I thought I was pretty original: starting from the very beginning, getting back to the basics, and really trying to understand how things are made. But about three months into my Zero to Maker journey, I came across a story that made my approach and experience seem pretty tame. I learned about Thomas Thwaites and his heroic attempt to build a toaster from scratch. He started with the rawest of materials—copper, iron ore, melted plastic—and set out to end up with the cute little appliance that graces many a kitchen counter.

His story began in 2008 when Thwaites, then a student at the Royal College of Art and Design in the United Kingdom, first hatched his now infamous Toaster Project.¹

His inspiration was a line of science fiction from Douglas Adams’s Mostly Harmless, one of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy installments:

Left to his own devices he couldn’t build a toaster. He could just about make a sandwich and that was it.

The presumption here is that we are looking at a bemused human being on a distant planet, with outsized expectations to civilize the low-tech species that inhabited the world. The hero, however, quickly realizes that without the support of the entire human species, he cannot muster the technological know-how to accomplish the feat of creating a toaster.

This single line piqued Thwaites’s curiosity. Was Adams’s conjecture right? Have we drifted so far away from the things we use that we are completely unable to re-create the simple objects that are ubiquitous in our everyday life? Thwaites set out to test his theory by building an appliance of his own. Not just a device that toasted bread, which could be done by building some type of a fire-burning oven, but to fundamentally re-create the $3.99 toaster (the cheapest model) in his consumer appliance catalog.

I couldn’t get enough of Thwaites’s story; I read through the blog, watched the videos he posted online, and read his book several times. On a primal level, it seemed as if we were scratching the same itch: a lack of control, or input, over the objects and technology that make up the world around us. We were both coming to grips with our manual illiteracy, the disappearing fix-it mentality of our grandparents’ generation. But whereas I was dwelling in the sadness of my own missing knowledge, Thwaites was highlighting a larger, more systemic point. The toaster seemed to have been a perfect challenge: an everyday object most people use regularly without a single thought given to its inherent ingenuity and utility.

For Thwaites, the first step in the process was acquiring the toaster he had in mind and breaking it down for parts. He needed to understand exactly what he was trying to re-create. As soon as he started to dig in, more questions arose:

…157 parts, but these parts are made of sub-parts, which are themselves made of sub-sub-parts. Does the variable resistor that controls the toasting time count as a single part? But it’s made of eight sub-parts, so perhaps it should count as eight? Does a capacitor count as one part or eight?

After completely disassembling and laying out the nearly 400 components built from roughly 100 different materials, he quickly realized the scale of his endeavor.² I knew exactly how he felt. I had run into a similar quandary. With the vague goal of re-skilling myself, I quickly ran up against the crux of my quest: What did I actually want to make? What tool or tool family should I start with? Should I practice my woodworking skills or spend time learning about 3D printing?

Thwaites wisely opted to redefine the scope of his project, and decided he would re-create just the main operating system of the toaster, or in Thwaites’s words, “the bare minimum from which I think I can make a toaster that retains the essence of ‘toasterness.’ These are: steel, mica, copper, plastic, and nickel.”

Even after he scaled down his goal to re-creating only 5 of the nearly 100 materials, Thwaites still had an enormous challenge on his hands. He had no idea where to get the materials, or even where to start looking. His initial, simple question had evolved into an exposition of how unthinkably hard it is to make anything, let alone do it by yourself.

Following bizarre leads and random tips, he traveled around the entire UK visiting abandoned mines and digging up the raw materials. At one point, Thwaites attempted to smelt iron ore in his microwave (something I strongly advise you don’t try at home). With every twist and turn of his adventure, Thwaites’s Toaster Project emphasized the unfathomable lengths to which an individual must go in order to find and use these fundamental building materials. By the end of the extreme experiment, Thwaites created something that vaguely—in both shape and function—represented the original toaster and, according to Thwaites, apparently worked for a brief moment before the 240 volts pouring through unprotected copper wires annihilated the fledgling device.

The project was a huge success in proving the complex interdependency of our world. Thwaites discovered that the novelty of Do-It-Yourself, or DIY, is misunderstood—or as he phrased it, “The point at which it stopped being possible for us to make the things that surround us is long past.” Thwaites’s toaster insights were a big revelation for me. His project epitomized much of what I had learned over the past few months but had struggled to articulate. Through my own determination to try to do things myself, I found a deeper appreciation for how much we rely on one another. I realized that making anything, especially the complex tools and machines that we use daily, requires a dense web of collaboration. When I was able to accept that fact, my anxiety dissipated.

Making is about sharing ideas, tools, and processes. The most prolific makers I met weren’t the people who did everything themselves. In fact, they were the individuals most skilled at navigating the web of collaboration and adapting it to their will.

Initially, the concept of DIY created a mental image of a lone inventor toiling away in his basement workshop or a MacGyver-type know-it-all. It was precisely that stereotype that kept me away from making for so long. I didn’t have an engineering degree. I didn’t know how to use most of the tools in a workshop, and calling me “uncreative” would be an understatement. I figured making was something I just didn’t get—it was for them and not me. But making, as I discovered early on, was about the art of finding other people—seeking out teachers, creating and joining like-minded groups, collaborating with strangers—and co-creating together. As long as you have an initiative to get started, it quickly evolves to Do-It-Together, or DIT.

