Lost Art Press

We now have back in stock all sizes (S to XXXL) of the Lost Art Press “skep” T-shirt. And I don’t know the weather in your corner of the world, but here it’s hoodie season (which fills me with glee – I despise hot weather); we have our heavyweight “Nothing Without Labour” zip-up hoodies available in sizes M-XXL.

– Fitz

When I finally got the honor of being Frank Klausz’s editor, I was curious as to what sort of manuscript he would turn in. I was curious because I had read almost everything out there with Klausz’s byline on it.

Some of his stories sounded just like he talks. With his Hungarian accent, his pacing and his refreshing bluntness intact. Other stories sounded like Klausz had just graduated from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.

The manuscript arrived by mail. It was two pages, hand-typed and single-spaced. The text immediately brought a smile to my face because it was pure Klausz. Graceful but firm. No adverbs or complex sentence structures.

I handed it to a junior editor to input the text and clean up any errant typos. A few hours later, he showed up at my desk with an unsure look on his face.

“This manuscript needs a lot of work,” he said. “I might not get it back to you for a couple days.”

Seriously? Two typewritten pages? It should be done before you head home.

“The sentences are just so weird,” he said. “I basically need to rewrite the whole thing so it makes sense.”

You want to rewrite Klausz? So he makes sense? Just type it in, and I’ll do the edit.

I barely changed a word of the manuscript, and I was done with the story before I went home that night.

When it comes to editing, I try to take the lightest hand possible. The goal is to preserve the writer’s voice and even amplify it by removing redundant words and phrases that slow things down.

This is not always possible. Some people simply cannot write in a straight line. The text is circular, like a mandala. And every point they make has three digressions. Or they suffer from explaining things in minute detail for the first half of the manuscript. And then run out of patience for the second (3,000 words on stock prep. And then “…simply build all the doors and drawers. Add your favorite finish. The end”).

I send these writers a copy of “On Writing Well” by William Zinsser (used copies are $1) and ask them to follow this book like it was a holy text.

My approach isn’t the dominant one in woodworking publishing. Most editors try to make the writer’s text as easy to digest as possible – thinking they are doing a service to the reader. What they have really done is taken a Cuban sandwich and reduced it to Zwieback.

Though it makes me crazy, I know that some readers appreciate this sort of editing. 

When I first met the editors of Woodsmith magazine, I was excited to talk to them about their editorial process. They managed to convey immense amounts of information into a small space. Plus they didn’t take advertisements (back in the day). And they had an immensely loyal subscriber base – the most loyal, in fact.

The Woodsmith editors were really nice and open about how they worked. One of the junior editors then remarked: “Well, first you have to learn to speak Don.”

What?

The founder of Woodsmith, Don Peschke, is a bit of a legend in woodworking publishing (ask him about his hot tub). And when new editors came on board they had to learn to write like Don Peschke wrote. So that the entire magazine sounded like Don Peschke.

Oh, so that’s why they didn’t have bylines on their stories.

I totally get their approach. You want to do everything you can to help the reader digest complex technical information. Removing a language barrier is one way to do it.

But not me. I think of visiting Frank Klausz in his shop one time when he was railing against some video he had seen on sharpening.

“I would not sell that,” he exclaimed, “to a monkey.”

I feel certain Don Peschke never said that.

— Christopher Schwarz

The following is excerpted from “The Woodworker: The Charles H. Hayward Years,” Vol. II – Techniques. This article was first published when “glue” was understood to be hot hide glue (or, as it’s called in The Woodworker, Scotch glue). Rub joints work with other glues, but in my experience, not nearly as quickly – hot hide glue has incredibly fast tack. I’ve used glue blocks on several pieces, and for them, I always heat up a little hot hide glue. It’s well worth the (minor) trouble.

– Fitz

Like most other things, glue blocking has its abuses as well as its uses. A typical example is when it is used to replace a properly cut joint in cheap work. If confined to its correct function, however, that of strengthening a joint, it can add very materially to the strength, and is a perfectly legitimate practice.

From the outset we should be clear that the glue block is a rather ugly thing to look upon. It is therefore suitable only for positions where it is not seen, for it does its work chiefly by virtue of its bulk and the extra gluing surface which it provides, and it necessarily leaves a smear of glue at each side (we shall see the reason for this presently). In concealed positions, however, it can increase the strength of a joint very considerably.

As a simple example of its use take the T joint at A, Fig. 1. If the vertical member is subjected to much side pressure it is clear that, apart from the glue with which it is assembled, it has only the resistance of the wood in the joint to prevent movement. If the wood crushes or breaks, the member will give. At B, however, the glue blocks by their bulk offer considerable resistance, and in addition they have mechanical strength in that increased leverage is required to shift the joint. They are virtually like a short stay inserted at each side.

To be fully effective, a glue block should be comparatively short—say an average of about 3 in. One reason is shown at A and B, Fig. 2. At A there is one long block running the whole length of the joint, and its grain runs across that of the pieces that it joins. Consequently the block resists movement in the event of shrinkage, and a split is almost inevitable. If, however, there are several short blocks close together, as at B, the wood is free to contract without resistance from the blocks.

Of course, when the grain of all the parts runs in the same direction there is not so great an objection to the use of long blocks, but, even then, short blocks are generally stronger for another reason. If the wood that is being joined undulates slightly, as at C, Fig. 2, it is inevitable that there will be gaps in places with loss of strength. Clearly, short blocks would conform much more closely to the uneven surface.

Preparation of blocks. The wood should be prepared in a length and cross-cut. Plane the first edge straight, and then make the other square with it, as at A, Fig. 3. Plane the remaining two surfaces (it does not matter if these are not exactly square), chamfer the outer corner, as at B, and take a single shaving from off the inner corner. There are two reasons for the large bevel. It lightens the block and takes off what is otherwise a heavy appearance; and it makes it obvious to the man who uses the block which is the square corner. The purpose of the single shaving from the latter is that sometimes a bead of glue is left in the corner into which the block is rubbed, and the removal of the corner enables the block to clear this.

When cross-cutting the blocks keep the square corner pointing toward you, as at C, Fig. 3. In this way the saw always cuts into both square surfaces. Any rag occurs at the outer surfaces where it does no harm.

Gluing the Blocks. When gluing a block, glue the two square surfaces and rub the block back and forth in the angle a few times, as in Fig. 4. A few examples of the positions in which glue blocks are useful are given in Fig. 5 [at top].