Offcuts Issue 87
No. 87 25 June 2026 · 4 min read

The Long Undo

The makers I trust most keep everything and throw away nothing. Here’s what changes when you treat “revert” as a place to think.

A tidy desk flatlay with a notebook, mechanical pencil, eraser shavings, and a coffee — the residue of a long editing session
The offcuts pile. Nothing here is wasted — it’s just not finished.

I spent Tuesday watching a furniture maker plane a single edge for the better part of an hour. Not because the edge was wrong — because the shavings told him things. Each pass was a draft. He kept the curls in a box by the bench. “That’s the part of the wood I decided against,” he said, “but I like knowing it’s there.”

That box is the most honest version history I’ve ever seen. And it’s been rattling around my head all week, because the tools I use all day are quietly terrible at it. We type “undo” like it’s an emergency exit. We squash our commits to hide the mess. We design as if the goal were to arrive without ever having been somewhere worse.

Revision is the work, not the cleanup

The best writers I know don’t write good sentences. They write bad ones quickly and then refuse to let them stand. The best interfaces aren’t designed; they’re re-designed, twelve times, until the twelfth looks inevitable. The skill isn’t the first move. It’s the willingness to keep the whole staircase so you can see how you climbed.

“Keep the offcuts. Not to use them — to remember the shape of the decision.”

So this week’s small idea: stop treating your history as shameful. Branch freely. Name your versions like chapters, not “final-final-v3.” Leave yourself a trail you’d be happy to walk back along — because the day you need to revert, you’ll be grateful the past was legible.

Five hand-picked links

That’s the trim for this week. If you keep an offcuts box of your own — literal or digital — hit reply and tell me what’s in it. I read every one.

— Mara