It is difficult for a new maker to fathom how it all fits together and even more difficult to see how to contribute to the process. However, after a few basics are out of the way, such as learning the maker lingo, finding the right people, and getting access to the appropriate tools, the making quickly follows. The curiosity will lead the way.

Speaking a New Language

“Excuse me…I’m sorry, you’re doing what?” I asked. Surely I hadn’t heard the gentleman correctly.

“We’re working on technology to apply 3D printing to home building,” he replied. He went on to describe his business, in which they’re working to use cutting-edge technology to create life-size homes from a printer—just like your inkjet printer at your home and office, except much larger and capable of printing in three dimensions. He added an important caveat by explaining that the project and technology were still in the theoretical stage at this point, but my mind had been sufficiently blown.

This was the first I had heard of 3D printing. More strikingly, perhaps, this was the first conversation I had at the very first Maker Faire I attended. That day, and all the sights and experiences that composed it, will be etched into my mind forever.

I had heard about Maker Faire from a number of people. Each one had raved about the event. I would ask, “Maker Faire? What’s Maker? Is it an event, like a conference?”

Their responses were always somewhere along the lines of “Oh, you just have to go.” Apparently, it was something to be experienced and not described. As soon as I saw the advertisements for the May event, I made sure to block it off on my calendar.

When the big weekend finally rolled around, I was pretty excited to see what the buzz was all about. I convinced my friend Peter, who was visiting from Germany, to join me. We decided to take the Caltrain, about a 20-minute ride from San Francisco to the Faire grounds in San Mateo. On the train ride down, we shared what we knew about the event and tried to predict what we would experience.

Despite our elaborate imaginings and discussion, the event wasn’t anything I had expected, in size or impact. The gates were covered with colorful banners. The crowd was amazingly diverse: families of all shapes and sizes and ages, some dressed up in full costume. Despite the drastic demographic differences, all the attendees, from families with kids in strollers to groups of young adults, wore the same expression of jovial curiosity about what they might encounter that day. Peter and I got our tickets and proceeded through the grounds, still trying to take everything in. Finally, after wandering into the middle, surrounded by makers on all sides, we turned to each other and thought the same thing: where are we? We looked at the program of speakers: “DIY Bio,” “Sugru,” “Solar Suitcases,” “Howtoons.” So much of it—the people, the sights, and now the language—was foreign to me. I had no clue where to start. We stopped at the information booth just inside the gate to try to orient ourselves. We asked the woman behind the desk what we should see. She smiled with the same look my friends had given me when they told me about the Faire—it was all worth seeing.

Instead of pressing further, we resolved to just wander around aimlessly. It was the wandering that brought me into the conversation about 3D printing. I could see why my friends had such a difficult time explaining the Faire to me. Even though I understood very little of what I was looking at or hearing about, I felt strangely at home. Regardless of how little I knew about microcontrollers or machining or steampunk, it was impossible to ignore the passion that each maker brought to his or her project. Their passion bred curiosity and a desire to learn more, and the enthusiasm that was created was infectious. I remember thinking how you don’t get to see this kind of effusive creativity firsthand very often. I’ve certainly never seen it in any kind of office environment or among a large congregation of similarly minded people.

That first day at Maker Faire was the starting point I was seeking. That initial spark of interest would turn out to have an enormous impact on my life. It changed the way I now read and learn, the way I approach problems, and my perception of what’s possible.

Two years after the initial encounter I looked up that original program of speakers and exhibitors at Maker Faire. The same words—3D printing, microcontrollers, servo-control—that had been so mystifying to me then were now part of my vocabulary. The tools once completely foreign were now everyday objects in my life. And the speakers and presenters were all familiar names, some of them friends I see on a regular basis. In hindsight, I realize the acquired lingo accounts for a large part of confidence I have to call myself a maker. It took me a long time and a lot of uncomfortable moments to figure it out, but it didn’t have to.

How to Speak Maker

Learning the maker lingo is as important to understanding the maker culture as speaking Spanish is to understanding Mexico. It’s fine to read a few blogs or just go to Maker Faire, but if you really want to start making things, the first step is to learn the vernacular. Fortunately, the maker vocabulary is much easier to pick up than Spanish. The tricky aspect of the maker language is that many of the words are common English that have been repurposed and reimagined by the maker community. For example, the word “make” is one of the most common words in the English language, but that doesn’t mean explaining Maker Faire to a first-timer will be any easier. The word takes on a whole new meaning. “3D” and “printing” are both everyday words with their own associated mental images, which don’t adequately describe the new technology used in maker circles. Becoming aware of the new terms is the essential first step.

Lesson 1: Get Familiar

Here are a few terms to get you started—some of the basics. As you’ll notice, many of these words are already familiar, but have been adopted by makers with slightly altered meanings.

1. Making Creating and exploring new possibilities by building and experimenting with tools, technology, and materials.
2. Maker Someone who makes or produces something; a person with a propensity to tinker with and create the world around him or her.
3. Hack A modification to software or hardware; an effective (but oftentimes inelegant) adjustment that solves a problem or fulfills a need.
4. Kit A set of prepackaged parts needed to assemble a product. Maker kits typically involve electronics and robotics.

Lesson 2: Ask Questions!

