These Books are Grift

That’s me. The little guy at left. Running way from the big and famous woodworker.

Early in my woodworking journalism career, I traveled a lot. Too much, really, for a 30-year-old with young kids and a spouse who’s also a journalist. But that was my job.

I traveled to woodworking shows and events all over the U.S. and Canada for years and years. The good news: I met a lot of great people I’m still friends with. The other good news: I met a lot of people who I now keep at arm’s length. Plus, I learned some shit about how the world works.

Now, I want to tell you a true story without embarrassing anyone. I’m not going to use names. And I don’t want you to guess the names of the people in the story either. Any guesses will be deleted. I’m honest, but I’m not an asshole.

In the early 2000s I was sent on the road to shows to hand out magazines, talk about how “Popular Woodworking is different!” and generally show the world that we were serious woodworkers and not just people who made anatomically correct scrollsawn gnomes.

While on the show circuit, one night I got to have dinner with a bunch of people, including a “famous woodworker.” Somehow, I was seated next to him at the restaurant, and we chatted about the craft (duh), family and writing.

After I complimented his work, he rolled his eyes.

“I am so burned out on woodworking,” he said. “I have been for years. I have no desire to build things. I have no desire to teach. I just want to write.”