What makes a book compelling? Join me in reading good books and honing the craft of writing.
Writing too much takes me away from other things. Debbie, my wife, has the perfect sense of finesse when to pull me away from the pages. She drops hints like Let’s go do this or that, knowing FOMO runs deep in our family.
She’s also adept at playing the long card, pulling me away for extended periods. Case in point, I have a list of things to make as long as my arm. If Pinocchio’s nose grew every time he lied, my arm-length list grows every time I immerse in writing. I haven’t figured out a balance.
“I’ll help you clean out your workshop,” Debbie volunteered. This, of course, yanked, not pulled, me out of the revisions. I thanked her and went back to editing, knowing I’d bought only a short continuance.
Her offer was generous, but when I later explained to my buddies, they all groaned in mutual sympathy. My workshop was messy from disuse, with the worktables and benches cluttered to the point of being unable to build anything on my arm-length list. To wade in among the clutter and make some order of it would require many slow-forming decisions, best made without the pressure of a spouse who quickly became bored and would want to get it done, without regard for future consequences. Example, “Have you seen my steel square? Could’ve sworn I put it on the shelf in this nook.” Conversation, discussion, dialogue would ensue with no one taking the blame on off-positioning the square, but both of us knowing it was probably me who mislaid the thing.
Revisions finished, I commenced the Great Workshop Cleanout of 2024. I’m happy to report all is well—I’m working mostly alone, occasionally asking for her advice on whether to get rid of something. I’m also happy to report that this year, no snakes or snakeskins were uncovered (another reason to clean up solo), the rust spots on the table saw table were buffed off, and only a few equipment casualties encountered.
I’ve even organized the screwdriver drawer—Torx—Phillips—Slotted.
Back at it, I made my first item, shortening the list.
I’ve had this steel marking knife for some time and couldn’t use it as it came without a handle. I used some spare mesquite, epoxied it on with brass pins and shaped the wood until it fit comfortably in my hand. Note to all- measure twice before ordering parts. I misread the diameter of the pin holes and ordered 3/8” brass rods, only to find they were too big by a factor of two. 3/16” worked perfectly.
Next, the marking knife, for precisely marking lines in wood, has sharp edges. I needed a sheath to protect the blade and me. Leather looks better, but I didn’t want to take the time to learn how to stitch through thick skin. Played around with a couple of glued corks and found the combo works fine. And yes, someone has already joked about me enjoying the procurement of the corks.
One of the equipment casualties was the planer, which shaves boards to the desired thickness. It’s a rugged piece of equipment. But it made a funny sound when I powered it on and I knew something was wrong. Sure enough, the drive belt disintegrated. Pieces lay all over the interior.
Here’s where the bit of bad writing comes in. The planer manual was, as manuals often are, unhelpful. The manufacturer advises seeking qualified help in replacing the drive belt.
WHAT? IT’S ONLY A DRIVE BELT, NOT MICROCHIP SURGERY.
A quick confession. Ever since I started pulling things apart to get them working again as a kid, I’ve had this disrespect for equipment manuals. They’re generally written by lazy, unknowledgeable writers and it drives me nuts. Some writers and actors say they were ignored by their parents and developed imaginations as a result. In my case, it was being ignored by manuals that shaped my mind, for better or worse. YouTube, the salvation for bad manuals, with tons of practical know how, came about after I reached adulthood. I still think of the possibilities, the if-onlys, the paths not taken.
Besides, I need the planer to tackle a small project, so the belt came off.
The project is only small in size, with weighty significance. It’s a project I’ve been dreading. Yet I have to get it done.
(To be continued.)
All the Best,
Geoff
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Really enjoyed this, Geoff. The photos are a nice touch. Looking forward to hearing about the next dreaded project.
Thanks, Cherie. You’re very kind on my amateur pics. It’s good to be making things though.