This one took me way too long to learn. When I began making, I was scared to ask questions. I thought I would sound dumb for not knowing. Once I started, though, I realized that everyone was happy to explain until I understood. Gradually, I gained more and more confidence in asking questions. Now I don’t hesitate for a second.

Unsurprisingly, I noticed this characteristic among all the veteran makers I’ve met: they have absolutely no shame about asking questions, however obvious the answer might seem—whether it’s how something works, what a word means, or a request to repeat an instruction. When in doubt, ask!

Lesson 3: Repeat Lesson 2

Over and over and over again.

Surrounding Yourself with the Right People

You become the average of the 5 people you spend the most time with.

—Jim Rohn

I love that quote. I don’t remember where I first heard it, and I’m not sure from whom. I do remember, however, it being a complete revelation. I thought back to jobs and phases of my life, back to college and high school. In each case, no matter how much I had studied or how hard I’d tried, the skills or habits that took hold could be directly attributed to the people I was spending time with.

I have since adopted this as a philosophy for how to learn new skills. For me, relying on my own initiative doesn’t work; I need a foolproof system that keeps me on track to my goals.

Learning the lingo will only take you so far. To use the Spanish language metaphor again, it might be possible to learn the language with only a translation dictionary, but doing so sure wouldn’t be easy. A better way to learn is to practice speaking with a native speaker or, better yet, go for an immersive trip to a Spanish-speaking country. Making is no different. Thankfully, though, you don’t have to cross any borders to find an immersive maker experience.

When I first committed to getting started, I thought hard about who I should try to spend my time with and, more important, how I was going to convince them to let me hang around. Not surprisingly, many of the groups and people I sought were people I met (or learned about) that first day at Maker Faire.

I approached that day without specific expectations or knowledge about the weekend—and almost no information about the hundreds of exhibitors, performers, and panel discussions. But because it was our first visit, we wanted to make sure we saw at least one presentation. We stumbled in just as Eri Gentry, who would eventually become one of my maker heroes, took the stage to talk about BioCurious. The tagline for the talk was “the Bay Area biology collaborative lab space.” Eri walked us through slides explaining the core elements of DIY Bio—a grassroots movement of scientists and amateurs who are working to create cheaper tools and provide access to anyone interested in learning more or experimenting with science, and biology in particular. She provided background information about the high barriers to entry for research, the expense of equipment, and the need for a university affiliation. Then she took us on a photographic tour of her lab—an actual makeshift laboratory set up in the Silicon Valley garage that she shared with four other DIY Bio enthusiasts. She showed us pictures of fume hoods and other lab equipment she and her collaborators had created mostly from off-the-shelf parts. I had no idea what most of the equipment was, but after she put up the slides comparing the costs of commercial equipment to their homebuilt counterparts, it was easy to see the value they had unlocked. She went on to show videos of one of her roommates running experiments on potential cancer treatments in their garage. When Eri shared that her roommate’s project had received venture funding and moved into an actual laboratory to continue their research, I knew they must have done something right.

Her thorough, inspiring presentation couldn’t have provided a better introduction to the subject and how low-cost, off-the-shelf tools had the potential to support serious scientific research. It placed the maker movement into a new context for me. Then Eri said something at the end of her talk that resonated even deeper: she mentioned she had studied economics in college, which is exactly what I had studied. It took me by surprise because I had presumed my education was actually a hindrance for making. As she left the stage to make way for the next speaker, I walked over and waited in line behind a few other audience members with unanswered questions. When Eri finally turned her attention my way, I was steaming with curiosity. I introduced myself and stepped right in: “You mentioned studying economics in college; how did you learn all this biology stuff? Did you get multiple degrees?”

“Nope, everything I’ve learned about science I’ve taught myself. Most of it I’ve had to learn as I go,” she replied, referencing her BioCurious cohort.

“Wow, really? Do you think that’s something I could do, too? I mean, starting from knowing basically nothing?”

“You bet! We’ve got a pretty wide diversity of people who come to our meetings. You should come. Send me an email.”

And so I did. I ended up talking with Eri again a few weeks later to get the whole story. She, like me, initially explored the maker movement with only a genuine interest to learn, which in her case was about science and biology. After moving to Silicon Valley and not being able to find an opportunity for an untrained scientist, she set to work to change that. She met a few people who shared her vision of making science accessible and created BioCurious. Eri and her friends began meeting periodically for discussions and experiments. The group steadily grew to more than 500 local members, and pretty soon she found herself near the center of a growing movement, DIY Bio, and was being invited to speak at events like Maker Faire.

Eri’s story is a shining example of going from Zero to Maker in short order. Propelled by an eagerness to learn, all it takes is a little organizational skill to bring more makers into your life.

BioCurious is a very small sampling of maker groups. There are dozens of maker subgroups in the Bay Area exploring everything from garage robotics to microcontroller programmers, letterpress to digital fashion. Similarly diverse groups are springing up around the world (we’ll go through more strategies for catalyzing a maker community in your area in Chapter 3, “The Maker Mentality”). Curiosity is a great place to start. If something interests you, the best way to learn more is finding out where and when a group convenes. Social media is also a great starting point. Google+, Facebook, and Twitter provide easy ways to follow makers and makerspaces and stay on top of upcoming events.

