10 Ways Writing and Architecture are Two Nuts from the Same Tree (PART 1)

daleyrose
Aug 15, 2016
6 min read

First off, I didn’t mean to start out by saying that both writers and architects are actually nuts, but it kinda fits, so I’m going to go with it.

I say this with love, of course. Please hear me out.

Both writing and architecture are creative fields, and I think have some of the same fundamental tenants. I love this post on Edutopia, 7 Tenets of Creative Thinking, positing some principles of creative thinking such as creativity being work, and there being no right answer. Totally agree with all that.

I also firmly (and proudly) believe that most of use in the creative field are a little…. not totally normal. (Who is, really, right?) Both fields can have the caricatures of the creative genius or the tortured artist or the perpetual dreamer. But despite the glaring commonalities of being generally creative, we don’t really ever think about the two professions in comparison, because they don’t overlap - and why would we? I’m trying to imagine putting a handful of authors in a room with a handful of architects. Fundamentally the same in creative genius status, but also still pretty different. So different, in fact, that having them in the same room might be like crossing the Ghostbusters’ streams.

Or it could be absolutely freaking brilliant.

Launching into a new endeavor (dare I say career??) is daunting, so I was thinking of all the ways architecture and writing are similar, to make the transition a little less terrifying. In that, I came up with a few common foundational concepts that I can use as an anchor when I’m questioning what in the ever-loving-hell I’m thinking in attempting this evolution.

You might fall into the “writer” category, or maybe into the “architect” category, or even maybe into a different “designer” category. Depending on the day - or hour - I’m in any of the above. I can tell you that each group is unique, but share some harmonies. So many, in fact, that I’m going to bust this up into two posts - the first five points this week, and another five in two weeks. I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

Here’s what I’ve got so far, in no particular order.

1. The Blank Page

We all know the dreaded blank page, writers and architects alike. I hate this part. It stares at you, daring you to make a mark on it. Even brain-dumping sometimes hurts - just get the words on the page. Once you make that mark, you’ve chosen a direction, and to go back - while not impossible - is painful. Right? Architects would have to scrap their design for a whole new layout, floor plan, elevation, orientation, or some notable gesture. Authors might scrap the whole plot, look to “fixing” a broken story, or go back and change the entire motivation for the main character. So. Painful.

But I also love the blank page. It’s the possibility of what’s to come, of where to go, and what wonderfulness to create. Anything is possible. Maybe not anything in architecture, what with that pesky gravity and all, but in our stories - literally anything. It’s your world, baby, and we’re just here wanting to experience it. There’s so much opportunity! AHHHHHH!!!!

2. Iterations

In architecture, there are design phases, which is pretty much exactly like our different drafts in writing. This image from ArchDaily says it all. You probably recognize this type of naming for your drafts, right?

Schematic Design in architecture is very much like the vomiting of words on to the page (my take on the process) to get the first draft out. After that, you move into Design Development, where you start to massage the building (or story) so that it begins to make a little more sense, and connections and themes become more obvious. How it connects to its neighboring buildings, to its context. Your characters start to find their voice, and root into their world. Architects then move into Construction Documents, where you really figure it all out. How you turn that corner into a space of a different height and different feel, material transitions, etc. For writers, this is where character quirks, dialogue, detailed timelines, and editing really tighten up the work. And more editing. Then more editing.

It’s all about phases and iterations to fine-tune your creation into the best that it can be. Smooth it over, buff it out, and detail the shit out of that thing. We all know, the devil is in the details - in writing and architecture alike.

3. Long hours

This guy is obviously not me, either, but it might be you. I sure feel like him most of the time, wired, sometimes on purpose or maybe not so much when I'm trying to sleep and my characters are trying to talk to me.

Of course there don’t HAVE to be long hours. I know plenty of architects and writers both that stick within the 9-5 working day, and leave it go when the clock strikes. But I’m not one of them, and I bet a number of you aren’t, either. That’s because there’s always so much to do! It is really just so hard to stop sometimes. As I write this, it’s Friday night at 10:05 and my hubby architect is at his office, possibly for another few long hours. It’s not just us writers. There’s one more idea to get down! If I don’t put it down now, I’ll screw it up and not remember it in all its gloriousness. Or one more elevation to sketch! One more scene to outline! One more transition to figure out! One more character to profile!! One more floor tile to select! If I can spend more time on it, it will be better! And it can always be better!!

I’m going to chalk this up to loving your job. Lucky you.

4. Critiques

In architecture, you have to have thick skin, particularly during school. The topic of design education is for another post (or book - I know, it was my literal dissertation), but suffice it to say there is A LOT of evaluation, mostly subjective. All the time. About pretty much everything. Is that the best place for the entry? Are you sure that’s the right elevation to be facing south? Is the window rhythm the best it can be? What part of the elevation is emphasized? Should those two rooms really be near each other? Is that an eyebrow over the secondary entry? Is that an eyebrow at all?!? (Sorry - design geek coming out.) The design you have might function fine, or it might function fantastically well, but it’s also a question of aesthetic. The questions are about how the building will work, but also how it feels, how it looks. The critique is about everything.

Writing is very similar, and you need to be open to critique and suggestions. A nice little piece on the value of the design critique can be found here. It will help make your work better, if you can handle it and filter through it. And like architecture, the criticism topics can be all encompassing. How is the character revealed? Is it the right setting? Why Ohio or Texas or Wyoming? Why does your character have that job? How is the character developed? What’s that weird saying your protagonist says all the time? Are you showing or telling? Same as architecture, the questions are about how the story will work, how it feels to the reader, and even how it looks. (The cover design is crazy important, I hear.) It’s about everything.

It’s ok, though. You’ve considered all of this, or you’ve tried. If not, you’re happy to have someone point out that your character changed names in Chapter 4 because you’ve just been looking at it so long. And you are so invested. But these critiques are just dandy, because you’ve done your homework.

5. Do your homework.

I believe that in every good creation, in both writing and architecture, you have to do your homework. Writers may write what they know, but more than likely in your fictional world there are things that you won’t know, that you’ll need to make real for your readers, that you need to know more about. This will require some research. Maybe it’s interviewing someone about a job or hobby, or visiting a location so that you can better understand the essence of the place.

In architecture, you need to understand the needs of the building users, while understanding the site. How do the winds blow? What’s the climate like? What’s the topography? Each building, like each writing project, is different. Different themes, needs, goals, and players. Each of those qualities needs researched and fleshed out. Don’t assume you know. Architects do this. (I HATE this, but I will not get on this soapbox today.)

Figure out how to ask questions, and for heaven’s sake, learn how to listen. Writers observe and translate, I think, and architects could take a few notes, if you ask me. The building isn’t done when construction is complete - and the book isn’t done when it’s published. People have to experience both works after they’re “finished.” That’s really one of the common beauties of both fields. It’s quite amazing, really.

So those are just some of the ways that writing and architecture are the same. I think you can begin to see my point. I’ve got more in my pocket for my next post, but what do you think so far? Is anyone else seeing the shadow of one in the other? I’d love to hear them! Let me know in the comments below.

(PS - This is also not me, but she seems happy and fun, so my kind of people.)

Thank you all for visiting!

I look forward to seeing you back!