In an attempt to improve my shaky knowledge of — and confidence in — electronics, I have set myself a challenge: 6 months of dedicated circuit board projects.
Of course, the first step was actually owning a circuit board. This was harder than it sounds — there is an overwhelming amount of kit available for the electronics enthusiast. I was looking for something designed for someone like myself, the complete beginner. Sifting through reviews, I kept coming back to one: Arduino.
Arduino is a clever little package, which combines a physical circuit board and its own programming environment. With this, you — the maker — can do all sorts with LEDs, motors, and other salt-of-the-earth components. The end result can be some pretty cool stuff — from electronic guitarists to safe-cracking robots.
Before I sound too much like an Arduino cheerleader, I have to say one thing: I have no idea how this will pan out. There’s a possibility I’ll come to despise that circuit board. Let’s hope not.
At the time of writing, I have spent about an hour playing with the Arduino Uno Starters Kit. What could I possibly have learned in that time? A surprising amount, it turns out.
New Project Anxiety
Most — perhaps all — new ventures will have an early heart-sinking moment, when the initial idea meets reality. The idea is so sweet; the reality is a long slog. Everyone likes the thought of being fit, but actually running around a field isn’t so fun.
Still, I was surprised by my level of anxiety. After all, at any point I could decide Arduino is not for me, put it away, and never think about it again. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But therein lay the problem. I was anxious about quitting, rather than the electronics itself. John Somnez talks about becoming a finisher. That is what this project is really about — proving to myself that I wouldn’t quit at the first sign of difficulty.
I didn’t have to wait long. That first sign of difficulty came the instant I actually saw the Arduino Uno.
Size is a Thing
I had imagined the Arduino to be large and robust, capable of withstanding even the clumsiest of owners. I was completely wrong — it is tiny. Its box looks like something that might contain a pack of travel cards.
This was a concern. Historically my hands have always flailed when it comes to the fiddly stuff, particularly when something is expensive or hard to replace (and even though Arduino isn’t that expensive … it’s expensive enough.)
The more I opened, the smaller things became, with every box revealing something more miniature than the last. The so-called “push-button” was surely unpushable; the wires were barely visible.
I took two medium sized breaths — hoping that these would add up to one deep breath — and began the first basic project: a simple LED circuit, powered by the computer.
The rational part of my brain knew this should be easy. After all, it had a mere one-star on the Difficulty Scale. This project is simple enough for your hard-of-thinking pets.
It took me 15 seconds to prick my finger.
Changing Mindset
So there I was — one hand holding a misshaped wire, the other stinging from a pricked finger. Yet something strange was happening: I was enjoying myself. Actually, this wasn’t a complete surprise. Rather than being a new lesson learned, it was more an old lesson reinforced.
This lesson is simple: in the right mindset, it’s kind of fun when things go slightly wrong. It gives me something to focus on. My tongue sticks out the corner of my mouth. The act of Try-Fail-Repeat, with fleeting signs of improvement, can be extremely satisfying.
This mindset is relatively new for me — it certainly didn’t exist when taking electronics at school. In those days, I would become frustrated at the drop of a hat or, indeed, a 5-volt battery. Of course, I’m not immune to frustration these days. It just feels like a waste of time.
Slowly, I corrected my wiring mistakes, with each correction causing a burst of excitement. Not only was I getting the hang of this wiring stuff, but — more importantly — I was also practising this mindset. Place a wire, I win; prick my finger, I win.
Before long, the wires were in. Next up were the resistors, and my first electronics challenge: telling one resistor from another.
Game of Resistors
A few years ago, I went on holiday to China. Unsurprisingly, everything there is different: the culture, the food, and — of course — the language. In particular, it was the written language that proved the hardest — their words don’t even look vaguely familiar. If you’re lucky, there’ll be an English translation … the rest of the time, you’re playing a game of spot the difference. Getting off a bus is fraught with peril. You could be anywhere.
Trying to identify a 220-ohm resistor reminded me of being in China, and getting off that bus.
Resistors are identified by the coloured bands which wrap around their circumference. Each resistor has a number of these bands — four or five seems common — which give the amount of resistance contained within.
This is a sensible idea. However, to my newbie eyes, the reality was different. The band colours all seem very similar — from a browny-yellow to a browny-purple, all on a beige background.
What’s more, the range of resistance is extremely large. The pressure was on. I was back to playing a game of spot the difference.
This all came with another pang of excitement. Already I had learned a little something about electronics. I now had a slightly better idea about how the world worked.
There still remained a nagging question in the back of my mind: Why, and when, do you actually use a resistor? The answer to that came with the LED.
Thresholds of Resistance
I’ve already banged on about my problems with electric circuits. When I look at a circuit, I see a bunch of resistors and Input/Output components that have been randomly thrown together. Of course that’s not how it works.
My question has always been, how does anyone know which resistors go with which components? Surely you can’t start with resistors, as they don’t actually input or output anything from the system. They’re the middle men, providing a valuable-yet-unseen service.
So the answer must lie with the other components. In this project, that other component is a bog-standard LED. The Arduino Projects manual casually remarks that “This LED needs a 220 Ohm resistor, otherwise it will take in too much energy, and burn out”.
This was a moment of revelation. Finally — after however many years — I had grasped a concrete reason for resistors to exist. Somehow this had confused me from day one. My instinct was that more electrical energy is always good, therefore resistors must be bad. With this fundamental misunderstanding, I had no real chance.
Lights On
The last — but certainly not least — component was the tiny push button. Once this had gone in, I was finally ready to test my LED.
Any programmer will know the buzz that comes from trying your program for the first time. This is even true with Hello, World! — the traditional first program someone writes. In some ways, this buzz is stronger with Hello, World!. After all, it opens up a huge range of possibilities. Hello, World! is the first sign of life.
This LED circuit is Arduino’s Hello, World!
I would love to pull the rug out from under you here, and say that I pressed the button, that the LED failed, that I’m still struggling through, and that I’m really enjoying the process.
But I can’t say any of that — my LED lit up the whole damn night! I took pictures like a proud parent.
And it’s true that all I’ve done is switched on an LED. But I’ve done that. I’ve used my actual floppy hands to put together a circuit. Yes, children do this at school but — as with many things that we do at school and then put-off for the rest of our lives — it’s still allowed to be difficult.
As I’ve said, the aim is to turn this into a six month project. By that point I might have something insightful to report.
Until then, I can hear Arduino calling me. Apparently, I have a Star Trek-style dashboard to make. All it takes is three flashing LEDs, and a lot of imagination.