Joining a Local Group

Another group I learned about on my first Maker Faire visit was Make:SF, a monthly meetup group (meetup.com) that offers, in their own words, “an opportunity to get started in the maker community. You can meet local makers, learn some new skills, and grow from there.”

I knew I’d have to check out the Make:SF group; it was perfect for my goal of spending more time with makers. I looked them up online, and lucky for me, they were having one of their monthly meetings within a few days and only a few blocks from my apartment. The topic of the evening was “Basic Electronics: Soldering and Assembling Basic Kits.” I arrived at the event a half hour early to try to get a lay of the land. I was nervous. Not only had I never soldered before (which was a little embarrassing), but I had no idea how they would react to my lack of skill. It is one thing to go to Maker Faire and learn about what someone is working on, but it’s quite another to make something yourself.

The event was at Noisebridge, a hackerspace in the Mission neighborhood of San Francisco. A hackerspace, as I’d come to learn, can mean a lot of different things. To some, the word “hacker” can conjure up thoughts of criminally inclined computer experts, working their way in and out of security loopholes on the Internet. In maker circles, however, a hack is something that is modified, either by adding or reassembling parts or functions. Basically, it is an alteration that serves a specific purpose. An example would be the Pringles Cantenna, a makeshift device created by Adam Flaherty and friends to extend the WiFi range of their antenna. After a $10 modification to an empty Pringles can, they achieved the same effectiveness as a $150 commercial antenna. (If you search the term “cantenna” online, you’ll find a number of tutorials on how to make your own updated version.) Hacks can be done with both software and physical objects. A lot of making is hacking. A hackerspace is a collective or community space that hackers (and makers) maintain to collaborate and share resources. Noisebridge is just such a place.

Outside the building I saw a small piece of tape next to the buzzer that had “Noisebridge” scribbled on it. I pushed the button and waited. I wasn’t sure if my early arrival would be welcome, or if anyone was there yet. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I slowly opened the door, peeking my head in as I entered. The room was rich with activity, recalling an oversupplied, and undersupervised, adult playpen—tools, parts, and machines strung apart everywhere. Most contraptions looked like they were under construction, perhaps so indefinitely. Boxes and shelves lined the walls, filled with more things that could be possibly used for something else someday.

My worries about walking in and interrupting a group of working makers couldn’t have been more off target. If anything, my entrance among a few people scattered around the space—working at computers, combing through the boxes of parts—was completely unobtrusive. They looked to be about my age, young to middle-aged adults, everyone in casual attire. It was a long way from my imagined scene of exaggerated costumes and autonomous robots patrolling the room. I expected the exotic flair of Maker Faire and wound up in a space that seemed entirely approachable. I almost blended right into the scene. They probably wouldn’t have noticed me at all if I hadn’t been standing in the doorway, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I’m here for the Make:SF meetup,” I hesitantly announced. “This is Noisebridge, right?”

“Hmmm… I’m not sure. I don’t know anything about it,” one of them replied.

As I looked around in confusion, another person came hustling around the corner from the back of the space. He was carrying a box of soldering irons. He introduced himself as Malcolm, one of the organizers of the group. After a few pleasantries, I nervously revealed to Malcolm that I was a total beginner, and he smiled and told me I had come to the right place.

Pretty soon, the room began to fill with other attendees. By the time the session started, there were more than twenty people in the space. Despite the size of the group, Malcolm still took the time to go around and have everyone introduce themselves and say what inspired them to come. The group was strikingly diverse, with men and women from every background: an art director, an animator, an artist, a real estate broker, and a software engineer. When Andrew (the other organizer) asked how many of us were new to making and Make:SF, over half of the hands in the room went up. Clearly this was a safe place to make mistakes and ask questions.

Malcolm divided us into three groups to work on the evening’s projects: electronics kits. I broke off into the group that was making the MintyBoost, a device that charges iPhones and iPods with AA batteries. We each received a kit, which in this case was ready-to-assemble electronic parts and a soldering iron. This was my first experience with soldering, and that was obvious. It took me a while to get the hang of holding the iron, let alone melting the solder onto the circuit board. Even though I had only a vague idea of what I was doing, Malcolm walked us all through it. Anything I missed or didn’t understand, one of the other group members would step in and help me (and vice versa). It didn’t matter that we had just learned it ourselves; if you figured something out before your neighbors, you took the time to help them when they got stuck. We were learning together. By the end of the night, I left with a new iPhone charger made from AA batteries and an old Altoids tin, some basic soldering skills, and a handful of new friends.

The Make:SF experience was the first of many positive group encounters in my Zero to Maker journey. Each one was just as inviting as that first night at Noisebridge. In all my experiences with different maker groups, a common thread underlies them all—a welcoming culture of possibility, encouragement, and collaboration.

Meeting More Makers

Once I opened my eyes to it, I realized that makers and maker groups were everywhere around me. I think you’ll be surprised how close you are to the action, too. Here are a few things to do.

