Tag: Woodworking

The carpenter’s jig

In my town lives a master carpenter named Chris. He donates his time to serve on the town historical preservation board, and he donated his time last fall to supervise a bunch of Saturday amateurs who volunteered to help rebuild a dilapidated but beloved local building. It was in this context that Chris provided a sweet example of a carpenter’s jig.

A jig is a made up structure which holds your work in place while you are performing a carpenter’s task such as sawing, drilling or glueing. A jig is handy if you are doing a number of repetitious operations (for example, drilling a row of holes at exactly the same position in a cabinet so you can hang a perfectly level shelf) but can also be used for a one-time operation if you don’t trust your ability to control an unpredictable process when wood meets a powerful force.

Making a jig is one delineator between a carpenter who cares about their work and a hobbyist tacking boards together. It’s the physical embodiment of laying the groundwork which a good marketer is going to do as well: define your problem, determine how you are going to approach it, then be clear in your mind about your plan of attack so you don’t get distracted and veer off course during the executional phase. Good copywriters do this without even thinking about it; less-good copywriters just hammer away.

But back to Chris’ jig. The job given to me and a couple of other guys was to hang siding along a 20 foot run. As he described the project Chris asked me, “do you want a jig?” That was music to my ears. Each row of siding needs to be perfectly level and it needs to overlap the previous row at exactly the same measure from the bottom. Trying to eyeball this with a long floppy board would create something ugly. So Chris made a jig. He took a 10” length of 2×4, ripped it down the middle to the 6” mark, then turned it 90 degrees and made a crosscut that met the first one to create a piece that looked like an L if you held it sideways. And then he made another jig exactly the same as the first one. If each guy takes a jig and fits in the shelf of the L under the previous row of siding, then rests the next piece on the top of the L, the work is in perfect position to nail into place.

Now it may occur to you there would be an easier way to do exactly the same thing. Just get two pieces of wood (you could even use scraps from the siding) then fasten them together offset at 6” to produce the two shelves you need to hold the work. But Chris did it the hard way because it gives him pleasure to make something that works well. Not a bad role model for copywriters.

Path of least resistance

I bought a vintage table saw last summer and almost immediately broke the vintage drive belts. Wonder of wonders, somebody had done the same thing and posted pictures of his repair online. However, my saw’s setup looked different than the photos. I spent a good 8 hours patiently jockeying the loose parts into alignment without success.  Then it dawned on me: it just can’t be this hard. I took a fresh look at my saw and realized one of the bearings had popped out of its housing. I cleaned the parts, popped it back in and was done in 20 minutes.

Another story with the same outcome: many years ago I was driving a VW bus on a very bad road in southern Mexico when a shock absorber came loose behind one of the wheels. I spent a couple hours trying to get it back on as a steadily growing audience of local indigenous men watched me. Finally one got impatient and pointed something out with sign language. The bolts that went into the top and the bottom mounts were different. And you could easily tell what was the bottom bolt because it had more road grit on it.

The lesson is, there’s usually a logical way to do things and people who are not bogged down by intellectual musings will find that way automatically by following the path of least resistance. Good designers of mechanical things know that and design accordingly (a notable exception being 1970s and 80s Detroit cars, where they’d often create special tools to make up for the fact their engine compartments were inaccessible) and ad writers should do the same.

If a reader has made the commitment to proceed through your letter or other body copy, they are fully intending to follow that path of least resistance. They know that A is followed by B, or supposed to be. Put a surprise in the road when they’re about to get to B—a special offer, or a new benefit—and it will get maximum attention. Change course without adding a benefit, and you’ll confuse and irritate and lose the reader. Keep this in mind when you’re framing out your next project.

Measure twice. Cut once.

I’ve been doing a lot of carpentry this summer, and I find myself pleased by the unforgiving nature of working with a saw. Once you make a cut you can’t take it back. Master carpenters who do the same thing over and over again develop an instinctive eye and a steady hand for sure, accurate cuts. But a tinkering hobbyist doesn’t get enough practice, so mistakes are going to happen. And it’s a milestone in the tyro’s journey when you decide you will toss away the maimed piece (perhaps an expensive piece of stock you’ve worked on for several hours) and start over rather than live with your mistake.

Copywriting used to be something like this, early in my career. I was too early for computers but too late to have access to a steno pool where my manuscript would be retyped. A copy deck was expected to look good as well as read well when submitted—no typos, strikeovers or white-out permitted. And there were moments, many of them, when you’d take the page out of your typewriter, read it over, and realized you should have used a different word or sentence order. And you’d have the choice of living with something that possibly could have been better—or typing the whole page over again.

There’s no doubt computers make for better copy. Not only can you delete your mistakes, you can try all kinds of what-ifs without penalty before hitting the “print” button. But I miss the finality…the recognition that once you type a word, there’s no going back without paying a price. In fact, that may have been what separated a good junior copywriter from a hack—the willingness to not only learn from your mistakes, but pay for them in extra time at the keyboard.