I built a thing. I wrote a thing. These processes have more in common than you might think!

So I haven’t written a blog post in a while. I’ve been thinking about it… half wondering what would bring me back to the page… and nobody is more surprised by the answer than me. 

I built shelves at the weekend.

It will be painted. I just really wanted to see it with stuff on it!

Thank you. Yes. I did that. With the help of my spouse who made two guest appearances to drill the wall, and then to screw the brackets in place (because power tools scare the crap out of me). But apart from that, I planned, measured, sawed, sanded, measured some more, questioned my life choices, measured again, played jenga with the frame I made for the cupboard, almost cried, glued some parts and then we put the whole damn lot together. And it works. And a few days later it’s still working, which means it’s REALLY working. Like… this is not a drill, people (pun intended), I have made. a. thing.

And it wasn’t even flat pack. Like, no Ikea genius made me diagrammatic instructions on how to do this. I just worked it out.

Now a few people have asked me where I learned the mystical skills to be able to achieve this feat. And honestly I think the answer comes down to overconfidence and watching my dad. Mostly watching my dad swear at the spirit level… but watching my dad construct things.

If you’re wondering how any of this relates to writing, stick with me, we’re getting there. 

My dad was an Engineer. We didn’t go to Ikea much when I was growing up. If we needed shelves they mostly needed building into a space and he did it. Not only did he do it, but he built the shit out of everything he made. Like, if there was an earthquake, the rest of the house would be rubble but those shelves would still be standing. Hell, they’d be holding up the rest of the house.

My mum was pretty handy too. She built things. Mostly she sanded and waxed and varnished things. My dad bought her a belt sander for her birthday and she loved it. By far the best thing he ever bought her. And if I didn’t have a deep fear of power tools, I’d totally feel the same.

So I come from a handy family. But that doesn’t mean I inherited the ability. I’m not palming off credit to my parents like I had magical moments with my father where he taught me how to make a perfect forty-five degree cut. No way. I watched, I observed, and that was on me. As a kid with a crazy and vivid imagination I could’ve chosen to not see that stuff. I could’ve looked the other way. But occasionally I did wander out of my own imaginary worlds long enough to notice that my parents existed and they were building a thing.

When my mum was downsizing she got rid of a bunch of her legacy belongings and I went straight for the tools. There’s nothing like being able to fuel your overconfidence with a well-stocked shed. I like tools. Tools make me feel competent.

As an aside: some genius decided to colour code different grades of hand saw. There are racks of them around B&Q. Red, blue and yellow on one stand… green, purple and orange on another two aisles away. Well excuse me, I come from the original Pokemon generation, I know exactly what to do with that arrangement. Especially as there’s a sign above each rack saying three for the price of two. Yes Sir, I will be catching them all today. And despite knowing that they were arranged thus just to get me to buy more, I will feel like I’ve won as I hand over my money. Thank you. Achievement unlocked.

So yes, I do love a shed. A useful shed. I’m lucky enough to have a good shed. It’s brick and it has electric lights and people keep telling me I should convert it into a studio or writing room or something and I’m like “but where would my tools go?!” Sometimes you need a shed to be a shed and do the shed thing. Doubly so if you have a garden and if your garden does what mine does and turns into the late stages of Jumanji every year.

Anyway, I had a bit of an epiphany when I was halfway through sawing and measuring and losing faith in myself and my non-existent skills and I recognised the signs… it was the DIY equivalent of writing the middle phase of a novel. I started to question myself. My mental resolve wobbled. I ventured forth with a grand vision and part way through the process I started wondering if I’d made a horrible mistake… was I even making a cupboard anymore? Was I, in fact, just making a huge mess? Was my name even Emily? At that point I couldn’t tell you. Not with any confidence.

So what kept me going? Through the permanent cloud of sawdust and realising that I own two spirit levels and neither of them tell the truth? And then realising that no, the spirit levels are good, it’s the walls that aren’t straight… anywhere (the Victorians built some incredible things but Izambard Kingdom Brunel did not work on my house, that is for damn sure)? 

What kept me going was knowing that if I keep working on this thing… if I keep following my original idea and plan… I will have something at the end. And it won’t be perfect. No first novel is perfect. No first cupboard is perfect. And that’s okay. Nobody’s marking my work except for me. And if it’s crap I can edit.

I kept going. 

I had no idea what I was doing but somehow I managed to make a built-in cupboard and shelves.

And just like any writer I’ve built one thing successfully and now I’m here telling you about what I learned in the process, like you can benefit from my hard-earned wisdom. You’re welcome. It’s gold.

(By the way, please listen to The Writers’ Gym - a friendly and fun podcast where me and Dr Rachel Knightley - who is far more qualified than me - talk about our writing processes and experiences. Those episodes are actually gold.)

My DIY journey is just beginning, guys, I have grand plans. Just like my writing, I can’t set out to complete a single task, I have to plan an epic trilogy with a prequel audio drama and several short stories. That’s just how I do.

So you’re going to see more of my adventures. And who knows? There may be more blogs. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pivot my brand into one of those “we’re doing up the house” instagram channels. No. I hide my WIPs until I have something beta-reader ready. You won’t hear about the previous drafts until they’re safely consigned to history. But if I build a thing you’ll see the thing because social media is the grown-up equivalent of the fridge door and I do appreciate the affirmation. Let’s face it, we all do. Gold stars galore!

Thanks folks. You’re the best.