" "THIS MAKE NEVILLE BORED?" "ME NO LIKE!" Jackson: (Laughs) That's brilliant! It's so dumb, but it's genius. It forces you to cut through all the fluff. You can't hide a poorly-formed idea from a caveman. Olivia: You can't! If your caveman brain gets confused or bored, your reader's brain will too. It's a ruthless, simple filter for clarity. He says a good copywriter doesn't try to impress the reader; they try to inform the reader with the least amount of words possible. Jackson: That's a fantastic takeaway. It makes you wonder, how much of our daily communication—our work emails, our presentations, even our texts—would be so much clearer and more effective if we just ran it through that simple 'Caveman' filter first? Olivia: It’s a powerful thought. It’s not just about writing better; it’s about thinking more clearly. By forcing yourself to simplify for the 'caveman,' you're actually clarifying the idea for yourself. Jackson: That's a great challenge for everyone listening. Try it on one email this week. Before you hit send, just ask yourself: "ME GET THIS?" We'd love to hear what happens. Find us on our socials and share your story. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.