So, I decided to sketch out a fictional house the other day. No grand reason, really. Just one of those things you do when the internet’s down, or you’re tired of staring at the same four walls. It’s not like I’m an architect or anything. Far from it.
Getting Started – Or Stumbling, Rather
First off, let me tell you, starting is the worst. You’ve got this blank piece of paper, or a blank screen, and it just stares back at you. Mocking you, almost. I must have doodled a dozen squiggly lines that went straight into the bin. Kept thinking, what kind of house? Who even lives there? A grumpy old man? A family with too many cats? These things actually matter, you know. It’s not just about drawing boxes.
I remember trying to be all sensible at first. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, the usual. But it felt boring. Like every other house on every other street. And if you’re making something up, why make it boring? That’s what I told myself. So, I scrapped that.
Digging In and Making a Mess
Then I started thinking about what I’d really want if I could just snap my fingers. Or, more like, what kind of weird place would be interesting to think about. I ended up with this idea for a house that was sort of built into a hill, but also had a weird, slightly crooked tower. Don’t ask me why a tower. It just felt right.
The actual drawing part, well, that was a whole other battle. My lines are wobbly, my sense of perspective is, let’s say, unique. I spent ages trying to figure out how the stairs would work in that tower. Kept ending up with them leading into a solid wall. Frustrating stuff. It’s funny, you think you have this clear picture in your head, but getting it down on paper? Nightmare.
- Tried to add a secret passage. That took about three attempts to make it even remotely plausible.
- The kitchen ended up being way too small. Had to redraw that whole section.
- And windows! Deciding where the windows go, and what kind, that’s a rabbit hole.
It’s not like building a real house, obviously. No budgets, no planning permissions, no grumpy builders. But you still end up arguing with yourself over the silliest things. “Should this door swing in or out?” Yeah, like it really matters for a house that doesn’t exist.
Why I Bother With This Stuff
You might be wondering why anyone would spend their time on this. It’s not like it pays the bills. Well, it reminds me of this one time, years ago. I was trying to build a custom bookshelf. Not a fictional one, a real one. I had the wood, the tools, a plan I’d drawn up myself – much simpler than this fictional house, mind you.
Thought I was pretty clever. Measured twice, cut once, all that jazz. Halfway through, I realized I’d made one of the main supports about two inches too short. Just two inches. But it threw the whole thing off. The entire project was a bust. Had to scrap the whole lot, felt like a proper idiot. Wasted good wood, wasted a whole weekend.
My wife, bless her, just said, “Well, at least you tried.” But it bugged me for ages. That feeling of messing up something tangible, something real. So, maybe messing around with fictional houses is my way of getting it right, without any real-world consequences. If I make a wall too short here, I just erase it. No harm done. It’s a bit of control, I guess, in a world where you don’t always have much.
It’s funny, though. Even in these made-up worlds, you end up creating your own stupid problems. Like that tower staircase. I could have just said “magic stairs!” but no, my brain wanted to figure it out, make it “work” even though none of it is real. Humans are weird like that.
So, What’s the Point?
In the end, I’ve got this drawing of a quirky, probably impractical house. It’s got character, I’ll give it that. The tower still looks a bit wonky, but I kind of like it that way. It’s not going to win any awards, and it’s definitely not going to get built. But the process, you know? It’s something. A way to get out of your own head for a bit, or maybe get deeper into it, I’m not sure which.
It’s just a thing I do. Like some people knit, or collect stamps. I draw houses that will never exist. And honestly, most of the time, it’s more about the trying than the finished thing anyway. Just like that damn bookshelf.
