When I post a finished product on my website or social media, you see the part that worked. The cuts are made. The sanding is finished. The hardware is installed. The finish has been applied. I’ve cleaned everything up, taken some pictures, and hopefully ended up with something I’m proud to put the BourbonSmoke name on.
What you don’t see is everything that happened before that picture. The boards I’ve cut wrong. The epoxy I’ve wasted. The tools I probably shouldn’t have bought. The ideas that looked much better in my head than they did sitting on my workbench. And the projects where I eventually had to admit that the best option was to start over.
Mistakes are part of woodworking. I’ve made plenty of them, and I’m certainly not finished making them. But every one of them has changed the way I work.
Measure Twice Exists for a Reason
There’s an old woodworking saying: measure twice, cut once. Every woodworker also has a collection of stories explaining exactly why that saying exists.
I've measured incorrectly. I've made a cut and immediately realized something wasn't right. I've had mistakes that meant ordering more material and waiting for it to arrive before I could continue a project. And unlike a lot of other things, woodworking doesn't come with an undo button. Once you cut a board too short, it's still going to be too short no matter how long you stare at it.
Those mistakes teach you to slow down. Check the measurement again. Think through the next few steps instead of only the one you're working on. Account for the material the blade removes. Make sure you're cutting on the correct side of the line.
None of that is particularly exciting. But neither is buying the same piece of wood twice.
Epoxy Taught Me an Expensive Lesson
Of all the mistakes I've made, getting epoxy wrong has been one of the more expensive ones. Epoxy isn't particularly forgiving when you don't follow the process.
The ratio matters. Mixing it thoroughly matters. Preparation matters. Temperature and curing conditions can matter. And the frustrating part is that you might not realize you've made a mistake until you've already poured it.
At that point, you aren't necessarily losing only the epoxy. You may have already invested time preparing the wood, building forms, setting everything up, and getting the project ready for the pour. Then you get to watch an expensive lesson slowly refuse to cure correctly.
I've learned that some processes simply aren't worth rushing. Even if I've done something before, there's value in slowing down, checking the instructions, getting the measurements right, and doing it correctly.
Confidence is useful in a shop. Overconfidence can get expensive.
Sometimes the Cheap Tool Costs More
I don't believe you need the most expensive tools to make good products. There are plenty of reasonably priced tools in my shop that work great. But I've also learned that there's a difference between inexpensive and cheap.
I've bought the cheaper version of a tool or accessory online because I figured it would be good enough. Sometimes it was. Other times it wore out quickly, didn't perform the way I needed it to, or wasn't precise enough for the work I was trying to do. Then I bought the better version anyway.
Saving $20 isn't much of a savings if you end up spending $20 and then another $50 replacing it. Even worse is when a low-quality tool or accessory damages the product you're working on.
I've become much more selective about where I can save money and where spending a little more on quality is worth it. The cheapest option isn't always the least expensive option.
It Looked Better in My Head
Not every idea deserves to become a BourbonSmoke product. That's another lesson I've learned.
Sometimes I come up with an idea that sounds great. I can picture exactly what the finished product will look like. Then I make it. And...nope.
Maybe the proportions don't look right. Maybe it's more complicated to make than the finished product justifies. Maybe I can't reproduce it consistently. Maybe the cost of making it would require me to charge more than I think the product is worth. Or maybe everything technically works, but I simply don't like it enough to sell it.
That's what prototypes are for.
One of my recent products, my .45 ACP Cartridge Pen, went through that same process. I had an idea, figured out how I thought it could work, and then had to actually take it into the shop and prove it.
That one worked. Not every idea does. And that's okay.
Part of running a woodworking business is figuring out which ideas deserve to move forward and which ones are better left on the workbench.
Wood Doesn't Care About Your Plans
Then there are the mistakes that aren't really mistakes at all. Wood is a natural material, and sometimes it has other plans.
A board can move. Grain can tear out. A knot can show up exactly where you don't want it. Something can crack. A beautiful grain pattern can be sitting in the exact section you originally planned to cut away.
You learn to adapt. Sometimes that means changing the way you cut something. Sometimes it means changing the design slightly. Sometimes it means setting that piece aside for another project. And sometimes there isn't anything you can do about it.
That's part of working with real wood. You can have a plan when you walk into the shop, but the material still gets a vote.
Sometimes You Just Have to Start Over
This might be the hardest lesson. There comes a point in some projects where you have to decide whether you're fixing a mistake or simply trying to convince yourself that it's good enough.
Those aren't the same thing.
Sometimes a mistake can be repaired properly and nobody will ever know it happened. Other times, every attempt to fix it creates another compromise. That's when it's time to start over.
It's frustrating. You may have already invested several hours into the project. You may lose material. You may have to order something again. You may have to tell a customer that their order is going to take a little longer.
But ultimately, the customer shouldn't have to accept my mistake just because starting over is inconvenient for me. If I wouldn't be happy receiving it, I shouldn't be comfortable sending it.
The Part You Never See
I don't photograph most of my mistakes. Usually I'm too busy being annoyed with myself, figuring out what went wrong, and deciding whether I can fix it or need to start over.
So when you see a finished BourbonSmoke product on my website or social media, you're seeing the version that made it through the process.
What you don't see are the boards I've cut wrong, the epoxy I've wasted, the tools I shouldn't have bought, the prototypes that never became products, and all the little mistakes that have changed the way I work.
That's part of learning a craft. The goal isn't to reach a point where I never make another mistake. I'm not sure that point exists. The goal is to learn something when I do.
I'm certainly not done making mistakes. But hopefully, I'm done making some of the same ones.