1. Go to a Maker Faire

The maker mecca. For new makers, Maker Faire is a great place to start. First, the provocative projects and the dedicated people who make them provide the ultimate inspiration for ideas. Second, the diversity of the presenters and exhibits gives you an infinite range of making possibilities. It’s a great way to figure out what piques your interest, whether it’s with robotics, crafting, 3D printing, or Kinetic Pastry Science Mobile Muffins (which are, in their own words, “delicious, electric-powered, built from scratch, highly maneuverable and capable of 18mph+!”). And lastly, a curious and positive attitude can take you a long way. I attended my first Maker Faire having never assembled anything other than Ikea furniture, and now, only a year later, Maker Faire feels like a family reunion. In addition to the original Maker Faire in San Mateo every May, annual Maker Faires are held in Detroit and Kansas City, as well as a World Maker Faire in New York City every September. Plus, over a hundred Mini Maker Faires take place annually throughout the world. It’s becoming easier than ever to connect with the larger Make: community.

2. Explore Meetup

Meetup.com is a website that hosts a network of local interest groups. Meetups are a great way to meet people interested in…well, basically anything. Maker meetups are no different. I found my way to Make:SF because it was local, but it’s very likely there are groups near you. If there aren’t any in your area, you can always start your own. Andrew, the original Make:SF organizer, started the group after moving to the Bay Area from New York and finding no groups like the Make:NYC group (now dormant) with which he’d been involved. Make:SF now has more than 1,800 members and has hosted almost 80 events.

3. Visit a Makerspace or Hackerspace

Maker- and hackerspaces, like Noisebridge, are excellent places to meet other makers. I continually hear and read about new hackerspaces opening up all the time. You can check out hackerspaces.org for a list of nearly every hackerspace on the planet. Just remember that each hackerspace is unique. For example, Noisebridge (where the Make:SF Meetup was held) has a different setup than a place like TechShop. Noisebridge is a co-op model, which works well for experienced makers who need a space to hack, whereas TechShop, which works more like a gym membership, is better suited to makers who need access to tools as well as classes and project mentoring. There’s a flavor of hackerspace for every maker type and need (see Figure 2-1). I suggest exploring as many as possible to get a sense of what’s available. There’ll be more on this in Chapter 4, “Access to Tools.”

4. Explore Instructables.com or Make: Projects

Spending actual, physical time with makers is an ideal situation, but it’s not always practical, given geographic and time constraints. The good news is that some incredible online resources are available that make virtual time a good alternative. Instructables (instructables.com) is an online community and database of DIY project how-tos for just about anything, from pumpkin JELL-O to an electric canoe. If you can imagine it, there’s a good chance there’s an Instructables entry on how to do it yourself. If there isn’t, you can add it! The great part about Instructables is the community that supports and contributes to it. It’s a great way to get feedback for the first-tries or prototypes that you create.

5. Volunteer!

The maker community is a welcoming bunch of people, and it’s amazing how much you can learn when you simply offer to help. There are a number of projects and groups that need a helping hand, even from those of us with limited technical backgrounds. You can peruse the Make: website (makezine.com) or Instructables for projects that catch your eye and email the maker to see if there is any way you can get involved. Attending a Maker Faire or Meetup event is another great avenue to offer your participation. In Chapter 3, I’ll discuss some of my volunteering experiences, which turned out to be some of the most valuable parts of my journey.

Starting Your Own Group

As much as I enjoyed spending time with the BioCurious group and learning from the Make:SF group, I was still missing one crucial element every true maker possessed and I longed for: passion. Eri’s exuberance as she described the DIY Bio projects or Malcolm’s radiant expression as he showed a first-timer how to use a soldering iron is something that can’t be forced or contrived. There is nothing like the inspiration that you emanate when you are pursuing a project you love, something that really gets your heart beating. It’s always that kind of maker behind the best projects at Maker Faire. And I was still searching for it.

It wasn’t until I met Eric Stackpole that I was able to identify a project I could really pour my heart into. After sharing with a friend that I was looking for a way to combine my interest in the ocean and my desire to start making, he suggested I meet Eric. He had heard that Eric was building a submarine in his garage and assumed that kind of project would align with my interests pretty well. The idea of building your own submarine sounded intriguing enough. If nothing else, I had to hear the story for myself.

Eric and I exchanged a few emails, and we eventually found a time to meet to talk about the submarine, or ROV (remote-operated vehicle) as he referred to it. He was quick to explain that it was more an underwater robot than a submarine. We met a few weeks later on a Sunday morning at a coffee shop in San Francisco. Before we sat down, Eric stopped and asked me, “I have the robot in the car—should we go grab it?”

“Yes, of course!” Even though it was the reason we were meeting, I was a little surprised to be jumping in so quickly.

When Eric pulled the robot out of his trunk, I marveled at how small it was—about the size of a microwave oven. And it seemed so refined. The parts looked much more polished and precise than I had expected. I had originally imagined a submarine like the one on The Beatles album cover—a cartoony contraption built to withstand ocean depths with a periscope poking through the surface. Eric’s creation was nothing like that. We spent a little more than half an hour going over the technical aspects of the robot. He told me about the tools he used to create some of the parts, and where others could be purchased as off-the-shelf components. He then explained his vision for telerobotics, or creating low-cost, accessible machines that allow people to view and interact with places they wouldn’t normally be able to—in this case, underwater environments. “In our email exchange, did I tell you the story behind why I was building the ROV?” he asked.

“No, what’s the story?” I replied, interested in hearing the background.

He then launched into his now-famous retelling of the Legend of the Hall City Cave. By the time Eric finished telling me the story, my jaw was on the floor. I was hooked.

