How To Write Like Hemingway

I know Hemingway because of the Iceberg Theory where most of the meaning is hidden beneath the surface.

But if you asked me to name a single Hemingway book, I’d probably stare at you and mumble something about “old men” and “fish.”

You’re probably wondering how I managed to write this if I haven’t read a single thing he wrote. Good question. Honestly, I’m wondering that, too.

But here’s the thing—do you need to kill someone to write a murder mystery? Do you have to experience death to write about the afterlife? Or live as a horse to write Black Beauty?

Writing like Hemingway isn’t about memorizing his entire body of work.

It’s about showing up to the page with a little swagger, the guts to say, “I can pull this off,” even if you’re half-guessing the whole way through.

So, let’s jump in.

Tip #1: Keep It Short, Simple, and Confident. Even If You’re Not.

They say Hemingway’s writing is simple. That’s the whole secret, right?

Short sentences, plain words, no nonsense.

Say what you mean. Mean what you say.

Like a straight line from your mind to the page.

For example, Hemingway would never write, “The shimmering, kaleidoscopic hues of the sunset draped themselves luxuriously across the horizon like a silk scarf slipping from the neck of a mysterious woman.”

Instead, he'd write, “The sun set. It was red.” Done. End of story.

There’s something powerful in stating things as they are.

It sounds easy enough.

Just say the thing. Get to the point.

But then you sit down to write, and the words start piling up. You want to keep it short, but somehow the sentences keep getting longer.

The details sneak in. There’s a rhythm, a flow, a feeling. The mysterious woman with the silk scarf is looking at you from across the room, and how can you just leave her out? Hemingway would, of course.

Hemingway would have her walk right out of the story without a word.

But you’re not Hemingway. You’re just you. And maybe your story needs that scarf. Or does it?

The funny thing is, you don’t actually know.

So you cut the sentence down, trim the details, and try to make it sound clean and direct. But somehow, it feels like you’re leaving something out. Something that might matter.

You stare at the page, trying to convince yourself that it’s better this way.

Shorter. Simpler. Hemingway-er.

Tip #2: Be Tough. Show Restraint. Or Pretend To.

Hemingway’s characters are tough.

Stoic.

They don’t cry into their pillows or pour out their feelings to anyone who’ll listen. They take their pain and bury it somewhere deep, somewhere only the reader can glimpse if they look hard enough.

Hemingway’s characters have seen things. They’ve fought wars, lost loves, and walked away without a word.

Writing like Hemingway means stripping away the frills until you're left with bones and grit.

No fancy speeches.

No sobbing into sunsets.

Just people carrying their unspoken sadness while they order coffee, tie their shoes, and ride the bus home.

But something in you rebels against all that stoic distinction.

Maybe you're built for stories that spill their guts and characters who wear their hearts like neon signs. Maybe your truth comes with tears in its eyes and won't shut up until it's said every last word.

So you try to walk the line.

You write a scene where your character stares out the window in silence, trying to look deep and tortured.

After a few minutes, you crack. The character turns around to pour their heart out, and you sit there, wondering if Hemingway would disapprove.

But he’s not here. It’s just you and your page. And maybe your character has something to say that Hemingway’s never heard.

Tip #3: Write About What You Know

They say Hemingway wrote from experience.

He knew the things he wrote about—boxing, fishing, war, death. He didn’t make things up. He went out there, lived it, then came back and put it on the page. And that’s what makes it feel real.

So you think, Alright, I’ll write what I know.

But what do you actually know?

You haven’t been to war. You haven’t hunted big game in Africa or used fishing rods to catch blue marlins off the coast of Cuba. The closest you’ve come to Hemingway’s life is… well, reading about it on Wikipedia. And even that was just a quick skim.

But you can write what you know, can’t you?

You know about getting lost in your own thoughts.

You know what it’s like to feel a little unsure, a little out of place.

You know what it’s like to sit here, trying to write like someone else, wondering if you’re doing it right.

Perhaps you don’t know Hemingway’s world, but you know yours. And isn’t that something?

You start writing, drawing stories from your perspective, from the things you understand, hoping it’ll sound authentic. You tell yourself that Hemingway would approve. That he’d see your honesty, your effort.

But then again, would he?

Hard to say.

Tip #4: Don’t Overthink It. (Easier Said Than Done.)

Hemingway was a master of simplicity.

He didn’t second-guess himself, agonize over every word, or let self-doubt creep in. He wrote and he moved on.

Words on the page, one after the other.

Clean. Direct. Final.

But here you are, sitting in front of the screen, rewriting the same sentence ten different ways. You try it short. Then you try it long.

You add a little detail, then take it out, then put it back in, trying to find that perfect balance. You want it to sound effortless. You want it to sound like you meant every word.

But the more you try, the harder it gets.

You wonder if Hemingway ever had days like this—hunched over his desk, gnawing his pencil to splinters, studying the coffee-stained rings on his papers like they might hold the answers. You start to ponder if everyone feels this way sometimes. Even the greats.

But you push that thought aside.

Hemingway wouldn’t sit here worrying about it, would he?

I don't think so. He’d just write.

So you exhale, sink into your chair, and make a deal with yourself: stop trying to sound perfect.

Just write. Because when you let the words flow, they take your demons with them.

And bleeding a little truth onto the page mends your doubts.

Tip #5: Forget Hemingway. Write Like Yourself.

By now, you’ve tried all the tips.

You’ve kept it simple, held back the emotions, and written from what little you know. You’ve done your best to be someone you’re not.

Somehow, it still feels off. Like you’re wearing someone else’s shoes too big or too small or too rigid for your toes.

And that’s when it hits you: Hemingway had his story. You've got yours. And maybe that's the whole point.

Hemingway wrote the way he did because it was his voice, his truth.

He didn’t try to be someone else.

He wasn’t aiming for approval.

He wrote what he knew, the way he saw it, and let the rest fall away.

They say the secret to writing well is to stop trying to wear someone else's voice. Let yours out, even if it feels like you're speaking in tongues, even if it buzzes in your ears like a drunk fly.

So you take a deep breath.

You let go of the idea that you have to be anyone but yourself.

And you start writing, not like Hemingway, but like you—simple or messy, short or long, true or half-guessing, but always, always yours.

Write like yourself because that’s the only way you’ll find what you’re looking for. Because that's how your truth comes out.

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