My brother once told me a story about some buddies of his who majored in woodshop and carpentry design. For their final projects, they made elaborately crafted furniture. As the end of the semester approached, their deadlines loomed, and the designers spent more and more time in the woodshop, cutting, carving, and assembling with the various powered tools. One such tool was the bandsaw.
The saw consists of a single, hoop-shaped blade. Vertical wheels above and below the cutting table spun the blade in a continuous downward motion, allowing the designers to quickly make intricate, precise cuts. The single floor-mounted machine in the shop was a popular one, and the designers took turns as they feverishly tried to finish their projects. Soon, it was the day before their projects were due.
And that night there was a storm, and then a power outage. With the snuffing of the lights, every machine in the shop slowed to a halt, and there was no promise of when the power would come back on. The machine din was replaced with a chorus of profanity as the designers panicked about how to finish their designs.
Then two of my brothers’ buddies got an idea. They unplugged the bandsaw, then opened the side casing, exposing the top and bottom wheels.
“I’ll spin, you cut, then we switch,” one of them said to the other. And so he frantically pawed the wheel like a cat, spinning the blade as his buddy made his cuts and a third friend shined a flashlight on the work area. Others bought into the process, taking turns at the wheel, the light, or making their much-needed cuts.
In a pinch, they figured it out.
I find inspiration in that story when thinking about other problems. My day job often requires jury-rigging. My novels present a slew of obstacles to overcome. But when you break down the problem, sometimes the solution is just a matter of reconnecting the fundamental pieces in a different way.