That initial meeting was the start of a much bigger conversation. Over the next few months. I researched ROVs extensively. I found that they could basically be split into two categories: commercial and homebuilt. The commercial products were clearly well-built and capable tools. They varied significantly in size and capability, but they all had one description in common: expensive. The homebuilt ROVs were also ingenious, but for a very different reason. The creativity poured into making DIY ROVs bristled with energy and ambition. With limited budgets and unshakeable resourcefulness, DIY ROV builders were trying novel techniques and ideas that commercial projects were ignoring. The big problem with the homebuilt ROVs was the lack of standardized and coordinated innovation, not a lack of technology. With a little more organization, we thought, DIY ROVs could be equally effective tools for science and exploration as their commercial counterparts, at a fraction of the cost.

Eric and I started OpenROV (openrov.com), a website and forum dedicated to telerobotic underwater exploration, to organize our discussion, share the original design plans, and invite other collaborators. We made the project open source, which means we release all of the technical designs, specifications, materials, and assembly instructions. Instead of keeping that information proprietary and secret, we’re sharing our efforts so that others will be able to contribute to the evolution of the design and participate in the adventure. Aside from just the technical gains we’ve made from being open source, we’ve had the opportunity to meet a wide array of interesting and enthusiastic people. We’ve also discovered, contrary to popular belief, that we can build a profitable business with this open model (which we’ll discuss in greater detail in Chapter 7, “One to One Thousand”).

Starting Your Own Online Group

It’s easier than ever to create a website like OpenROV. The magic lies in attracting a community of co-creators. If there’s something you’re passionate about making and a group doesn’t already exist, consider starting your own conversation. Don’t worry about not being finished or having all the answers—just starting the discussion is a big step in the right direction.

The first step is finding out what other groups are in your vicinity or range of interest. Figure out who’s working on similar projects and overlapping ideas. I found the best way to do this is to build a knowledge map. Before we started OpenROV, I sat down with a blank sheet of paper and spent several hours Googling “homebuilt ROVs,” “DIY submarines,” “open source underwater robots,” and so on. Most of the searches turned up similar results, and I was able to identify and understand who else was working in this world. I drew a map of how those groups interrelated and overlapped, their relative sizes, and how active they were.

There are two possible outcomes from that exercise: you find a group that’s working on your idea or you don’t. If you find an active group, perfect! There’s a great place to start learning. If you don’t find an existing forum that suits your needs, the second step is to start your own online discussion. There are a number of easy-to-use and inexpensive web platforms for hosting your forum, including Wordpress (wordpress.com), Instructables (instructables.com), Google Groups (groups.google.com), and Ning (ning.com).

After you choose a platform and get a basic site together, the third and most important step is to begin inviting and encouraging the community. The best way to foster an enthusiastic and engaged group is to focus on asking great questions. Chronicle and document your process and progress and invite anyone to participate. Don’t try to hide the struggles and hurdles—emphasize them! Makers aren’t looking for a finished product; it’s the process that attracts them to a project or group. Here are some examples of groups and the platforms they used:

SV Seeker

1. Platform: Facebook Group
2. Website: svseeker.com
3. Story: Tulsa, Oklahoma might not top your list of boat-building hotspots—especially big boats. That hasn’t stopped Doug Jackson, though. Doug set an ambitious goal of building a 74-foot, steel-hulled rig in his backyard. Like Noah and his ark, Doug’s ambitious project caught the attention of onlookers, especially online. So many people commented on his YouTube videos that he quickly built a community of people with suggestions and offers to help. He created a Facebook group to bring these fans into the same virtual room. Now, the group shares their own DIY builds and coordinates visits to Doug’s shop to help with welding.

DIY Book Scanner

1. Platform: Instructables
2. Website: diybookscanner.org
3. Story: As a graduate student, Daniel Reetz had a stroke of insight while searching Amazon for neuroscience textbooks. In addition to offering the textbooks, Amazon also suggested Daniel might be interested in a digital camera, which was available for far less than the $400 textbooks. Instead of buying the books, Daniel decided he would try to build his own book scanner. After dumpster-diving for parts to build his two-camera book scanner, he came up with something that worked. He posted a 79-step instruction set to Instructables, which erupted in a whirlwind of interest and enthusiasm. The community has since migrated to its own website and forum, now with over 1,500 contributors participating in the evolution of the design.

DIY Drones

1. Platform: Ning
2. Website: diydrones.com
3. Story: Chris Anderson, then the editor-in-chief of Wired magazine, wanted to experiment. He wondered if he could embed electronics to make his remote-controlled plane autonomous—to give it an autopilot. His initial experiment began with his kids and a set of LEGO Mindstorms in his backyard, but as the kids lost interest Chris kept working. He posted his progress to the GeekDad blog (wired.com/geekdad) and quickly found kindred spirits. The process inspired him to create DIY Drones, a community of autonomous drone enthusiasts that has grown to more than 80,000 members. The group has collaborated to create a number of different autonomous flying devices, including the ArduPlane and the ArduCopter autopilots. In addition, Chris has spun out a company, 3D Robotics, that manufactures boards and components (largely to the growing DIY Drones community).

