After writing a few books, I figured how best to keep track of the hundreds of small details necessary to write a single chapter of a woodworking book.
This lesson came from failure. As all good lessons do.
When writing my first workbench book, I built all the projects, did all the research, then wrote the whole book in one go. The problem with that approach was that I had forgotten many details about the construction process because it the construction process had occurred two years earlier. So I had to basically rebuild the projects in SketchUp with the help of my step photos to prod my 2005 brain into answering questions posed by my 2007 brain.
For a later book, I wrote the chapters in real time as I built the projects. Every evening I wrote the text that described that day’s activities. This created scintillating, technical-manual-like reading – tab A into slot B. It was boring because I had no perspective on the project. My point of view was that of a diarist – not someone who was trying to explain what’s important to the reader. I didn’t yet fully know what was important. When you are in the moment, everything is important. And so my chapters were about three times too long.
With both approaches I had to rewrite vast swaths of text. I don’t mind doing that. But I’d get a book done faster if I could skip a rewrite.
I now use a third approach, and it works. I have a clipboard filled with all the construction drawings for each project in the book. Plus about 10 pages of blank paper. As I build, I write notes to myself.
“Legs ended up 2° off from the plan but look nice.”
“Saddle begins as 5/8″ deep after scorping and ended up at 3/4″ after the travisher.”
“Don’t forget to mention the trick about the medullary rays and the sticks.”
So when I write the chapter for that project, I have the plan I was supposed to follow in hand, plus my thought process for each day. Writing chapters with both kinds of information is a breeze.
Well, “breeze” is an optimistic word. More like “less of a fart.”
— Christopher Schwarz
Read other posts from the “Making Book” series here.
Υπέροχο !!
Loud attention-grabbing farts are good (when considered as a book writing euphemism). The silent ones Are to be avoided.
That’s actually a really clever idea. Will you be writing “The Anarchist’s Clipboard” as a prequel?
Shortly before Samuel Beckett’s death, a friend went to visit him in Paris. While there, he saw Beckett’s volumes of collected works under the common titles of “Foirades.” Unfamiliar with the word, he asked the bookseller, who told him it was a disgusting term.
When he next saw Beckett, he told him of the exchange.
Beckett was irritated. “Foirade, disgusting? Utter nonsense! One foirade is a lamentable failure . . . something one attempts that is destined to fail, but must be attempted, nonetheless, because it is unquestionably worth the effort . . . thus, a lamentable failure.” Then Beckett added “Of course, foirade also means ‘wet fart’!”
I am totally excited when I see a “Making Book Part…” in my notifications. These are gems. As are Nancy’s “Little Acorns,” and so many others. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and experiences. Best to you and yours, Tom
Good method. It must also help in pricing out jobs.
Sometimes when you have to push the fart too hard, it’s not a fart.
My training is as a scientist so the notebook I keep for woodworking reflects that. I try to capture both technical, what worked well, what didn’t, and what I would do differently if I made it again. I also record the hours each day spent woodworking (it’s a hobby; not a full time job by the way). At the end of the project, it’s easy to calculate how much time was spent making something and I have handy tips if I wanted to make it again. Not suitable for writing books for sure. What you have sounds like a better approach for that.