I write, but I know embarrassingly little about printing. There’s something fundamentally not right there. My craft is, at times quite literally, bound up in a material product, but there’s a disconnect between the stories I find, curate or create and the process by which they could, theoretically at least, become tangible objects, thumbed, treasured, catalogued or even decorative.

I began my creative writing in the pages of notebooks and journals and my first job was for a printed magazine, The Lady (Britain's longest-running women's weekly no less), and yet a side swerve into digital gave me the instant gratification of publishing but no involvement in the physical process, beyond using content management systems like an amateur town planner.

But I’ve always been drawn to the printed word. I take delight in the historiated initials of illuminated manuscripts (really). I wistfully imagine the life of a manual typesetter in an idealised, artisan way and not in the repetitive laborious fashion that might have been the reality of the occupation. Like many, the feel of a book between my fingers outweighs the efficiency of a Kindle and its friends.

So I like books and magazines, it’s clear, but I don’t really know how they get made. Naively, I’ve assumed its someone else’s area of expertise and I’ve let them get on with doing it, brilliantly, while I fulfil my side of the bargain, gathering and submitting content, approving proofs, delighting in the end result and in my earlier days at The Lady ensuring contributors received their magazine copy in the post.

I’m now on the edge of a book project where design is an integral part of the narrative and ingenious printing technology can make this theme jump off the page. I want to understand how my input fits into a world of exacting standards, inspired problem solving and constant innovation and, while staying true to my love of storytelling, recognise that it’s only one part of a multidimensional entity.

Enter Garry ‘the devil is in the detail’ James from Fine Print. Listening to James talk about his world is hypnotic, his ability to take a printed item and intricately explain its constituent parts, from accent threads to spot UV embellishments, while reverently handling and inspecting a finished piece elevates it from object to artefact before your eyes.

He throws information at you in quickfire, not to bamboozle or overload you, but because his passion for his profession, and as a creative brain with a compulsion to share, means he can’t help it. There are so many ways to elevate, accentuate and play with words and images to, as James would say, ‘execute’ a printing project to the highest level, and he knows them inside and out, thanks to nearly three decades in the industry.

It’s quite humbling in truth, but also points to the collaborative rather than siloed nature of writing and the multi-stage journey from capturing information and ideas and delivering them to a wider audience in a format that leaves a lasting footprint. I’ll be visiting the Fine Print factory, soon, and I’m as excited as Charlie Bucket and his fellow golden ticket winners. Surprises and delights await.