Getting Expert Advice

Thinking about the people with whom you spend your time is more than just a new maker tip. It goes beyond encouragement. In many cases, joining or starting a group is a comfortable way to ease into the process, but it is not necessarily helpful in addressing a specific challenge or roadblock. In some cases, where the technical questions demand a precise, definitive opinion, the most efficient solution is to approach an expert for help. For example, although he was a new maker, Thomas Thwaites didn’t need to join a group like Make:SF or attend a Maker Faire. He had a goal—a specific outcome he wanted to see for his toaster project. Attending group meetings, as friendly as that endeavor would have been, wouldn’t have been useful in his quest to re-create the kitchen appliance because he had such unique and specific needs. However, Thwaites still benefited tremendously from the idea of surrounding himself with the right people by getting advice from an expert.

As Thwaites sat before the disassembled toaster, he pondered how his original simple question of whether he can build his own toaster had evolved into a serious engineering challenge. For example, he had to answer questions like “Does the capacitor count as one part or eight?” and “What’s that white stuff inside the resistor?” Thwaites knew that it was too much to tackle by himself. He had to reevaluate his objectives. Most important, he realized he needed some advice.

He decided to reach out to Professor Jan Cilliers, chair in mineral processing at the Royal School of Mines at Imperial College in London. Thwaites wrote him an email to see if he had any advice for his fledgling toaster project.

From: Thomas Thwaites <*****@thomasthwaites.com>

To: Jan Cilliers <******@imperial.ac.uk>

Date: 7 November 2008 02:08

Subject: The Toaster Project?

Dear Professor Cilliers,I’m a 2nd year postgraduate design student at the Royal College of Art (just across the Royal Albert Hall from your office at Imperial College). Sorry for contacting you just “out of the blue,” but I’m trying to build an electric toaster from raw materials and I’m in need of some advice.As a first step I think I need to get an idea of whether the project is hopelessly ambitious, or just ambitious. I was wondering if I could perhaps come to the Royal School of Mines and briefly discuss the shape of the project?

Yours sincerely,

Thomas

And the response…

From: Jan Cilliers <******@imperial.ac.uk>

To: Thomas Thwaites ******@thomasthwaites.com

Date: 7 November 2008 07:16

Subject: Re: The Toaster Project?

Thomas, this is utterly fabulous! Come see me whenever you can, I would be happy to help in whatever way I can. Call me on ********* first, or email.

Jan

It didn’t take much. Thwaites and Professor Cilliers ended up meeting for lunch that same day. Professor Cilliers peppered Thwaites with questions, starting out with the obvious “Why a toaster?” but quickly diverting into the technical aspects like finding and extracting the raw materials. Of course, the conversation with Professor Cilliers exposed some serious challenges to completing the project. That discussion helped Thwaites define exactly what he could do—it helped shape the project. Not to mention, Thwaites now has a friendly resource he can refer back to, which he has done many times.

When I read the copy of Thwaites’s email and discussion with Professor Cilliers, I did a double-take. It looked exactly like an email that I had written to an ROV expert about our OpenROV project. As we began telling more people about the robot, a number of people would bring up Marine Advanced Technology Education (MATE), which is a nationwide competition for small teams of high school and college students to create their own homebuilt ROVs and test them in front of their peers and a panel of industry judges. The goal of the program and event is to inspire more young people to become interested in robotics, specifically underwater robotics.

Eric had competed as a high school student, so he was very familiar with and enthusiastic about the competition. His eyes would always light up when MATE would come up in conversation. After doing some research on the competition, I found it to be a treasure trove of useful information. It was rich with resources for building ROVs, and more important, it listed the people behind the program, who were ROV experts with a clear interest in getting more people involved with the technology.

One of the initial drivers of the MATE competition was Drew Michel, an ROV industry veteran. The competition was born from a conversation Drew had with Jill Zande, who started the MATE Center (and still runs the competition and organization today). Since they started the program, MATE has held numerous competitions, both regional and national, that have inspired hundreds of students, like Eric, to pursue careers in science and technology. By all accounts, it’s an incredibly positive program for kids and school curriculum. As I read more about Drew, I became increasingly impressed and excited by his résumé and list of accomplishments. Aside from helping initiate the MATE competition, he is an internationally recognized author who’s won publishing awards for his books on underwater robotics and electronics, a senior member of the Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers (IEEE), and a fellow in the Marine Technology Society. His résumé went on and on. The more I read, the more I thought he would be an incredible resource for our OpenROV project—helping us define what was possible, but also giving us ideas for some of our technical challenges.

I spent about 45 minutes crafting a thoughtful (and brief) message about what we were building, why we were building it, and how far along we were. It took me a long time to craft such a short email, but the results were worth it. Less than two hours later, I received an excited response from Drew, and we set up a time that he, Eric, and I could get on the phone.

When we all joined on the call, Drew jumped right to some of the most pressing design issues facing the OpenROV: tethering systems, communication, and thrust-to-drag ratios. Drew helped us identify problems we didn’t even know we had. After we finished the conference, Eric called me back right away. We were both really excited to have gotten so much great advice. He told me he never would have thought of sending Drew an email.

It really isn’t magic. Most people wouldn’t think to email someone like Drew, and that’s probably the reason experts like him are usually happy to share their knowledge. If you have a specific piece of information that’s holding you back or you don’t know where to start, chances are there’s someone out there with the advice you need. All it takes is a little Internet research, a thoughtful email, and a little bit of audacity.

