If I wasn't a writer, I'd be an architect.
This, I have always been sure of.
While I may have dressed up as a reporter for Halloween as a child, I was likewise obsessed with architecture modeling kits, and my favorite book in middle school was The Wright 3 by Blue Balliett--a mystery novel about coded messages left within the intricate windows of architect Frank Lloyd Wright. In high school, my senior thesis centered around theories from Alain de Botton's The Architecture of Happiness.
So this has become one of my go-to questions to ask people: What would you be if you weren't a [insert job here]? If that career wasn't available to you, what would you have studied instead?
Some answers are revealing. These unopened doors hold hidden interests, dreams that lost out on a roll of the dice, parallel ghost lives that hover untouched in the peripherals of their respective humans.
Although my childhood architectural interests lost out to a stronger fascination with words, I see still see it governing from afar. It surfaces in my desire to create tangible things with my stories. Physical spaces to house my works.
My words are my building materials, in the same way that four walls are also a story.
Featured below: creations from my original favorite, Frank Lloyd Wright.