It started with a simple idea.

A book of word searches imbued with meaning. Something beautiful to hold, something thoughtful to work through, and something that might encourage people to slow down for a little while.

That was the idea behind Letterspace.

Simple enough.

Except making something simple turns out to be remarkably complicated.

I spent nearly a year designing the book, laying out the squares, filling in the letters, figuring out where duplicate words were used, replacing them, and testing it. Thinking about how it should look, how it should feel, how the puzzles should work, what the experience should be, what I should write, and what someone might take away from it.

Then came the printing.

Finding the right manufacturer. Requesting quotes and samples. Comparing paper stocks. Choosing colors, textures, binding methods, linen, foil, ribbons, and finishes.

Every decision seemed to reveal another decision.

That took months.

Then there was the pencil. Well, there was a pen once too…made completely out of brass without seams…the weight though, and it just didn’t feel right.

But apparently making a book wasn’t enough.

I wanted a particular pencil. High quality graphite. Made in Japan. Incense cedar. No eraser. No unnecessary decoration. Not something that my kids come home with that typically sharpens into splinters. Just something beautifully made that felt appropriate alongside the book.

That took another two months, maybe three. But I loved the process, especially learning about how Japanese culture is so respectful.

Then came shipping containers crossing oceans. Freight forwarders. Customs. Insurance. Import duties. Tracking numbers. Waiting.

And eventually, a rather large collection of boxes arrived. Six large UPS delivery trucks did the job.

That’s when the next part began.

How do you protect a hardcover book from damage? What size shipping box does it need? How much padding is enough? Where do you store five hundred copies? How do you package everything consistently? What equipment makes the process easier?

Suddenly I’m testing durability by dropping boxes with books from flights of stairs and researching shrink-wrap machines, impulse sealers, thermal label printers, packing materials, and shipping rates.

Canada Post. UPS. FedEx.

Domestic shipping. International shipping. Customs declarations. Tariffs. Fulfilment.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, you still need to build an e-commerce store.

Photograph the product.

Write the descriptions.

Set up payments.

Think through returns.

Make sure the whole thing actually works.

And then?

Marketing.

Because apparently making something doesn’t mean people automatically know it exists.

Social media. Advertising. Retailers. Trade shows. Christmas markets. Corporate gifting. Booths. Displays. Distribution.

An entirely new collection of things to learn.

All because I thought it would be nice to make a book.

And here’s the strange thing.

I like it.

Not every minute of it, obviously. Nobody develops a lifelong passion for comparing shipping rates.

But there’s something incredibly rewarding about taking an idea that exists entirely in your head and slowly bringing it into the physical world.

One decision at a time. One problem at a time.

I’ve spent much of my career creating things that live on screens. Websites, identities, digital experiences, campaigns. Work that can be changed, updated, replaced, or disappear entirely.

Letterspace is different.

It exists.

It has weight.

It occupies space.

You can put it on a shelf, wrap it as a gift, leave it on a table, or give it to someone you care about.

It doesn’t require a subscription, an update, or a charged battery.

And I find that enormously satisfying.

Of course, there’s a contradiction in all of this.

Letterspace is about slowing down. Taking your time. Paying attention.

And here I am, trying to build a business around it, with a seemingly endless list of things that need doing. But that’s just it, a hobby business where the details can simply take time.

And I’m learning to be perfectly comfortable with that.

Somewhere along the way, a small idea became a fairly significant undertaking. And it isn’t finished. There are hundreds of books still waiting to find their way into people’s hands.

Whether Letterspace becomes something much bigger, I don’t know.

A part of me hopes it does. But I’ve never really considered not doing it.

I know what I’m capable of. I know I can learn what I don’t know. And I’ve always believed that if something is worth making, it’s worth seeing through.

Even when it means learning far more about cardboard boxes than any reasonable person should.

It’s a lot of work for a little book.

But then again, the whole point was never to rush.

Take your time.

I’m taking mine. Just like climbing another mountain.