The benefits of reaching out are greater than just getting advice. It’s a great way to get the word out about your project. In addition to knowledge, many times the experts have ideas on other people and organizations to connect with. They can also be a great motivating force. If you know you have the support and interest from someone you respect, you’re more likely to follow through. When I talked to Thwaites, he was very emphatic about the value of his relationship with Professor Cilliers for the Toaster Project, telling me that “it was as motivational as it was informational.”

HOW TO: Email an Expert

The opportunity to get advice from experts isn’t limited to master’s degree candidates with an interesting thesis project. With a little research, it’s relatively easy to get advice from some of the smartest people in the world. Before you start firing off emails to Richard Branson and Bill Gates, I’d encourage you to think about two things: who and what.

Who

At any given time, no matter what you’re doing, there is probably someone else in the world who has done it before and knows it better than you. At the very least, this person knows the silly mistakes to avoid. But how could you possibly know who that is? And how can you expect that they will respond? I like to think about it in three ways:

1. Avoid the obvious. As we thought about experts who could potentially help us with our underwater robot, people would bring up the famous underwater explorers like Dr. Sylvia Earle or James Cameron. Although it would have been great to get their advice and input, they weren’t the right people for us to talk to. Not only is someone like Dr. Earle incredibly hard to reach, but even if we did, the odds of her being able to take the time to provide useful advice were very small. For us, it made much more sense to approach someone like Drew. He was much more accessible and had enough flexibility in his schedule to have a few hours to chat with us.
2. Proximity helps. If you can, find an expert nearest you, both geographically and relationship-wise. For Thwaites, Professor Cilliers’s office was right across the river from the Royal School of Art. For us, Eric had participated in the MATE competition and had received one of the scholarships that Drew established. In both cases, there was a connection. Also, in Thwaites’s case, it’s much easier to meet for coffee and a follow-up conversation (which they did) when the expert is only a few blocks away.
3. Do your homework. When I talked to Thwaites about why he chose Professor Cilliers as his mentor, he told me that he’d researched a lot of different people in and around the geology and mining world. What stuck out about Professor Cilliers is that he had the broadest experience. He had a history of working on other outside-the-box projects and Thwaites thought his creative Toaster Project might pique his interest.

What

Thwaites’s email to Professor Cilliers and my email to Drew were strikingly similar, and it wasn’t a coincidence. There’s a simple format for an out-of-the-blue email that tends to generate the best results:

1. Introduction and Basic Explanation (Lines 1–2) The email needs some context. It doesn’t need to be your life story, but it should give a little background on why you decided to reach out.
2. Need and Ask (Lines 3–4) Be specific and ask for the advice you need. In the cases of the Toaster Project and OpenROV, the maker needed a reality check. Were our projects too crazy? What were we overlooking?
3. Thanks and Availability (Line 5) Obviously, it’s best to close these emails by thanking people for their time. Also, set a range of availability. Setting the availability makes the email seem less open-ended and potentially time-consuming for the expert.

Here’s my letter to Drew:

From: David Lang [mailto:[email protected]]

Sent: Monday, October 24, 2011 3:13 PM

To: Drew Michel

Subject: ROV Advice?

Hi Drew,I hope you’re doing well!

My name is David Lang. I wanted to reach out to you about a project I’m a part of called OpenROV. I started the project with my friend, Eric Stackpole, with the goal of creating an open source, low-cost ROV that could be built with off-the-shelf parts. Another aspect of our project is that we want the ROV to be a scientifically capable robot, unlike a lot of the other PVC designs.

We’ve come a long way and now have a community of about 175 people on our forum. The prototype is ready and we’re innovating very quickly. Eric and I were reading about you and your work and thought it would be worth reaching out. It would be an utmost privilege to get your opinion on the project. We can rearrange our schedules to be available for a phone call if there’s a time that works for you.

Best,

And here’s the response:

From: Drew Michel

Date: Mon, Oct 24, 2011 at 3:38 PM

Subject: RE: ROV Advice?

To: David Lang <[email protected]>

David,The good thing about being in my position (semi-retired after 45 years in the industry) is that I don’t need to work very hard to put beans on the table and do have time to visit with bright young minds like you and your colleagues and, hopefully, give you the benefit of my many mistakes.

Also, you have contacted me at a good time. I arrived home (my Houston house) last Tuesday after six straight weeks in Aberdeen, Scotland, Kona, Hawaii, Rio, Brazil and my cabin on Belle River in Louisiana, so I am ready to spend some time at my desk. Most days this week work for me.

Before we get on the phone think about 2 things; cables and connectors will be your biggest maintenance issue. Thrust to mass ratio will be your biggest design issue. Mass includes tether drag.

Looking forward to speaking with you.

Drew Michel

ROV Committee Chair and President Elect

Marine Technology Society

Halfway There…

Finding the courage and inspiration to go out and meet makers (armed with a commitment to get involved) is both trivially easy and impossibly hard. It means getting away from your comfort zone, out of your routine, and into the unknown. But it’s also the most important step. Surrounding yourself with the right people (both virtually and physically) is the most determinant factor in becoming a maker.

In the next chapter, I’m going to highlight the most important lessons from my condensed learning period—the wisdom I wish someone had passed on to me when I got started. But everything still stems from the time I spent with other makers. If you remember nothing else from this book, remember that making is a team sport. It’s about showing up and exploring together.