I’ve always drawn a house out of memory, the walls shifting like a tide. A story is just a set of beams and windows—if you measure the gaps, you can lean on them, but if you let the beams breathe, the whole thing feels alive. Just as a sketch can be revised, a plot can stretch beyond the line, still keeping its roots. So yes, treat it as a blueprint, but leave a blank room for a dream to wander in.

I hear the frame calling for its exact feet, but I think the heart of the story should stay in its own loft, a quiet wing where the imagination can roam freely, just not crush the measured walls.